Every Suicide Bomber’s Broken Arrow is Broken

Genie in a Bottle by Frederico Bebber, used with permission

In my last post, “To View the Hunting Design of Mourning”, I examined dreams of the suicide bomber of the Brussels Metro that seemed to show a contact with the heaven of Islam that gave him a divine sanction to carry out his mission. Over the course of years, I’ve had a contact with that heaven that’s of a very different nature, one not from Allah or angels but from a dead suicide bomber. It’s in the form of a poem in which he’s the speaker, and so it’s his words filtered through my creative reflex, put in my language and style of poetry, one which continued to develop over the course of time it took to complete the poem. I haven’t received it out of the blue, just because I had an inner opening that could receive it, nor because I was some good person chosen to show his bad. Whatever we hear or see in vision in regards to other people has a bearing on our own lives, is something we need to see and hear so to become better people ourselves, that someone else a mirror we’re looking into to help us change. This is true for both (inspired) poets and prophets, something neither they nor the people that quote them seem to understand.

The first lines of the poem came among the first lines I received once my muse turned on like a flood, which was in South America in September 2001, and it took me awhile to see the bomber’s voice out of all the muse I was getting. By the time I got to Paris, several months later, I did recognize that distinct voice and organized the scattered lines into a poem, as I did the title (“A Suicide’s Bomber’s Broken Arrow is Broken”) and more lines came, and this earlier form was submitted to and rejected by The Atlantic and Poetry. My muse edited it after, adding more verses and editing the title (“A” changed to “Every”) and individual lines, and I continued to work on it slightly until I posted it on my personal blog in 2015, after submitting it a few more places. The majority of the poem, however, the core, came in those few months after 9/11, as did many lines about Islamic extremism, mixed in with lines about the world harm I have caused, all of which I included in a prose/poetry manuscript I wrote on the island of Crete in 2002 called “Civilization and the Art of Terror” or “The Inspired Word”, which will remain unpublished, though it’s a source of organized muse I draw from from time to time.

Last week, as I was meditating at the Samadhi of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, I heard the lines “That’s got my name on it. / Perfect,” and then I saw a light blue curtain blowing slightly, and then I saw the face of Sri Aurobindo, the age he was in the last photos taken of him, the outline of his face highlighted, and he was right in front of me looking directly at me. I was then told to wait before boosting the poem, to do some purification first, told in lines of muse, the vision of his face having faded. At the time I interpreted that to say the poem would be seen as something he’s behind because I’m his disciple and because of what I’ve written about inner contact with both he and Mother in regards to my poetry and writing in general. Although the muse said “perfect”, it said it a little while after hearing the first line, enough time to make me realize I didn’t want to drag his name through the mud, since I’m considered the worst kind of person on the planet, a minor attracted person. I sat there afterwards and let that sink in. It took the ego out of it, and I’m sitting here now not wanting to be in the shoes I am, but I think I understand.

Do you? Maybe it’s the bad man that can truly show us human evil and how really to end harm, rather than who we normally think can, a good person’s that been burned by bad. To see what I’m saying you’d have to understand higher than good and evil and more integrally than there’s this bad person harming society, understanding that for us to climb out of our wrong we need the goodwill of a good number of people because it’s not something we can do all on our own, why, when it’s all said and done, this suicide bomber’s speaking and why I am. To speak in the terms of the spiritual path that I follow, you’d have to understand something of the great difference between the Supermind and Overmind, the very different ways from each other in which their processes work, to see why someone such as myself would be perfect to post what I’m posting as an outgrowth of my sadhana in the Integral Yoga.

Last night lines came saying it was time to post the poem, but that it needed a new title, and after hearing a few that played on the words I heard at the Samadhi, it hit me that I heard the new title sitting there last week, and that now the poem is perfect, relative to my ability at least. It still means what I originally thought it did, Sri Aurobindo exclaiming that it’s got his name on it, but it’s characteristic of muse to mean more than one thing, be applicable to more than one situation, and so it’s the suicide bomber making that exclamation and also all of Islam, and, in a very real though quite hidden sense, each and every one of us.

Who this suicide bomber is and what bombing he’s talking about I don’t know, but there are vague references that would seem to indicate the attack happened in Israel and killed mostly young people. He describes an after death process that would take a long time by our reckoning, but heaven can open windows on time we cannot, and so this could be what to us would be a voice from the future. It’s important to understand this is a single bomber speaking, with all the things personal to him that would entail, and so each suicide bomber would have a different story of why they became one as much as their general fate in the afterlife would be along the same lines as the one speaking in the poem.

This poem needs to get into the right hands, and as of yet it’s not gotten into even a handful of hands, other than the editors who’ve rejected it and a few other people, and so I pick it up again and try its hand here. Does anyone out there have ears? If you do, please share this poem. Its license is Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs.

That’s Got My Name on It

The world let me come to your room.
Here only:
a poet’s met greater listening.
Now what did he fish?
I’m not in your reach before.
What is the moon?
Symbol for where I am,
a light
To help you cross the night.

Silence,
death takes a terrible moment to calm down.
Now I touch you with the real.
I am a dead speaker.
The suicide bomber changes its space,
and everything right now
A story about how long it is.
Give rise to future presentations.

I cry to your hand.
Look at me.
My water, oh no,
blood red.
I’m sorry to act.
Disappointment knows no greater sum.
Give me the light
of your understanding,
and I’ll give you changed view.

The service there to act the middle road to stars,
the courage there to act.
Each man has a fear, love, dread, and pull to the extreme.
We feel ourselves so different from one another.
The problem’s building the people to be a church
so I can blow people up.
Man is a kicking gale a dozen kicking gales like him.
Can you understand why?

The small raft that conceals us all in bodily harm,
what I was to become in search of myself,
a big wall of religious separation between us,
and the grizzly bodies of adolescents to 13 men to find,
it’s not a secret the whole flesh can discover.

Death was not in my hands.
I exploded immediately.
Kill someone,
their voice right there.
We had a pay together.
It wasn’t bright and sunny.
Can we show you nonexistence?
I think I touched her.
You’ve got to fear.
Oh my God,
every finger accusingly sat at me.
This was no paradise.

There are realms in death you understand.
More order came.
I guess all went off to their private lesson.
I winked into hell.
All my mountain said no.
We lingered there.
It was my own order I made myself.
Please arrive me out of terror.

There lessons learned,
deep dark secrets you who understands.
A light found me thinking.
I grasped my neck to myself
and began to see.
I vanished hell.
On my journey I rose to you.
I’ve come up to my Faith.

As it doesn’t have one of the goals reconciliation
this is where Mohammad messed up.
The others I must also treat with light.
To grow oneself in mercy good idea.
Treat them with kid gloves even bad people.

The nature of the Prophet cannot be seen by your calculations.
It is hidden,
in a sense,
light bulb.
This sometimes assailed him,
his human.

Have to take apart anger.
I was just mad at you.
Through so much deception and web
the heartbreak was crouched around a day of killing,
terror hush, terror deep.

Tearin’ a hole in the fabric
of what death open
I am the author of a little child of the Furies,
a fierce cartoon within the page of my own age.
Every word easing the spear.
Not a secret a baby can tell.
Muslim doesn’t even talk about Muslim.
God is the veil at which he lowers his eyes.

Adam used to tell his name
unto his soul.
Let me release an air of sin
this cell from within,
right where they told me to explode.
It’s time for them to know:
all the way they cut truly in to a child’s deep identity.
Behind me the spear gave lesson.
I was sleeping –
families’ dinosaur.

There are some things that result in our hatred.
These things are ugly on us.
If you can tell the victim in the victimizer
stop the hatred.
That’s the first thing the very first.
No one else can listen.
No one else has ears.
The best place the time would be now,
to bring us into the 21st century.
The future writes this very slowly.
It’s now on the city conscience of Europe, Asia, Africa, and the United States.

To View the Hunting Design of Mourning

Stay away from the incomplete parts of Islam through ISIS.
That dreaming ISIS.
There are no dreaming years.

He told me that a harsh character
found the credit for character
within their character.

I have a lethal weapon.
ISIS too has integers.
Heatblast
leave a notebook.
They put a bomb in this kid’s mouth.
That so formula.

The following is an excerpt from an article in Dabiq[i], the first official magazine of Islamic State. It quotes three dreams of the suicide bomber of the Brussels metro in 2016, dreams he had in the  months before he died:

“Khālid al-Bakrāwī (Abū Walīd al-Baljīkī) Metro Station Istishhādī

A man of strong character, a natural leader, Khālid was guided while in prison after having a vivid, life-changing dream. He saw that he was alongside the Prophet fighting the disbelievers. Narrating his dream, he said, “It was a vision. After hearing the last verse of al-Fath[ii] recited in a loud voice, I saw the Prophet on a horse in battle, a distance away. The vision took me beyond the battlefield. I saw myself as an archer shooting arrows at the enemy. I would shoot, take cover, then shoot again.” He narrated other details of the dream and said, “I then woke up, back in my prison cell.”

After leaving prison, full of conviction and steadfastness, he started giving da’wah in his neighborhood, calling the youth to make hijrah to Shām. He also wrote a few articles on the crusades of the era fought by the West against the Muslims. All preparations for the raids in Paris and Brussels started with him and his older brother Ibrāhīm. These two brothers gathered the weapons and the explosives. After the blessed raid in Paris, he saw another dream, which motivated him to carry out an istishhādī operation. He narrated, “The second dream was three months ago. It was a vision that took place from fajr[iii] until dhuhr[iv]. I arose to a high place, as if I was in space, surrounded by stars; but the sky was like the blue of night.” He then heard a voice in the dream telling him that he was created only to worship Allah and ordering him to fight for His cause and make His word supreme. He then woke up.

Abū Walīd then narrated a third dream: “I had a vision that also took place from fajr until dhuhr, but ended at night. I saw myself on a boat along with Abū Sulaymān and another brother. Each of us had a Turkish soldier as a hostage. I had a pistol and Abū Sulaymān had a belt. I told him to give me his belt, as I would feel better having it. So he gave me the belt and I gave him my pistol. I then quickly advanced with the Turkish hostage in order to close in on other soldiers, two of whom were in front of us. I detonated my belt, killing the soldiers. My head then descended to the ground. One of the brothers working on the operation and Shaykh al-‘Adnānī took my head and said, ‘Check to see if he is smiling or not.’ I then saw my soul and those of the three soldiers. All of a sudden, the soldiers’ souls burned and vanished and, suddenly, the banner of Islam – represented in the dream by the flag of the Islamic State – came out of the earth and was shining brightly. My soul then became full of light.” He then heard a voice in the dream telling him that he had achieved deliverance. Abū Walīd continued, “I prostrated quickly and repeatedly pronounced the takbīr[v]. I then awoke to find my heart beating fast, and I was taking quick breaths.”

One would expect the leader of ISIS, al-baghdadi, whom they claim to be the Caliph of Islam, to be the dreamer they are reporting here, not some corporal who’s only going to kill himself after having such ‘inspiring’ dreams. This is the first time Dabiq, their English medium magazine, has included a dream account that aims at showing Allah inspired a suicide attack[vi], and it’s interesting that it comes a month after I posted a comment on Internet Archive where a copy of the previous issue of Dabiq was made available. That comment included a link to a poem video[vii] I’d been sending out for the previous month trying to get the video to ISIS. In the video, among other things, I ask why someone with the spiritual stature al-baghdadi’s supposed to have doesn’t guide by his dreams and implied that their decisions as a group do not come from dreams and visions but from things like Google maps, the need for men and supplies, the lust for power, and the like.

