Stop trying to send it,
the right posture.
I’m a dog.
I can’t handle this.
I just know I’m sick.
I don’t know what to do with you.
You are too big for me,
and I am so out of place
I look for you.

What is the background ruler?
You’re in my consciousness a healing element all the time.
You have your episodes.
You’re trying to heal me.
You see my pain.
I don’t know what to do about it.
Not being able to tell my mother
that you are good for me
is my special cowardness.

She doesn’t understand.
She could care less what you feel.
Her hatred is so intense it scares me,
and why did it suddenly come?
She’s not the right person for it,
remove you from the scene.
She can’t even do it.
Okay do I need you?

You are my living defense,
no matter what I do to you.
You have love in the places I hurt you.
Why can’t I do that?
Do you know that I’ve thrown you out in the street?
I do not place my hand on phone calls.
I am through you with you,
finished,
but I don’t know how to do that.
You’re so alive in me.
You’re so there.

What do I do about you?
I keep asking that question.
You are so there for me I can hardly believe it.
You can call yourself love.

A fine touch on that consciousness
I have started your hand.
You will bring him back to you shortly.
He loves you so very much.
I understand your misgivings about Us.
We must seem horrible,
and you don’t know the reasons for things,
and you don’t know how to tell the muse.
It just runs with things
and gives them pass.
Your hopes and fears are a coloring sensation.

Now what’ve We done here?
How have We surrounded you with Nithish?
You will greet him you will see him you will be with him
in some short meeting on the way.
This has got you down
because it hasn’t happened
and looks like it never will.
You think this present attempt has failed,
and you’ve started your hunger strike
by announcing it on the news,
not yet though in your arms.

You’re sure right about one thing:
We’ve messed up with Nithish.
We don’t know how to lift him.
We don’t know how to care for him.
There is too much in the way.
We don’t work directly on people.
We send them influences,
suggestions.
We don’t make them act.
We can do nothing with this boy.
He does not field Us.
He is too scared and alone,
and he won’t listen to you.

That’s texture,
and he needs your paste creamy and smooth,
like you gave in the lucid dream
where you held him so tenderly.
Every chance you’ve had with him,
you’ve messed it up.
You are in the same shape he’s in,
unable to handle things,
a filibuster,
and Sandiya revels in this,
like you’ve suddenly lost your mind:
“See there! See there!”
Is that what the boy thinks?
He knows you’re dad.
You’re not given any slack.
Every mistake you make is exploited
for political gain,
and it’s not fair.

We’re tryin’ to arrange a room
where you and the boy can meet,
and there’s no one there yellin’ at yah
or tellin’ him what to say.
That’s Our next move.
Please be patient with Us,
as we take these world forces
and put them together.
They may not work.

This is terrible sweetheart,
and I know it,
but We’re lendin’ a helpin’ hand.
Can you come with Me I’m sorry?
You just want the boy in your arms,
and we’ve got to get back to a sadhana room.
You got so close
last time,
so very close.