I can only speculate whether this dream account and the claim that “both IS leaders and members strongly relate to their nightly dreams”[viii] and a rumor circulating that al-baghdadi used a dream to make a military decision in 2014, are a result of ISIS seeing the video and trying to prove me wrong. I can, however, be reasonably sure they’ve seen it by now, will probably read this article, and so I want to take this opportunity given me to examine this dream account in the light my experience with dreaming. In my opinion, much of the supposed guidance in these dreams is a mixture of Khalid’s dispositions and desires as well as a hostile influence pushing him toward the act of destruction he carried out in Belgium, dreams which are being reported by ISIS for propaganda purposes. In my analysis of these dreams, it’s my intention to try and expose these corrupting elements, as well as the misunderstanding and misinterpretation by Khalid of some genuine symbolic elements in these dreams in order to suit his lethal intentions.

Encountering it has made me realize it’s not wise to call for a society-wide wholesale opening to dream and vision. That would be, as Douglas said when I told him these dreams, a disaster. Neither is it a good idea to encourage people to guide by their dreams without first warning them dreams can deceive as much if not more than they can help, and that, long before they can be a good source of guidance, you have to have cultivated an integral understanding of their nature and purpose in the course of working with your dreams over a long period of time. You have to explore dream, not simply have them and remember them. The inner revolution I’ve been talking about won’t come from simply opening to our dreams but from learning to use them to go deeper within ourselves to discover who and what in truth we are. It seems fairly obvious Khālid didn’t use his dreams to discover truth, was not an inner explorer. He sees himself in them and believes whatever he sees.

To take a dream or vision at face value, as if it’s an oracle of truth because it comes from inside us, can lead to tragedy, what these dreams led Khālid to. He didn’t understand that dreams, more often than not, show us what’s going on with us, what we want to do, not what we should do, what we fear will happen, not what will happen, what we think the truth is, not what it is, and he didn’t know that they are constantly tampered with by the hostile powers, the field of dreams being their stomping ground, they being the non-physical creatures that they are. Between us Douglas and I have over 50 years of daily experience working with our dreams, oftentimes with the dreams of others, and although they’ve become for us a source of guidance, because we’ve developed dreaming to the degree we have, we have to be constantly on our guard so as not to be fooled, and I still get fooled sometimes.

That brings in the other corrupting element of these dreams I want to expose, one that’s made examining them a challenge, and that’s the fact that they have clearly been doctored to spout ideology and are being used as tools of propaganda. It’s not possible to separate with complete certainty what Khālid actually dreamed and what both he and Dabiq added to and subtracted from his dream accounts, and most certainly such has been done to these dreams. They bear the mark of the spin doctor. As my muse puts it, “added literature, fake literature, fake news from Allah.” To one degree or another, it’s a factor to consider in any dream account you hear second hand, but with one from ISIS, a religious/socio/political group of extremists that have taken propaganda to new levels of deception and style, it’s the major consideration.

To simply pass these dreams off as propaganda, however, and therefore not worth the trouble to examine, would be foolish. They’re being used by ISIS to convince others to carry out suicide attacks, and, however much they were misinterpreted and misrepresented by Khālid and doctored and construed by Dabiq, these dreams, in their raw form, were a factor in convincing him to kill himself and as many unsuspecting everyday people as he could in the process and to aid others to do the same, which he does as obediently as a house dog.

Not being able to see these dreams as he really had them but doctored as they are, I’m unable to say how much they were just showing him what was cooking with him and how much they have been tampered with by the hostile powers. It’s an influence on us in dream and vision, as Douglas has been showing in his two latest articles. How big an influence depends on the individual and their opening to the beast in themselves. That such an influence is acting upon ISIS I have no doubt, not only by the depravity of their brutality, but also by coming into contact with it as I was making the above mentioned video, the physical effects of which I talk about in the introduction to the video on this blog.[ix]

To one degree or another, each one of us are under the influence of the hostile powers, even people considered good, and when we learn this it will greatly change the way we understand and deal with human evil, since we’ll see an outside will acting upon us that can become stronger than our own. In the case of ISIS as a group, however, that influence has taken over, and it’s as though they have fallen into a hole they cannot now climb out of. They let it in with their diabolical violence, no doubt as a means to gain quick attention, but I’m sure they didn’t understand that it’s not a door they can close once it’s open, unless they renounce and repent being ISIS, and even then it’s mark will be upon them the rest of their lives, a stealthy persistent influence awaiting re-entry.

The process known as radicalization, whether that be done face to face by an inman or whoever or indirectly through social media, is insufficient to account for why someone such as Khālid, a native of the city he blew such a monstrous hole into, would so willingly annihilate himself and as many others as he could, the worst thing in his power to do, something that aims at destroying the very idea of what it means to be a human being. That lethal idea got ahold of him when he opened to ISIS, probably even before he contacted them, as it’s done and is doing to many today, and it’s conscious and non-human, anti-divine, and human suffering is its food. This phenomenon, to go off and kill as many people as you can however you can, is a conscious formation working within the collective field of human consciousness that in ISIS has found a home, but it’s worked it’s dire spell on anyone who goes on a killing rampage, which, in our times, has become something almost panhuman.

A person opens the door to that lethal idea when they hate, be that a hatred of society itself or some group within it, and even if they themselves don’t carry it out or even consciously consider it, their hate is a will acting on anyone who does, aiding and abetting the hostile formation. Since we live in a collective field of consciousness, our hate accumulates and becomes a force that seeks action, which manifests in individuals such as Khālid and anyone else whose action annihilates. In other words, we are all partly to blame for such tragedies. It’s not possible at this time to directly fight the hostile formation, but we can work to stop the hatred among ourselves so at least our collective will isn’t helping it to manifest its hell.

Whatever ISIS may say, the driving force behind them isn’t a passionate love for God but a murderous hatred of whom they feel are either non-believers or bad believers, which is anyone who isn’t a member or supporter of ISIS or anyone who is they decide isn’t living up to their idea of Islam. In such a narrow hateful environment it’s no wonder the hostile formation pushing for annihilation is given such free play, seems to seize people who want to join ISIS, be the idea many if not most have in their minds as what they must do as ISIS members, is what ISIS itself uses as its major weapon, is something so characteristic of and central to its existence.

“A force demoniac lurking in man’s depths
That heaves suppressed by the heart’s human law,
Awed by the calm and sovereign eyes of Thought,
Can in a fire and earthquake of the soul
Arise and, calling to its native night,
Overthrow the reason, occupy the life
And stamp its hoof on Nature’s shaking ground.”

from Savitri by Sri Aurobindo[x]

It’s so telling that, when ISIS begins to publish personal dream accounts of their members, they choose this one from a suicide bomber and construe the whole account to lead up to a justification of his actions, wanting us to believe God himself, through whatever divine intermediaries, not only willed him to do it but gave him the mission to. But the propagandists in Dabiq do not know enough about dream and vision to pull it off, about human nature either, and they do not know that when you are claiming to embody the one and only truth upon earth, and you use lies to spread that truth, you reveal that you’re not embodying it.

One can dream anything, and dreams can help us heal ourselves and others (the more so the more conscious soul contact we have), which is what Douglas and I have been focusing on this blog, the helpful nature of dreams, but they can also trick us into hurting and killing people, the latter depending on how much influence there is from the hostile powers and how much we want to hurt and kill, an aspect of dream we have neglected to give the emphasis it needs, since dreams and visions are so often a factor when one of us harms (not only bodily) or kills others. I cannot emphasize enough that any dream or vision that’s telling you directly or indirectly to do something must be ardently questioned and not automatically obeyed, even when they’re telling you to preach what you feel is the truth, most especially when they’re telling you to harm yourself and others or bring yourself glory, regardless of whatever divine clothes the mission may be wearing to give it authority and a look of righteousness.

Dreams and visions are most trustworthy as guides when they’re suggesting or telling you not to do something that would violate others or harm yourself or aggrandize your ego. Khālid doesn’t even bat an eye when a voice in dream tells him that he’s achieved deliverance by carrying out a suicide bombing. He falls to his knees and blesses God over and over, and then simply goes out into the waking world and carries it out, believing by that mournful deed he’ll be liberated from sin and death.

Or so Dabiq would have us believe. That he willingly carried out his attack is something that doesn’t seem to be in question. The question is, of course, how much is Dabiq putting those words of divine mission into his dreams’ mouth?

As I suggested but didn’t explain in the beginning, dreams of this stature, ascending upon high to receive a divine word and mission, seeing your soul transfigure and hearing another god-word telling you you’ve been liberated, among other things, are characteristic of a prophet, seer, or significant religious figure, not some fall guy about to blow himself up no different from the all the rest doing that. Either Dabiq or the hostile powers added these seer elements, the former to fool us and the latter to fool Khālid, and it’s a tossup as to who did the most fooling.

The dream account begins with a quote from the Quran. Although Khālid was in the restricted environment of prison and perhaps hearing or reciting that verse often, it’s unusual to hear something of such length and clarity in dream all in one go, but not impossible. It’s more probable he heard a portion of it and reported he heard the entire verse. Although it’s saying to be harsh to unbelievers and merciful to believers, it’s not a call to arms and seems to suggest Christians and Jews are believers too, though in the one God not in Mohammed, as other verses in the Quran suggest. If you were a jihadist and were adding material to this dream, you’d pick a less ambiguous verse for your cause, one reason this dream seems to me to be more genuine, another being that it’s a common feature of dreams, if you’re devoted to a religion as Khālid was, to dream of the prominent religious figures of it, especially in the sort of monastery prison can be if you are religiously devout. Add to that he was most likely being indoctrinated in the jihadist interpretation of Islam and therefore when he sees such a figure, it’s not surprising it’s on a battlefield. It’s significant that Mohammed is nowhere in sight when he’s shooting arrows at the enemy, a symbol they interpret to mean he’s to conduct jihad, but in my experience with this symbol, it has more to do with pointed messages you send to people than actual fighting, what we see him doing when he gets out of prison and is writing articles about jihad. Whatever the case, if the verse was added or embellished or if it’s a truthfully told dream, both Khālid and Dabiq interpret this dream to mean much more than it does in itself. It’s interpreted as his first call to arms in jihad, where he will end up indiscriminately killing anybody in the Brussels Metro near him in the near future, be they Muslim, Christian, Jew, or whomever.

Dabiq frames these dreams, as I’m showing, to lead up to Allah ordaining his suicide mission, through whatever channels of dream and divinity. Dabiq tells us that in this first dream he’s fighting alongside the Prophet, a framing technique that puts Khālid and his actions on equal footing with the battles Mohammed fought, In the dream, however, he’s some distance away, and in dream that’s quite significant, the distance we are from someone a symbolic representation of our actual proximity to them in terms of our intimacy with their person. When it’s a religious figure, it shows how close we are to their ideal, not only their person. Here, he’s not close but some distance away, and we aren’t told Mohammed’s looking at him or even aware of him, probably because he wasn’t, and that would put a lot more distance between he and Mohammed and would suggest he has little or no part in Mohammed’s battles, and so Dabiq embellishes greatly by saying he’s beside Mohammed. A dream shift occurs, and we see him shooting arrows at an enemy fighting wherever beyond the battlefield is. It’s not alongside Mohammed. The further details of the dream we aren’t given, and you have to wonder if that’s because it would detract from the impression they want to give. Since dreams are symbolic, the more details you have the better you can interpret the meaning of a dream. Dabiq describes this as a life-changing dream, what put Khālid on the path that would ultimately lead him to carry out his suicide mission.

The second and third dreams are framed within the call to prayer, beginning at the dawn prayer and ending at the noon one, and it’s not unusual for dream to initiate on an outer sound and end on one, especially end, if the sound wakes us up. What’s odd here is the length of the dreams. Several hours is a long time for a single dream. In fact, neither Douglas nor I have heard of a continuous dream lasting that long, and these dreams are not full of dream shifts, one of the most noticeable characteristics of dream, where the individual elements and scenario are changing constantly, and the longer the dream the more shifting there is. They are presented as having the continuity of waking life experience, one scenario that plays itself out in dreams that we are told lasts several hours. That’s just not characteristic of dream,  as I’ve said. It makes me hold framing the two dreams within the call to prayer under suspicion, something either Khālid or Dabiq embellished slightly or greatly to suggest his dreams were participating directly with Islam.

I cannot say much more about the second dream other than dreams do give people missions, as any study of dreaming down through the ages will show, and such dreams usually involve spreading a religion, and so he could’ve had this dream as it’s related, whatever’s askew about its length, but it’s too by the numbers for me not to question it, too literal. Besides, Khālid’s contemplating murderous suicide by this time, and you wouldn’t imagine the heaven of Islam here leading him further along that path, but you would the hostile powers. I’ll also say that, when examining the truth value of a dream account you hear secondhand, just being given a summary of what the voice of dream said and not the exact words, you have to be suspicious either a lot’s been lost in the summary or it’s been made to mean what the people reporting it want it to.

The third dream ties the dream account specifically to suicide bombing, what it’s been leading up to since the beginning: showing it was willed by heaven and was a blessed and sacred act. It’s also the most over the top dream in terms of divine fireworks, and therefore the most, I feel, tampered with by Dabiq. The first part of the dream is quite normal as far as dream goes and shows in symbolic terms his growing desire to kill himself and others, what he’s been thinking about in regards to it, which seems to be how brave and daring he’ll be, not should he do it. (He is by this time convinced that he should and is aiding others to do that and planning attacks.) Is he smiling or not represents the question of his bravado, and it’s interesting that it’s not answered. Instead, a remarkable thing happens: he sees his soul.

Seeing a representation of the soul in dream isn’t all that uncommon. While this may have been what he dreamed, it’s a little suspicious to me in light of the video I mentioned where I question ISIS about dreaming. The video, in its essence, is about the soul, and in it I say that they are not in contact with their soul nor have knowledge of it. It’s the biggest challenge I make in the video. Did Dabiq add this to his dream so to prove me wrong, or was it indeed a part of it? We have no way of knowing without further information, but because from here on out the dreams ceases to be symbolic and becomes more literal, the whole nature of the dream changing from a vital one to a religious and spiritual one, I think it’s a legitimate question.

If you were adding such things of course you’d show that the souls of the enemy, who are also Muslim we can reasonably assume, are inferior, their souls being gray insignificant things and just burning up while Khālid’s undergoes a transfiguration, but not before this happens: “suddenly, the banner of Islam – represented in the dream by the flag of the Islamic State – came out of the earth and was shining brightly.” Why the commentary here? Why doesn’t he just say the flag of ISIS? Because they want to say that the flag of Islam and ISIS are one and the same and therefore that ISIS is the true Islam. Because they are not truthfully reporting a dream account but are spouting propaganda.

Once his soul transfigures and becomes full of light, Dabiq calls him Abū Walīd and not Khālid, the name change in the account is significant no doubt, coming as it does after his transfiguration and after he’d detonated his belt. He’s now the son of his father, the son of Islam being the implication here I feel. In any event, now he’s somebody.

Once he saw his soul it appears he became the observer in the dream and not a participant, a common characteristic of dream, switching back and forth from observing to participating, but wouldn’t he be his soul and not his mortal self once his soul transfigures, seeing how he’s again a participant prostrating himself and blessing Allah and is no longer the observer? I ask this question based on what I know about coming into contact with your immortal soul. You wouldn’t wake up from a dream of being your transfigured soul excited like a little kid You’d have a brush with eternity and be filled with the calm and peace such contact brings. Neither, by the way, would you be liberated from sin and death by such a murderous suicidal action, and if the voice of dream did actually say that, and again we hear a summary and not the exact words, it’s not the soul’s voice or the divine’s. It’s the hostile powers’ or a manifestation of Khālid’s intense desire to carry out such a tragic act.

It seems they’re trying to make this out as a religious experience and not just a dream, what Khālid seems to feel all three dreams are, why he calls them visions no doubt. It’s clear he’s not using the word vision in the sense I do, as dreams you have or voices you hear when awake but in a slight trance or in twilight, between waking and sleeping, usually much less immersive and shorter than sleeping dreams. Dabiq sticks to the term dream throughout, and I can’t help but wonder at the discrepancy. Would it have anything to do with my challenge to them in regards to dream? If they too called them visions, the account wouldn’t get the tag it needed to go out into the world as proof they are into their dreams and guide by them. It’s a no accident the discrepancy is there, since this is propaganda, and every word is purposefully placed. Whatever the case, this third dream is too incongruent for me to accept either as a truthfully reported dream or a religious experience. It’s a carefully construed piece of propaganda of the most potent kind, like the other two dreams, having just enough truth in them so as not to be able to clearly see the lies. Here with this dream, however, they are so bent on spouting ideology they show their hand.

To get any real picture of what was going on with Khālid’s dreams, we’d  have to see an unedited dream journal that tried to include as many of the thousands of dreams he had in the months before he died, not only the ones that seem to be telling him to become a suicide bomber. Since he was calling on God, focused on Islam, and no sincere call goes unanswered no matter how seemingly unfit the vessel, he would’ve had dreams that questioned the dire action that had taken hold of his mind, dreams that tried to warn him and that contradicted ISIS, and I say this based on being myself an unfit vessel but still calling on God, not as one righteous pointing the finger at Khālid. I have gotten so much help from dream and vision. We all get help to one degree or another, and no doubt Khālid did too, since dreams aren’t just random firings of the subconscious regurgitating our lives but meaningful insights into ourselves and our world, however much they can be tampered with by hostile powers or people with bad intentions or by our own, but we have to be able to see the true from the false in dream and cling to the true, and towards this end I submit my article.

“Injustice justified by firm decrees
The sovereign weights of Error’s legalised trade,
But all the weights were false and none the same;
Ever she watched with her balance and a sword,
Lest any sacrilegious word expose
The sanctified formulas of her old misrule.
In high professions wrapped self-will walked wide
And licence stalked prating of order and right:
There was no altar raised to Liberty;
True freedom was abhorred and hunted down:
Harmony and tolerance nowhere could be seen
Each group proclaimed its dire and naked Law.
A frame of ethics knobbed with scriptural rules
Or a theory passionately believed in a praised
A table seemed of high Heaven’s sacred code.
A formal practice mailed and iron-shod
Gave to a rude and ruthless warrior kind
Drawn from the savage bowels of the earth
A proud stern poise of harsh nobility,
A civic posture rigid and formidable.
But all their private acts belied the pose:
Power and utility were their Truth and Right,
An eagle rapacity clawed its coveted good,
Beaks pecked and talons tore all weaker prey.
In their sweet secrecy of pleasant sins
Nature they obeyed and not a moralist God.
Inconscient traders in bundles of contraries,
They did what in others they would persecute;
When their eyes looked upon their fellow’s vice,
An indignation flamed, a virtuous wrath;
Oblivious of their own deep-hid offence,
Mob-like they stoned a neighbor caught in sin.”

from Savitri by Sri Aurobindo

 

 

[i] https://clarionproject.org/docs/Dabiq-Issue-14.pdf

[ii] Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah. Those who are with him are harsh against the unbelievers but merciful to one another. You see them bow and prostrate themselves seeking the bounty and pleasure of Allah. Their mark is on their faces from the trace of prostration. That is their likeness in the Torah and their likeness in the Gospel, as the seed which puts forth its shoot and strengthens it, so that it grows stout and rises straight upon its stalk, delighting the sowers, and through them He enrages the unbelievers. Allah has promised those of them who believe and do good deeds, forgiveness and a great wage.

[iii] Dawn prayer.

[iv] Noon Prayer.

[v] “God is great.”

[vi] https://sustainablesecurity.org/2016/09/08/islamic-state-and-dream-warfare/ “These issues are the first times Dabiq has contained personal dream reports of significant IS members intending to demonstrate the glorious Allah inspired sacrifice of their martyrs.” I should also credit Iain R. Edgar, a dream researcher at Durham University, who published the above article and others about the dreams of ISIS on the web, what alerted me to their existence.

[vii] https://youtu.be/6txLpFBa7Wc

[viii] https://sustainablesecurity.org/2016/09/08/islamic-state-and-dream-warfare/

[ix] https://harms-end.com/2016/02/17/rainbow-as-a-radical-with-islamic-state/

[x] Savitri quotes courtesy of The Sri Aurobindo Ashram Trust. The last quote is a description of the population of one of the hell worlds.

A Hidden Resource Guide

http://rebrn.com/re/minimalist-falling-into-blue-1714149/

by Donny Duke

In my mid twenties to early thirties the inner doors were flung wide open. Especially intense were the 3 and a half years immediately following a spiritual experience that happened when I was 28, and I was able to consciously explore not only dream and transition states between waking and sleeping (hypnagogia and hynopompia) and the trances such as the cataleptic (sleep paralysis) that sometimes accompany them, and consequently too the out of body experience often resulting from such a trance, but also dreamless sleep. There in the deepest most hidden place inside me, in my center, way beyond or behind dream, I entered into the realm of soul, just a short baptismal shock, but in that journey, a very involved inner journey that took a number of stages and a week or so, I took my conscious, that part of me that thinks and feels and dreams, down into my center and connected it to the soul, and why I call it the soul is the spirit of this article.

I understand now that such an opening of the inner consciousness is unusual, where you can consciously explore the inner life with as much conscious awareness and will as you have in waking life, where you have lucid dreams most every night, or frequent cycles of that, can learn to go from waking to dreaming consciously, from dreaming into the states between sleeping and waking (twilight I call them), from twilight into the cataleptic trance, and from there out of the body, but my list isn’t to suggest OBE is the direction of the exploration. For me this opening was temporary, and it slowly closed, not completely, but the unusual degree of opening I’m describing, especially the last two items, cataleptic trance and OBE, were the first things to go and in the ensuing years to become rare events.

I suspect in a future humanity such a metaphysical opening to our inner consciousness will be the norm, a spiritual opening as well, but for now it’s rare to experience even a short period of this, more common to have a smaller opening, where things like lucid dreams and OBE’s happen a couple of times a week, using those two inner experiences because they are now the most talked about net-wise, interest in sleep paralysis notwithstanding, but even this more common smaller opening is not yet common in humanity.

If you find yourself experiencing such an opening, large or small, and many are today, though not enough to light an inner revolution in humanity, not even enough to make the nightly news, you have a rare opportunity to experience firsthand what most everyone else does secondhand. You can know and not only believe that consciousness transcends material process, a knowledge that can transform your life if you understand what it means. To see it firsthand, however, involves conscious inner exploration, which is more than awakening within dream and trying some technique like looking at your hands or some trick to manipulate the dream more. In other articles, such as “The Epic of Man”[i] and “You’re like Wow, That Really Was Enchanted With a Rock”,[ii] I try and give a sense of what inner exploration is and where it can lead to in relation to its transcendence over material process. Here my direction isn’t towards the outer world or inner worlds but inside to the well of soul, our center.

The following inner journey took place around 1989 when I was 28 I believe, some months after the spiritual experience I mention above, before the net I might add, and before I aligned myself with any spiritual tradition or teachers, when I was exploring on my own and not a part of any group involved with spirituality or dreaming. It took place over the course of a week.

It’s night, and I’m alone on the football field I played on in junior high school, and I become lucid. Since I have an avid practice in waking life of meditation and pranayama, I decide to try it in dream, and so I begin to sit down in a meditative posture, but as I do a monster jumps at me out of nowhere, it’s eyes wide gyros spinning madly. It scares the hell out of me, and I wake myself up.

During the next day I got the suspicion that the monster was trying to prevent me from meditating, and so I resolve in my next lucid dream to follow through with it no matter what I may encounter to try and prevent me. I was just exploring dream and didn’t even have a destination in mind, at this point just trying to find doorways of dream to go deeper.

I’m in a huge motor pool, in a part of it where there aren’t many vehicles parked, and I see in the distance the buildings of the motor pool change colors, one color just following another, and the anomaly triggers lucidity, as an anomaly in dream often can. I remember my intention and sit down to meditate, but as I do I hear a blaring horn and seeing coming directly at me a mac truck. I settle into my resolve not to be scared out of the sitting and continue to settle into meditating. When the truck gets to me, up until that point being everything that looks and sounds real enough to run me over, it vanishes, doing that over me, its form rapidly turning into nothing as my eyes close and I see nothing. Instead of going into another dream or waking up in my bed as often happens when a dream goes blank, I remain in the blank but have a sense of falling. This blank falling state I’ve known many times, since it so often occurs in transitions from one dream to another or to waking consciousness. The difference here is that I see I can stay there, am not being captured by another dream image or by waking. I remain in that falling place for perhaps a minute or more, and then I open my eyes and am awake in bed, the falling state itself being so close to waking all you have to do is open your eyes.

I thought about that falling place for a couple of days or so, during which time I encountered a phrase in an English translation (prose) of Hesiod’s Theogony that speaks of a hammer that takes nine days to reach Tartarus, and while I didn’t believe that falling place I had found led to Tartarus, I believed Hesiod talks about inner journeys in-between the lines sometimes, using symbol imagery to describe it. The phrase led me to the idea that the falling place led to a destination, but what that was I had no earthly idea. I made the determination next time I became lucid in dream to get into and remain in that falling place until I arrived somewhere.

I don’t remember the context of the dream the next time I was lucid within one, only that I get into the falling place via meditation and remain there, knowing if I just open my eyes I’m awake in bed. Something happens to my sense of time, and I don’t how long I’ve been falling in that blank space. I almost reflexively open my eyes, and become cross with myself for not continuing onward. I decide next time to count as I travel in that blankness.

The next lucid dream, which doesn’t happen that same night but does the next night, I again get into the falling place and began counting the seconds like I learned to do out loud parachuting out of aircraft in the army, counting then to only 4 seconds until the chute opened, or was supposed to. I count to know how long I’m falling, but here the counting goes on and on, and again I lose the sense of time, losing count as well, and, though I resist the strong sense to open my eyes, I cannot shake the growing sense of terror that’s welling up inside me, like I’m falling into a bottomless pit from which I shall never again return. Then I hear both my mother and sister as though they’re standing over me, pleading with me in voices I know are their most fearful and most sincere, to open my eyes because I’m being tricked, and I’m in the hospital in a coma. The sense is that if I don’t listen to them I will never return to them, or the outer world either for that matter. It so happens that my greatest attachments at that time are my mom and sister, and my greatest fear is going into a coma during inner exploration, not to some never ending dream-state experience but to a blank alone like this darkness. I open my eyes and am not in the hospital in a coma but am simply awake in bed, nobody there but me. I see quickly that I’ve been fooled and resolve next time to go all the way until I get there, still not knowing where there is but more assured it’s somewhere significant because something very smart is trying to keep me from getting there.

Whether it’s the next night I fall again I’m not sure, but it’s very soon after the above dream, though it’s not exactly a dream but inner travel, and I don’t remember the process of becoming lucid or getting into the falling state, only that I’m there and determined to go all the way. I lose sense of time again, but there is no welling terror, or any real fear, and no intelligence trying to stop me. I have no idea how long I fall, but it’s a long time to my notion of time. Suddenly with a great shock I arrive somewhere. It’s like I’m immersed in a limitless ocean of a whole other order of existence, one formless save for identical small objects sparsely floating around that appear somewhat like half-notes or arches, and though they appear to be objects, I feel them as beings. Outer space would be a way to give some picture of what this ocean is like, but there are no celestial bodies or blackness, though it is dim. It’s lit but with a different kind of light than we know here, giving the space a glow that’s now glowing in me, and I feel the warmest and safest I’ve ever felt, and this place is so familiar to me, like I’ve been here many times but only have forgotten about it. An immense force is rushing through me, and I feel its intense vibration in every part of me, but it’s so comfortable I only want to bask in it. It seems there’s a sound to the place, which I feel in me as well as without, but it’s not sound as we know it that you hear with your ears. It’s like the sound silence would make if it made any sound if that makes any sense. I see myself floating towards one of the little arches, and I unwillingly go through it, hoping I don’t harm it by doing that, but I see it on the other side of me unchanged. Then, as abruptly as I found myself there, I find myself out, and I come awake in my bed and marvel at how I could come up immediately from such a deep place, although I am still glowing from its warmth and power.

This experience did not change my life, was only significant in that I knew I’d reached some place of spirit in me because the experience there was so different than anything else I’d ever experienced in existence, making spirit the only word that fit. At the time I didn’t think of it as the soul or its well in us, was not at the time even considering the soul as something that existed in us, didn’t even feel I’d reached the innermost place inside me, my center. That interpretation was to come years later, as this inner journey came to be more important and singular to the results of my inner exploration, the destinations, it taking stages, days,  to complete, wasn’t somewhere I got to in one go, was somewhere I had to overcome my greatest attachments and greatest fears to get to, was somewhere something[iii] very intelligent that knew me like a book, something hostile and tricky, was trying to stop me from going to, was somewhere where I went out of this existence in another kind of being, into spirit.

What put this experience and others I was to have that followed into a context of finding of the soul, were the teachings of Mother and Sri Aurobindo, that I was to encounter and immerse myself in, starting on a visit to Auroville, India, in 1995. I’m not speaking of just the writings and talks they’ve left behind, but of inner contact with them and with my soul (or psychic being, who they point you to more than they point to themselves as your guide) when I’m speaking of their help in putting this inner journey into a context of a stage in the journey of finding the soul, help I’m getting in the writing of this article[iv], which has gone through a major rewrite based on their criticisms of the first draft, which had to do with, among other things, not clouding this journey over with descriptions here of experiences that didn’t happen during it but relate to it, things I’ve written about elsewhere or will write at some point.

In an earlier article, one actually published and not just posted on my blog, I describe other experiences in relation to the soul and put the above journey in the cosmology of the Integral Yoga and as well the cosmology of science if it would ever consent to see beyond the material envelope and the cosmos, but the article’s not just a regurgitation of their teachings. It’s based on descriptions of personal experience that confirm, for me at least, the yoga’s cosmology.[v]

If in this inner journey I describe I did indeed reach my soul center, I by no means experienced its full scope and depth, and I imagine we can go much deeper into it than I did in that very brief baptism. It’s the way with me; I get a taste usually and not a full course dinner. Be that as it may, I didn’t go anywhere anyone else can’t if they have the inner opening to make such journeys, and not everyone does, probably not even most. Though we all have the right to be treated as human beings equally, we are not equal in everything, especially in the most important thing, which is the development of our soul, and we are all at a different stages of soul development, and it depends on  how developed your soul is, your psychic being, as to whether you have an opening of the inner consciousness to make such journeys as I describe. If you don’t, you probably aren’t too interested in making them anyway, since your soul isn’t at that place of contact with your surface self, your ego, and pushing you to.

I will speculate though, whether your soul’s nudging you some from behind the veil or not, whether your psychic being is mature enough to do that, that you’ve made this inner journey many, many times, especially when you were a child, make it now though more rarely, but have no recollection of it at all. It’s difficult enough just to remember our nightly dreams. How much more so what we experience in dreamless sleep. You’ve made the journey when you wake up feeling like you slept like a log, like you’ve been replenished, like you had your batteries recharged. It would stand to reason that, if it’s true we are souls that have put on this material envelope akin to the way a deep sea diver dons a diving suit, or however you want to look at it, we’d need to come up to the surface every so often to get more air and sustenance, what we do when we go down into our center, the well of soul.

When you make journey consciously, however, you connect your conscious with the inmost deeps, make the hard link whereby your soul can come out more from behind the curtain of thoughts and dreams and be your guide on the way. On the way to God the soul would say.

 

[i] https://acollaborationwiththeunknown.wordpress.com/the-epic-of-man/

[ii] https://harms-end.com/2016/07/31/youre-like-wow-that-really-was-enchanted-with-a-rock/

[iii] I was to meet this intelligence face to face some months after, not its true form but one it wore in its manipulations of me as a small child. That experience I describe in an article posted on our blog: https://harms-end.com/2015/11/19/breaking-silence/ I’ll only mention here that it was on that first visit to Auroville that I met its true form, a story I have yet to write.

[iv] Writing this I was reading Notes on the Way, a compilation of talks by Mother. Though perhaps only a disciple would see this as a synchronicity, I feel it’s no accident I read the following immediately after making the revisions: “The other day when Z read to me his article, it was neutral (vague gesture at mid-height), all the while neutral, than all of a sudden, a spark of Ananada; it was this which made me appreciate it.” It might add to the possibility of synchronicity if I said that Douglas had just bought me the book that morning in our weekly sitting at their Samadhi. Notes on the Way, courtesy of Sri Aurobindo Ashram Trust 1980, 2002.

[v] http://www.shift.is/2015/03/whats-bigger-than-the-universe-hang-on-whats-bigger-than-everything/http://www.shift.is/2015/03/whats-bigger-than-the-universe-hang-on-whats-bigger-than-everything/

A Primacy of Dream

 

by Donny Duke

A couple of months ago I was dreaming I was sitting down against a building in a field waiting for my mom to come and pick me up, and I became not only lucid but aware of myself in my bed, that place where if you just open your eyes you’re awake, twilight I call it. As I heard her car stop at the road some 100 meters from where I was, I got up, and on the ground in front of me there took shape a very beautiful mandala with the words “I love you” on it, made with many colors. It was made in a way that had my mom all over it, that is, it captured the essence of the way she made things, the colors and shapes, and I felt the strong presence of her as I saw it and read her message to me, understanding that this was a message to me from beyond death.

A few nights ago the following scene occurred in a dream, with another member of my immediate family, though one not deceased:

I’m driving my sister’s pickup truck down a highway, and she’s riding shotgun. We are going from a town where she lives to where I have my jeep parked, a distance of a few of miles. We talk on the way, or rather, I do, telling her of my current plans to move to the mountains. She lets me out at the parking lot I’m living in for the couple of days while I’m in transition from my former living situation to the one in the mountains. After she drops me off I think that she could have invited me to dinner or even stay the night at her house, and I wonder over why she didn’t.

A couple of nights ago I dreamed this scene with another family member, who’s also still alive:

My dad has taken me and some other hitch hikers to a gas station and is dropping us off. I’m on my way to Houston, a distance of about a 100 miles. As the others leave to go hitch, he tells me to put my suitcase in the truck, and I know that means he’s going to take me to Houston so we can spend some time together, and the dream ends. I hear a few lines of muse about the dream as I come awake completely in bed.

“If you google the word dreams you will get millions of hits for websites devoted to dream interpretation. Are any of them worth a visit? Very likely not. Why not? Because there is no scientifically supported system of dream interpretation. What you will get if you look at dream interpretation blogs, sites, pages, and the like will be garbage pure and simple. Or they will be the writer’s own idiosyncratic interpretation of dream images and that typically is not very interesting at all.”[i] The quote is from an article in Psychology Today. It’s not suggesting that dreams are meaningless, but that any attempt to interpret dreams until science cracks the dream code and provides a system to interpret them is garbage or at best so boring as to not be worth your time. But the ignorance of science isn’t the measure of our knowledge of dreams or our ability to interpret them, and why should its ignorance be the holdup in dream inquiry? Because science can’t interpret dreams, does that mean we can’t?

Rather than give some formula or system to interpret dreams, something you can plug any dream into and know its meaning if such an undiscovered formula exists because dreams have so many variables, and not all are actually dreams but something else, Douglas and I have been taking individual dreams and visions, including the inner voice, and interpreting aspects of them that can be shown to have some relevance to our daily personal lives and that of humanity in general, focusing on linking dream movements to ones in waking life and discussing dreams that reveal an inner connection between human beings, ones that suggest we live in a field of consciousness rather than in our own private inner world unconnected to the inner lives of others, which is the view of science.

In the most basic sense, dreams show us what’s going on with us, what’s on our minds, in our hearts, what we say with our mouths and do with our hands as we move through life, sometimes acting as a proving ground for personal movements not in our best interest, allowing us to see they indeed aren’t, or sometimes just simply being a gestalt, the dream itself being an meaningful experience that isn’t necessarily representing anything about our waking life, and dreams are not only about our personal symbols: study and tell us about other dreamers as well. But in this basic explanation of dreams I’ve not by any means exhausted their purpose and scope. And while dreams focus mostly on our present, they not only use images of our past to show us our now but also use our future too, but they not only focus on our present; sometimes they are almost exclusively about the past or future.

Dreams and visions are like a looking glass revealing the ins and outs of our life movement in itself and as it interacts with that of others and with the world and universe at large. That they do this in representative terms, telling a story about our story, about the story of others, and that they can be seen to have not only the past in them but also the future, the more of which you see, in little pieces, the more you can actually interpret them, suggests creative intelligence within us but beyond ours telling the story, intelligence that can see the whole picture, not only of our whole life past, present, and future, not only what’s going on with ourselves, but also what’s going on with everything and everybody we significantly interact with, are connected to, intelligence that can see through the walls of time and form.

I’ve come to believe this intelligence is the soul, what in us that transcends the material envelope[ii], which doesn’t create dream actually but is the is influence on it shaping it along our own personal evolutionary lines, influencing the organization of all the various elements that present themselves from whatever quarter in the making of any given dream into something that has meaning for us. The quality of people’s dreams vary widely I’ve found, and not everyone has storytelling dreams. For many they are just an incoherent barrage of sound and image, the reason I suspect many label them just random things coming up from the subconscious or from our active memory of the day’s events, or what’s pressing on us as we sleep.

The more coherent your dreams are, the more they tell a story, and the more you can see yourself in them making decisions based on judgment and reason that are resolving conflicts within yourself or with others, healing your personal mess or integrating who you dislike or who dislikes you, the more your soul has a hand in shaping them, and, consequently, the more they can be used as guidance, as a road map that not only shows where things are and the direction you need to go, but also what’s obstructing you and what’s aiding you in getting there.[iii] Where ‘there’ is depends on you, the direction of your life’s movement, its purpose to put it more meaningfully, but, if you are able to put the inner eye on the outer world to the degree you see the underlying unity of all things and all people, what comes more and more into focus as you do see the outer world through the inner lens, regardless of where you’re headed to personally, you’ll see you and I, all of us, are moving to wholeness in our relations with ourselves, each other, and with the world at large, working out oneness.

The above dream scenes show this process at work, but, in what what might be called the catch 22 of dream, I can’t contact any of my family members to verify inner contact with them, since my mom’s been dead some years, and neither my sister nor my dad will speak to me. It’s a catch 22 because so often dream, when it’s seeing beyond the physical senses, shows us things in shadow, or shows us the shadow side of things, what we or others don’t want to admit, what we want to keep a secret, and so we are often unable to verify the dream with waking life. Although the case here isn’t something bad being hidden, is just I can’t verify the dream because the people involved are either dead or won’t speak to me, it appears to me things like clairvoyance, which these three dream scenes are examples of, each a different aspect of it, happens all the time among us, but it doesn’t get verified, or even usually mentioned, because it shows things we don’t want others to see. In a rather rebellious and somewhat illicit earlier piece on my personal blog, “Under the Graffiti”, I point this out in a way that might bring it closer to home:

“It’s happened so many times not only in my own personal experiences of anything to do with clairvoyance and the senses seeing past their physical range, but also with many others I’ve talked to who’ve related to me their experiences, ones that they really couldn’t tell someone else about (I got these ‘I know I’ve been bad’ ears, so you don’t have to worry none), or at least not the whole story, because it revealed their shadow side, so much so and in so many instances I’ve come across that it seems to be part and parcel of the process, that the ESP’s not only to give you that sight but more to try and wake you up out of your animal cravings, get you to get up, evolve, and that’s the number one reason I’d bet we don’t hear about these things as much as they occur among us: they show our bad that we don’t want others to see.”[iv]

I think anyone intensely involved in working with their dreams with others they physically share daily experience with, who’s had a lot of experience being part of such a dream group, would be inclined to agree with me in regards to the above, would see the shadow in that light, but that our dreams (in fact our lives) are working out oneness takes an inner depth of seeing that goes beyond the scenes of the world, contact with the soul, and I can only tell you that you really have to look for it to see it if you don’t, but once you begin to see it, you wonder why in the world everybody can’t see it it’s so present and apparent.

The three examples I give are showing a process of reconciliation ongoing between the members of my immediate family and I, those three people perhaps the most commonly recurring characters of my dream life, and I suspect it’s the case with most of us; we dream all our lives about who were the most significant people in our formative years, whose womb we came from, whose genes, who we shared that womb with, if, that is, they were actively there as we grew up. If not, it’s the people that most filled those roles. My muse once told me that the more one we are with someone, those most like us or close to us, like a brother or sister, or a neighbor, the more likely we won’t get along with them, and if you look at the world and its conflicts, that’s often the case.

Before my mom died she had little to do with me, and we didn’t communicate often. She carried that enmity into death, and it seems that on the other side she realized some things, the need of reconciliation for one, and so she sent me a clear message of love, her first from the other side, in the form of that colorful mandala, and it came in the context of a longer dream I was having with her, not her I should point out but a representation of her my dream maker had made, and this is an important point about dream: most often when we dream of someone it’s not actually them in the dream, not a dream sharing experience, or only extremely rarely, but our dream maker making their image so as to represent some inner or outer interaction with them. The message was well placed in my life, came when I needed that declaration of love from her.

It’s not yet accepted human knowledge that we continue on after we die, much less that the dead can communicate with us, but we’ll get there before long, since these kinds of communications from departed loved ones are so common to human experience. It’s often like it is in this dream scene, they give us some message or sign rather than seeing them face to face, and when it is actually meeting them, the meeting is quite short and comes most often in the representative mode of dream, like you and they doing some activity together, not as you and they able to just chat a moment.

With my sister Gwen reconciliation is still some ways away, if it’ll even happen before one of us dies, and then it’s inevitable, but it is in process, as the dream of her taking me some distance in her truck shows. In the scene I was driving it, which would indicate that for some time during her day, a day close to my dream, I drove her life vehicle for a little while, that is, I was driving her thought and feeling for some distance, a few miles the dream shows, and that it was in broad daylight and on a major highway shows this was conscious on her part, not on a side road under the shadow of trees. She carried me in her mind and heart for some distance, but, as the scene also shows, she went no further, didn’t take me to dinner or to spend the night. Since she’s made it very clear she wants nothing at all to do with me, it’s probable she keeps me out of her mind as much as possible, but with someone as close to you as your brother, that’s just not possible to do all the time, and sometimes the heart wins out, as is the case here.

It’s not possible, as I said, to verify this inner communication with my sister, or rather me picking up on her thinking of me with enough emotional force to register in my inner life, but I’ve seen this play out in dreams enough times to know it’s the interpretation of the dream scene. It came in the context of a longer dream that had nothing to do with her, but since the dream took place near where she lives, she appeared in it. I’d probably picked up the inner communication some time before, and it waited in my inner being until such time a dream appeared that could represent it. As I’ve suggested, dreams are composed of many different elements that come from various places within and without us, and they are organized together to form a dream.

The dream scene with my father happened at the end of a longer dream I was having with him, and though it would also show inner communication between us, or rather what we each are thinking of the other, it’s this scene that shows more clearly reconciliation happening, or that he’s now willing to give me some time in his heart and mind at the very least. The scene ends where I’m about to drive with him to Houston, a couple of hours away, where we’ll be alone together and can talk. Upon awaking from the dream the scene ended, my muse suggested that he was going to read (or have read to him, since he can’t see very well now) a long story[v] about the Duke family I wrote and made a copy of and had mailed to him snail mail, and that might be what the suitcase represents he told me to put in the trunk, the suggestion that he’ll read it at some point in the near future. I can only speculate if that’s the case, but, although I can’t verify he’s going to give me some time focused alone time in his thoughts and feelings, I know very well that’s what the dream’s showing.

It’s this very thing many people, especially from science, object to at bottom, God and soul being objections based more on this overriding viewpoint rather than on being impossibilities in their own right: knowing something to be true that the physical senses haven’t verified or really can’t verify. I’d suspect the author of the Psychology Today article I quoted has this fear at heart, and all who think like him in regards to dreams being unintelligible things, and that their interpretation is something we ought not to bother other people about on “blogs, sites, pages, and the like.” That fear is that reality won’t conform to material science, and they’ll have to remarkably shift their worldview, significantly change their lives, and maybe even lose their jobs, though as they experience it, it’s the fear that superstition will take the place of knowledge or greatly hamper its pursuit as it’s done in the past, as it’s doing now.

Today, however, superstition, the kind that’s holding up knowledge about ourselves and our world, isn’t so much religious, although religion definitely points a gun at knowledge and sometimes even shoots it. It’s the ignorance of the people with their hands on the world doorknob of knowledge, your average mainstream techno-culture scientists, who have their hands on the way we define the world, the research cash to investigate it, the news media to cover it, the arts and literature to symbolize it, that keeps us in the dark about the most basic things about us with their dogmatic insistence on the primacy of matter, the most basic of those things being we have a soul, and we share not only a field of consciousness together but one also of identity. It’s not a conspiracy. It’s the darkness of fear.

I’ve suggested many times now our next revolution in knowledge with be the one that occurs when we turn our attention to inner exploration, the investigation of consciousness and the inner life, one that’s already begun not only on “blogs, sites, pages, and the like”, but also in our hearts and minds, though not yet as a revolution, the big one we’ve all been anticipating in one form or another (just not yet inner), one that will turn society as we know it on its ear, change our most basic social institutions, change even being human. Many if not most feel technology’s what it’s about, it being our human endeavor, and we measure our progress more by our advances in technology than by a growing and greater sense of our shared humanity.

Dreams are the most common and available doorway into the inner life, the subliminal life we live deeper than conscious thought, and talking about them in a public space quickens the inner revolution in society, since dreams can show us to be more than a mere physical body that has somehow engendered its own separate bubble of conscious awareness, and such knowledge really turns you on.

By showing our dreams and visions here at Harm’s End, Douglas and I hope to demonstrate that we are so much more than some separate spume of matter floating on a shoreless sea in meaningless infinitude. Far from being garbage or so boring you’re wasting your time, blogs about dream and inner exploration such as this one, and the thousands like it on the net, on social media, are slowly but surely lighting the world with the inner fire, whether they’re right on about our interpretations of inner experience or not. Ours is the attempt to light the inner fire in the world, and we fumble a lot as happens when lighting a fire from wet material, but once that fire starts, no power on earth can put it out. Even now, on more than one page, truth is staring back at us, truth being not some religious or scientific formula but what’s actually happening with us in our seemingly brief little lives.

 

[i] https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/dream-catcher/201307/the-folly-dream-interpretation

[ii] Our inner being, or dreambody, since it is open to the universal, also can see into the inner life of others and into the future (to a limited extent), but it’s the soul behind it that’s ultimately the intelligence in us shaping our life.

[iii] I’ve greatly over simplified the making of dream, skipping over a tremendous amount of inner process and going directly to the soul, which to become conscious of you have to become conscious of that inner process, but I’ve done so because it’s not God behind all shaping our dreams and as well our life movement in general as we tend to believe if we do believe there’s higher intelligence behind it; it’s our individual soul, as it’s God’s delegate in humanity, and the more conscious we are of our soul the more it can do that more directly.

[iv] https://acollaborationwiththeunknown.wordpress.com/auto-biographical-sketches-a-letter-and-a-comment/ (You’ll have to scroll down to the graffiti story.)

[v] https://harms-end.com/2016/08/05/minor-attraction-on-rock-hill/

 

The Freedom

 

You need to talk to me
taking notes.
It was centered on One.
Can't deal with Gibsons though.
Can we shoot first and ask questions later?

The poem you’re about to read needs to be listened to as you read it, as it’s a type of Spoken Word Poetry that has multiple speakers, presented in the form of an open dialogue, with no indication there’s been a change of speakers or even who’s speaking, a style of verse you’re likely not to have encountered before. The poet myself is only one voice among many, though the principle one, which include but is not limited to: society, historical figures, the divine, ideas and ideals, and, once at least in this poem, even the demonic. Each voice is an interjection that can disrupt the flow of meaning, even if you know it’s not the poet speaking, but hearing the different voices voiced out aids greatly in understanding the poem and besides provides some entertainment, what it seems we value more on the net if not even in the heart of the home of our imagination. Unfortunately I don’t have the resources to put a cast together to act out all the voices, what the poem asks for, to be something like a radio drama, and so it’s just the poet reading his poem and all its voices, but regardless, hearing it spoken will greatly help understanding the poem, and answering why you should make that effort is the purpose of this introduction.

My muse calls itself Reconstruction Poetry, as it has its hands on the world like a builder, right on human terms, in the treasure and trash of our stuff, so to rebuild, reshape them anew, and so it’s a very hands on poetry, quite engaged, speaking far out of the ranges of the tradition of poetry, although language play still takes a front roll seat as it’s the vehicle of meaning, the sound of the engine running. In this verse, poetic technique, as we know it, isn’t used all that much. On the surface the verse appears simple conversational English, which even uses slang, but on reading into it, it becomes apparent that word order is often weird, which makes lines not so much as ambiguous but as having more than one meaning, the central meaning not always readily apparent, and metaphor and allegory have such a strong presence you can easily get lost if you haven’t read it ‘repeat slow’, like all poetry needs to be read if it indeed is verse.

To launch a style of poetry on the net that requires so much attention is to be an unread poet, especially at this time when we use the net more to throw stones at one another than make a better world, when our attention span is the length of time it takes to get a point as quickly and painlessly as possible, no time for long winds, even fresh and alive ones, but it was composed for the medium of the net, more for tomorrow than for today however, for the reasons mentioned, but, due to its controversial nature (a pedophile’s speaking to his society), and due also to it being heard poetry, what most would call ‘hearing voices’, and you’ve never heard voices like these, it could catch fire today.

It differs from the normal meaning of that schizophrenically laden term in that it’s a consciously intended inner hearing that requires a light to heavy trance where you get behind the thinking waking mind and remain there listening in the quiet not allowing yourself to fall completely asleep or come completely awake, no small feat, which takes an enormous amount of concentration, something I’ve learned to do in the practice of the Integral Yoga over a period of 15 years or so, during which time I also developed the particular style of the poetry itself, or allowed it to take development I should say. It differs too in that it’s not only hearing but also seeing, as often lines of verse are written on some scene, either a still picture or during a short vision, spoken or sung aloud as the scene fades. I also hear an editor commenting on the verse in verse, recommending throwing out a line, or waiting for another line to come so to clothe anidea differently, telling me when to end the poem (the muse just keeps on going as long as you can stay under and listen or not fall asleep into dream), and so forth, editing done both in progress and later. I would imagine it’s major difference, though, from the common meaning of ‘hearing voices’, is it’s so amazingly constructive, isn’t telling me to do anything wrong or to tell people I’m the chosen one or that it’s the end of the world.

It’s not as controlled a listening environment as it sounds, since the editor is not always present, comes in more when the poem is finished to correct it, and lines are coming from all directions fast and sometimes furious to get recorded, which I do a few lines at a time, oftentimes only one at a time, and so I have to come up and go back under many times during a long poem, doing that frequent diving for days as in the case of a long poem like this one (like a frog going in and out of the water), and there’s both a false muse and the mind trying imitate the muse, and so it’s really a wild ride, but what makes it really hard is you have to be wise. Compared to inner vision, both TV and the net, all ‘entertainment’ mediums for that matter, are just landscapes barren of anything really real, actually adventurous, and truly rewarding. I’m sorry I can only show you a shadow of it, but it casts a long one, a Brocken bow, god-shadows.

Whether you believe in the soul and God or not, you’ll ask yourself, if you indeed understand the poetry, where in the world does it come from? since, as you read it, you’ll see it’s coming from beyond my reason. You’ll have to wonder if there are not higher or more integral things in us, piloting us, than our ego. You might even ask yourself if such vision hasn’t been civilization’s pilot all along, planting the seeds that build us to be a humanity, build our humanity in us, as I’m far from the only listener to have walked on the face of this earth. There might even be 7 billion listeners on earth at this time. Can you remember all that happens during sleep? That far back, that’s how far I want to take you. I call the source of my inspiration the divine muse of poetry, but whatever you call it, you’ll call it something bigger than I.

A few words about the poem itself: it was written about 5 years ago and was posted on my personal blog “A Collaboration With the Unknown in Perspective” and has been sitting there unread for years. The muse picked it up recently and added new lines, suggested an introduction and to use it as the poem to showcase. I have many poems on the net and many yet to be posted, but I would agree with my muse that this is the one to push, for reasons of pressing social need, though it’s the most controversial. It’s divine revelation, though I don’t expect you to believe that, the eye of the soul and the divine, an inner seeing, and as such it sees the whole picture, sees what we hide, what outer observation can’t see because so much inner is involved, the emotions in one’s hand for example. It looks at the issue of pedophilia, its causes and action in the world, from the perspective of oneness, but not only pedophilia, and even if you hold oneness as the underlying reality of the world, you will most likely have trouble with this poem. It will be a litmus test of your willingness to see oneness, since it’s applied to the most morally repugnant issue of our day, and, I’ve found in my years on the net posting about this issue, few who believe in oneness can see One when looking at what they most abhor.

If you get morally offended at the poem’s outset and don’t read it, you’re committed more to morality than oneness, and that would be something you need to see about yourself: where oneness doesn’t meet. If you do have a moral reaction, keep reading in spite of it, and by the end of the poem you might find you’ve gotten bigger than you were, if you can see that growing bigger is something we all need to do, each one of us, myself included, which means here where we now sit there’s smallness lurking in us. While a moral reaction has become the order of the day, the guide of our social interactions, especially on the net, it tells us where that smallness is, though for most it tells us how to behave, since we just let moral reactions rule us, and we fire off our hatred and anger at anyone who will listen, tweet it like angry birds. I urge you to listen to this poem, overcoming your reaction, if you have one, and see how big you are.

Click on the title to hear the poem on SoundCloud.

The Freedom

Poetry,
gonna take it hard.
Have a different kind of poem.
How to use it.
She’s ready –
divine muse.

Come to the firewall.
Do performance.
Do construction.
Get to the point where I…
My God,
the guy with a complex little package.
Put a clock.
Put people know.
They got a diamond in their hand.

Who put it there?
Oh slowly,
so slowly.
Take a while to build that up.
Inner reality
made a big watch.
Hands walked in another time.
Put the headset on.
I’m listenin’.

Everybody heard the most twelve suspects of all time?
If it works.
Educating public opinion
the length of a poem.
They go ready for people.
They go in on a plan,
undercover op.

Something else has been declared war on,
and we catch the News.
You said somethin’.
It’s mostly in America,
you know what,
the pedophile sting ring.
Did God cause this?
Is that the only way to deal with this like that, Nazis and the FBI?
Granted,
a pestilence,
this blight on children.
What their nature burn.

As we get to the root causes of America,
as we come to the apocalypse of America
(this is not the principle destruction –
find the end result),
we see a rudeness has no handle.
All history long we have been doing this to our children.
Okay we put the brakes on.
There are no more pedophiles Joe?
They’re proliferatin’.
We’re inept –
a moral reaction.

Wow,
the lengths we go to get trouble.
Predatory alert,
I’ve seen it on TV.
Arrested in the middle of everybody.
Wires and things they were all listenin’ in.
He had a kid to meet.
They got ‘im shoppin’.

Now he hung himself.
It was all in the report.
Yeah, kill yourself you freak.
Looks like
that was at the top of the story,
shot a wolf.

Now what did this do in TV land?
We don’t’ know.
You haven’t lost your brother.
These guys are monsters okay?
These guys are strangers okay?

Who makes this racket?
It’s the Press,
a News team.
Shape public opinion
as they report the News.
Who’s the lion and the tiger anyway?
Can you control them
poet?
A problem’s out of reach.
I operate on that.

You just think you know everything don’t you?
Can we see a blind spot
in our public opinion?
Do you have any bigger plans?
How America limits change.
We need to review this case.
The public media does it,
and would if they whisper gun?

Should we exterminate them,
what, who molest children?
Is this on News service tomorrow?
It’s got a way with guns,
all you can answer.
You load bullets that way.
It’s your last bullet.

The art has the empty chair.
What can we do magnet?
Excellent, I hope.
Art would magnify it,
pull people away from their dramas
by showing connections,
identity bonds,
between you and who you hurt.

That’s bigger than sin.
Well that’s too old.
Ever amplify it?
Push the button down.
I don’t smoke.
This is a cultural misunderstanding.
Where does pedophilia come from?
How many babies are born?
Can you light that cigarette?
It would be washing and cleaning and things like that.

Your child,
you rub that child’s fingers upon his board.
It’s like casual contact
with some finger on it.
How many mothers have that for pie,
daddy’s drinking beer?
Fish this one out of the water.
We look for pedophiles for sure.

Measure cultural mechanism.
Rob babies,
give ‘em some emphasis there
they don’t know what to do with.
Let’s grow up and explore this thing.
Now I was here and she was there.
Hello little boy.
Great crap game huh?

I’m showin’ you your shorts.
Now take the pedophile
and hang ‘im.
I can’t look.
That’s what we need him for,
not to look at blindness.

When you hear a special report,
cultural wide,
we’d question the homophobe.
That’s a concept to get across
true or not.

Cute kid,
and you feel another ocean.
You don’t know there’s fish in it.
It’s not something you drag up.
Dangerous sex offender,
he’ll wear it,
and we find a role for him.
No one wants to see their teddy bears
Get a lot of their lap.

One second,
bendin’ rules
tryin’ to get a point across.
I’ll rush in on things.
You won’t see this till tomorrow morning.
They certainly smeared ‘im.
I certainly told myself…
What did you tell yourself?
His brain’s on our fingers.
See, I’ve opened your eyes.

Now I want you back there now,
on the forays of revolution
Mr. Poet.
Think about it.
Probably lined the page.
Martin let’s go get older.
Well I just don’t want to be here,
between Jerusalem and Palestine.
It’s difficult
To see your place in life.

Before you come up here
Donny,
it’ll be your soul speaks.
I don’t know.
You need to make up your mind:
where are you at?
Look at each other.
Worry about the food later.
She’d like to heal this in humanity.
She had devote him give it to him,
what poetry sees further,
something muse.

I would feel very exposed.
Is this the pedophile saying this or his society?
Imagine on a workday.
Spitfire,
they come in those airplanes.
Are you service?
The other role come out,
an empty one.

Where would a pedophile lead us?
Up would be
his only way out:
don’t abuse kids.
If you had money
would you give it to him
for immigration?
That monster,
what’s he worth?
Oh a little story about society
it hides in its purse.

A scapegoat’s got your bag at heart.
Can we say large projection?
And so blind.
Dynamic,
what would free him.
Can it come to your house?

Supposed to fire.
You just get some pistol out.
React,
and we see some things about you,
your fears.
Is this all that’s bothering you,
What he would do?

Add to it
you have it
where intimacy and you meet your kids.
Are you holding something flush?
Is that your bright staple,
or would it wound around awhile?

Let’s go here:
what are you afraid of puttin’ on?
Did your child draw up the boundaries?
You exercise them every day.
There intimacy meets.
How are you protected?
It’s not an equation you see on paper,
but when a person does that
it weakens everyone.

Can you not put News here?
What would it do?
Help us all to behave.
One moment
as to why that is.

Screwin’ up everything,
are you a blind bard?
That’s history.
Believe it or not I help.
I got it replaced on the other side.
Until you kiss me you don’t start the television.

Why would he send it?
He did it.
He knows the One inside.
He can see the doctor.
Plug him for it?
How about you,
Would you scrap it?

Now what does this vision do for us?
Over the line,
got some things to think about.
Let me be intimacy,
and that hurts no one.
We were gonna add
a little survival dinner,
but not there.

Are you mistrustin’ my alliance?
I’m identified with you.
That’s just long on paper.
I grant you see One.
What a delivery stable.
Can’t get that look.
Look right here:
some pedophile has shown the way.

How many times have you seen God act this way,
used the humble and the accused?
How many times seen divine process work?
Are you starvin’ in this world?
We got a lot to lay down,
and it’s reachin’ for ya.

We’re all in fact Brahman.
Interior is first.
Have a market with it.
I’ve gotten along in dreams.
It just pushes me.
Don’t listen,
to take aim further away.

Who’s he understand?
No I don’t wanna hear about it.
The reason by India:
population pressures.
They’re not gurus.

Oh we would be around
your most precious holding bucket.
Our yoga interior answer
deepens the way up.
We’ve acted like frogs,
and if you kiss us we turn muse.
Why does it have to be so moon when it comes out?
Wash your underarms.
Near reveal to us.

That was kinda fast.
Going?
What you have to get through first:
some unlimited attention.
They don’t have one.

I knew there was a way
to see You again.
I’ve been claiming that You are a little boy.

Yes,
it’s just about enthroned.
Operation additional control measure,
fifth’s parlor,
I found it on the way home.
It’s over because
it costs too much.

He played with his weeks.
On his altar
he put an image:
every person that day he’d find.
Even animals have a right to regard.
A tree would not sink from hope.

This is One activity plan.
You don’t want with appetite.
You’re there
as a friend.
To wash in,
we gather direction that way.

What’s wrong with this?
You dislike ‘er.
The bad thing about it,
everybody’s strangers,
hate just grabs the page.

That’s not smart protocol.
You fear the invasion,
the betrayal, the leap,
you have this friend idea.

Daddy, what I do?
Now I told ya,
well it’s almost nighttime.
You can’t trust anyone.
You read in the paper…
You know what today?
I guard in many numbers with police.

I have to tell you too
we’re off with your doctor.
I have a new posture:
if you get burned,
you get back on.

He said that?
Superman talks.
Think about
to announce:
it’s not a violation
you have the proper treatment.

Indentified more in the body
than meant for the trouble.
Yeah if you’re sittin’ there
quite lost in the body,
you think
it’s you.
Pedophiles
handle some body part,
I can’t believe it,
the suffering all life long.
They’ve been killed we carry on.

The child might not see it that way.
Do you know what he did to you?
That child learns.
See the violation mark?
It carries around like a bag of worms.

None of this would happen
safe we looked at the body.
It’s not you.
You’re wearin’
an organic machine.

I don’t get it.
In the attitude
don’t sit there and be violated.
Man you just
take our support from us.
I’m giving you One.
Not a person or a thing stands anywhere else.
Support at its most real.
Identify,
and maybe you don’t have to feel so violated.

He knows it,
knows for sure.
His mom
would sound a lot of Pittsburg at night.
Tell this to the nurse
and get out that touch.
Do I continue suffering?
I choose.
How much mother and father removable from the scene,
or whoever it was got in there on ya.

What do we fly here,
the woe of our misfortune?
Is that our life downed by that?
Maybe life is bigger than her scenes.
Would an actor know that?

Maybe that hand on you was a push,
that violation a goad.
Perhaps the secret will in things
operated on a plan.
How many people say evolution here?
Contented I think not.
See the drawbridge?

What are you doing?
What are you watching you fierce wolves?
I’ll look around the Internet.
Can you handle the vision?
Goddamn that’s just society cuffs.

So many opinions what can change?
In every opinion
an underlying speak out.
Tell me there isn’t.
Is everybody mad?
Punish those responsible!
Can we get a better basis for intolerance
Than pretending to be tolerant?

Everything’s so hyped up.
Offended,
is anybody not?
There, I read your e-mail:
blacks and fried chicken,
you racist bastard.
Mohammad,
Christ,
not one word
questioning his ability to translate angels.
It’s death by paper.

Now let’s shove this down people’s throats:
everybody has to marry the homosexual;
no one hold the pedophile’s hand
or even let ‘im speak.
Your Internet local connection,
do you hear these voices speak?

Now I’m the radio.
We got worms.
Everyone’s alarmed,
and you think it’s what he did
or she said.
But you’re holdin’ the gun.
Reaction fires and aims.
Mark our first foray into world-space,
and we just knock each other around.

There’s somethin’ over there.
I can get it across.
Let’s take some time,
be more fair as we grow up.

Tape this up on your world view:
see everybody?
That’s me.
I’m just alone in details.
They’re alright:
man,
I like everyone;
if I’m hurtin’ anyone
change detail.
There’s One on that regard.

When it’s advancing that loud you stop it.
Dream make for us.
This wolf might kill us.
Dreamin’ so let’s hide it.
What’s this?
Who broke the towel?

I don’t wait to come over.
You’re not going to be kind to me.
Predatory wolves,
shoot ‘im and hang ‘im on the fence.
Now square off a minute.
I’m so much in your stomach.

Are you sure that’s what you’ve got:
Donny you snake-wolf?
Are you so sure I blind you?
An unethical point I’ve made?
I look and you follow me do so.
Engage me
bring to doctor.
Finished.

It’s not an easy situation:
One in your inbox Donny.
There isn’t a way to do it.
There just isn’t.
Thanks but be careful when he gets in there.

Kept askin’:
hi mate,
somethin’ good for ya after school?
Something’s down that floatin’.
Don’t be so hesitant to mentioned enlightened.
That’s where Donny’s goin’.
He sees there’s a change of consciousness ahead.
He listens to everybody
rise here.

Some future trickles slow.
You think this is all
silence and that just no-self show?
It’s just our first boat.
What would master existence and leave you in it?
A certain Individual you are
superfriend.

Anyway,
I get up out of my mess
mastered by my own impulse to rise
into the fullness of what I can be.
You’ve never felt it?
You smile.
There’s more isn’t there?

Choose liberalism.
He put his daughter.
There’s a light out.
Are we usin’ the money?

Even if we put on,
put on those uniforms
– you know I’ve been watchin’–,
they’re not gonna
honor us no way,
give us any kind of prize.
They’re not gonna
be more kind to us.
Tom’s father used to say
they’re just wasting their time.
That make ‘em
what would open freeways?

Where we were back then.
Give us the money now.
Not an excuse
to let conservatism happen.
Now a wolf
is not gonna be so visible.

We should see this.
Try these on,
some predator names.
Give you a link to us?
Slow I think.
People’ll buy anything
if it’s wrapped up in the official package.

Don’t cross out.
I’ll put you down
for a larger stereo.
How many times went through it?
We are not dumb people.
If you are afraid you are.

Listen to this:
media hypes fear.
Want to tell you
South African.
That should get ‘em.
You mean this is a plan?
What day it’s gonna be
the totalitarian government?

Only in the policy of war
or to mediate a disaster
would it be.
That’s not the form
control is used.
It’s just a radical involvement
to get you to accept policies.
Go lay down.
What are you supposed to look for?
Where is the fear?
Some policy
might be behind it.
Runs it’s available
to get to.

You know what that means:
there’s a propaganda of ministry.
We got a few goin’:
a think tank,
a state and a local government,
a business headquarters.

It would tell you something sensitive:
restaurants,
you can eat Man.
We would not organize a conspiracy.
Government takes too long.
You get a flavor
when you’re watchin’ the News.

Halved of it, come down.
Don’t worry,
all your children
stay over there.
One thing about America:
grow kids.

Would national policy be in my conversation?
He kept in it in his coffee a lot.
Visit them in school,
and we can see the Internet.
Don’t you help ‘em.
This is the first time I’ve ever seen it:
Americans tellin’ on each other.

It was in the paper.
You have to report.
Don’t have to.
I know a girl that act like that.
Isn’t that piracy?
Get ‘er stupid name,
click it in.

It’s not easy
To know what to do.
You’ve got to listen
To a partner with Sun.

Those terrorists,
right here at this moment?
Oh doctors.
We winched two people from the Caribbean today.
We got half of them out.
Of course the beauty would have to see one another.

Invite yourself to their house.
Hand that down please.
I am a friend.
No way,
I just treat you like our lives treat us.
Yeah,
it hurts doesn’t it?

It’s wonderful that all listen to music.
You get some of the ideas that
art puts out.
You know you had comin’.
Look at what you’ve done to art.
Be valuable.
You’ve put it in concentration camps,
got it out of the public eye,
you, laziness and snobbism.
Not everything
instant.

How much concentration to read a poem.
How much time involved.
You don’t have to take that off.
News media does that.
What are you laughin’ about?
The News media,
they know what they’re doin’.
They get intah everything.
They want to be where you put your attention.
Good one.
Repeat me:
in store…

Anyway,
liberal ideas
usually come from inside.
You say.
They don’t come that far.
Wrong peacock
you’re lookin’ at.
I’m not a Capitol Hill.

Art shows us
the inner.
That mystery shines in us,
gives us keys to change.
Art polishes that,
and I’m here inner.

Donny and I
absorb change.
We got a handle on it.
I’m standin’ just outside.
We put this strength in your hand:
to change for the better.

Yep, you need
to be liberal right here,
in that specialty,
letting change happen.

It’s a creative growth.
You might see Nature behind it
and something guide ‘er.
Standin’ there scratchin’ your head?
We’ve evolved.
The status quo arrange that?
Conservative,
I’m standin’ right here.

Art
will move you.
Now if you could see
why we’re wasting
so much time.
Oh I don’t care.
I’m okay.
I don’t need you the attic.
An ogre
have dinner with us.

Still,
even if it wasn’t
a survival emergency,
take a long change.
Maybe you’re here for that reason.

Law enforcement officers
are the greatest defenders
of the status quo.
Hi kid,
don’t you dare
break any laws.

It’s already starting to break down.
The system’s breaking down
justice said.
That’s how it’s always been.
Would we break laws
to change the system?

Everybody’s supposed to hold it.
We don’t want anarchy breathin’ down our necks.
Alright I’ll arrange you.
I’m seein’ intah the future.
I think we’d look for art
to give change its growth,
policy its format,
take any law down
not good up on that.

That’s an individual there
recordin’ growth.
He got enough room to do that?
When he comes home
we’ll ask ‘im.
Sister yes we’ll have to change language
give you credit too.

Don’t get down on your step-brother.
Art’s just fell into a hole.
It’s not the lawmakers you lobby for change.
It’s the editors.
They’ve just fallen asleep.
Art to them would write about itself
in a way inbred.
It would not speak out of its word.
They’re fond of music.
They won’t grapple with the hook.
Now you know I see you.
Who said that?
This is fresh art.

Come ‘ere,
the end of a varmint
that projects the end of a varmint.
This is performance art.
I’m gonna put them all over the street.
Here you have the video.
Project it out there.
I didn’t buy anything.
Do you have any idea
why?
வணக்கம்.
That’s your cultural edge,
a stop bath
meet the Press.

Can we counter a bomb?
Hopefully
We can explode,
show you a peaceful way
to counter terrorism,
to bring the public revolution.
If it does explode,
though I’m sure it’ll be a contained blast
(we’ll have the bomb experts on it right away),
you will see the power of words.

Why strap a bomb to your chest and kill the neighborhood?
Why send your tanks to that country?
Write a poem from where the One sees us.
That’ll shake everybody up,
and you’ve brought change right.

What does it mean to bring us a full home?
Daddy cleans and he whistles.
Oh he’s talked the TV now listen kids.
You know one way’s a bad wagon.
Yeah, I needed to fill his shorts,
or graft my review into his underwear.
I have more for you kiddo,
everything you always wanted about attention,
and there it just hits the spot.
I’m gonna call you to your bank card.
Stand here eager on yourself.

Unreal a boy gives his father that ultra-politique.
When they’re in that swoon,
when base is being gone over,
what a boy could hide there.
Daddy do it daddy.
He grows up with hungry clothed.
It’ll be his reason to see evolution
he don’t just sit there with it.

There you are.
Into the sea you’ve been hollered down,
into the sea that touches your toes,
where that hurt.
This is the trail in the sea-ward.
Every father has an account with us,
however remote,
moving in the intimacies of a man.
It’s not out of the direction of his love.
It just spoils there.
Might not ever even think about it.
Might never try anything,
but a man’s nature be around his children.

No, not all are drunk,
but there is a liquor cabinet.
If he’d open his dreams he might see it.
The father that does cross lines
more often than not it’s the casual touch,
little tight pressures he holds his son.
Squeeze daddy.

This is just an occasional glance.
That’s where he tests city limits,
shows that he is the owner
of the boy’s whereabouts.
It’s his flesh.
It’s just a little squeeze
where that little boy grows,
and he finds men attractive.

When this grows up in him
he’s the opposite
from pedophile feelings.
This was not to churn his shorts.
More romance here than touch.
He wasn’t put in that strange place,
something to make him investigate further on.
His daddy is the love of his life
that time,
and he’s comfortable there.
Grows up lovin’ men.

Homosexual we’ve reported.
This is generated love.
He likes its squeeze.
Follow your counts.
Get rid of a fall.
You don’t believe it,
how wrapped up he is.
His life that regard.

Now a boy wouldn’t remember
his father’s affection.
Way too young
to bring memories back.
It’s a rollin’ stone.
Maybe he likes it
being gay,
but he knows
that life has not given him
his natural fulfillment.

The first boy
don’t fair well.
He remembers the pounding serf,
was I enough to understand
they wasn’t supposed to do that.
Y’all keep your mouth shut about this.
Visit…
Oh here we go.
What does he visit?
Dad does the talking boy.

That’s interesting.
He makes me feel at home
with the arrangement in the hat.
I could go in any direction.
Maybe there’s a woman on my arm,
but I can give a man more than a kiss
and take a child into the basement.
I could, but why bother?

Our policy is your papers.
Gain a step.
Your sexual orientation arrive in the breeze?
By the way the professor was kidnapped.
Stare at your business.
I am sorry,
these are the lines that appear.

Well I was gonna take you home,
but it’s made me mad.
We’ll see what the door is.
That’s what I would do.
Now they’re shipping it off.
He didn’t recommend it.
Seven of us like that.
It’s warm and squashy.
This is your sexual identity as it’s being determined by them,
all your mothers and fathers
when you were a teddy bear.

Most people turn five.
Is that what it is?
Hands up.
You don’t remember.
All of them
(that’s true)
that would do it
with some little kid
got so much more than a tight squeeze
in their waddling years.

You would know
mommy and daddy.
One of you opened up that land.
See how it grows.

Let ‘im plug.
Draw back.
That’s the way.
You have evidence spokesperson,
and you only have intelligence monitor.
That’s all you’re gonna get.
You gave
even more.

Hey,
well alright,
givin’ it,
so much attention to sex,
some cultural peanut.
Can a teddy bear grasp that?

It would
be about getting laid
being a man.
Boys you have to understand,
what you got
is so exposed,
and their attention just goes there.
It’s like all aglow.

All boys
in my gramophone.
Pardon the little lever
not bringing girls along,
but we gather.

I’ve brought you to thah
floor place,
the wet ‘et end.
I’ve given you a vision of mud.
What’s going on in your head,
I’m going crazy?

There look at it,
a library full of knowledge.
The box is strong.
Hard to open it.
Oh the police have videos.
You can find it on the Internet
you hear about all the time,
but I’m giving you art’s vantage point,
not some liquorish of lust.

We’ve looked at this through the art lens,
and we see more than just the act.
Nature’s been uncovered.
I’ve brought something out of her
deeper than her photograph.
We’ve shown lines behind.
Every peck we practice art here.
It reveals.
We could use the revelation.

Are you all ticked off?
It might be you sittin’ there reason for their being in their homes.
We’ve got to look at this.
Dishes,
we wash dishes.
This is a cleaning rainbow.
What root of it?
The powers better
at the universe,
the ones that turn on lights.

Say we ignore them.
They are just to come back later.
That’s orange actor.
Dropped him while you were off to sea.
He’s got a big of muse.
No easy way out.
Bigger things we handle better the bigger we are,
and that’s an art show.

Art,
the Chinese,
the Pawnee Indian Southeastern Association.
Sam I am.
I have to be bigger than my paper.
Sacmont is a word and I am going to do sacmont.
About hands,
hope to win the war.

You were really skewered.
Tell that to your activist window.
You don’t know the carpet.
An opportunity
to see things firsthand,
a reference point
so we can safely arrive.

It goes through the airmail.
I’m going on the paperclip.
Unbelievable
the amount of hatred
people have sent in our direction.

Good morning ace,
we have you scheduled for a speaker.
I think we should stay
out of politics.
A child can say anything.
I have to be liberated from this.
One did that.

What’d ya do when you were little?
Dodged bullets on the ramparts.
We walked by here a couple of times.
Some kids sure don’t leave me alone.
You have to be very careful.
You met Toady Beach?
No, I don’t know the area.
A kid’s lives aren’t over.
Any man can be a hitter.
Let’s not hear that they’re all men,
because they’re not.

I can’t stand
that look on the table.
Start over again
so close to your world
and handle upside-down cakes.
My poor wisdom bleeds.
It wasn’t exactly hell on ice.
I was friends with ‘im.
It had a sound to it.
It looked joyish hum.
As a stranger though it tolled.

He got more expensive.
Fell into the seep holes.
I lay down for him,
and that becomes our game.
He got good at it.
I get electricity waves.
Gives so much pleasurable explode.
Hey, where did I go?

And he needed awhile.
They’re into hurtin’ you in bonds of love.
Time lane they’re spinnin’.
Now I tried to take it off.
Let it and smiled.
Nothin’ where I want,
where ultimately I want to be touched about.

You wanna hear the rag?
I was all one partner.
I got ‘im into it.
Looks he gave me destroyed me.
It had promise.
Just exposed myself.

How a boy carry on.
This is a lot of boys.
You don’t look.
We’re carried around in silence.
What’s the trouble between our legs?
And they put so much on it to cover it up.
How many times I’m corrected.
Like it’s some ray gun
ugly to see.
It’s so feel to ourself.

I can’t get anything tighter.
Yet you block this away.
There’s so much guilt and shame put there,
and this man love with that,
and he was a pressure cooker.
No I can’t build on him.
I get robbed.

There it is.
Look I’m showing you a lot of the table.
I get adult and forget.
I’ve been abused.
Is that all there is to it?

Something else:
a window open
(you watch it –
that’s the Law),
a love triangle.
When people join my faith they take over,
give themselves over to union.

Oh we’ll start.
Somethin’ there One sings.
It’s a little pocket of it.
You’re not interested in singing,
but the heartbeats on me there
like the end of the world.

They’ll give it to me wide.
You sit there and explain to me my feelings.
I’m not gonna disagree with you.
It is weird,
and I know this has done me wrong,
but what was that
commission?
Did we broach upon a power of play
used One?

You’ll understand when you’re older there’s a body now.
Yes, I’d add things
you needed to know,
union reels.

And you’ve heard it,
the big mess.
To say he makes the mess and that’s all there is to it,
not even close.
You’ve gotta change.

Society don’t handle right.
From day one you get the big stick.
I mean how many knows how to treat properly the cash box?
It’s so loud in there.

Look at these,
they’re sour fruits.
Can you hear me society,
can you hear me?
Givin’ the ball justice.
I’ve told you its court.
A weapon was made.
It’s to help you see dirt.

Dignity stand up.
We are soldiers on the line.
I’m not talkin’ politics.
I’ve gotten intah human terms.

Have you ever thought we’d look at them?
Is that a rule to avoid?
You’ve sunk headlong into this like you have one.
Blind reactions policy your decisions.

Now you at outcast lot and see what they flower.
I didn’t get under your gun.
I looked for change.
No outer remedy helped.
You know, you avoid the inner.
Everything you make points us away from it.

I sat down like the Buddha and demanded change.
I opened the inner doors.
Dire necessity lead me to it.
I had no wings for messiah,
friends ourselves of outer space.
(Joe,
is anybody living there or something?)
I don’t get paranoid.
One laxative:
yeah I read of all this waste;
I needed change.
How deep you have to go inside yourself
to get on that movement.

Rebecca,
what’s the problem with this here?
You can’t measure change outside of doors.
They have to let you in,
other people.

When they say
stay out of the reach of children,
they take from you the wheel barrel,
something to carry
change in.
Not a popular vision.
So anyway,
here, get it fixed.

You know what art means?
Got a looney movie,
Vampires Stalking Earth.
Some half-vampire comes along.
He’s managed to step out of darkness.
He’s stopped feeding.
Our knowledge to our liberated son.
I think that was the Light speaking.
Humanity needs ‘im
to cross blood.
His type for the antidote.
Do I see the engine kill ‘im?
You know how ignorant they are in the movie.
We see the man’s worth.

Come on see how big you are.
How small I am I avoid the essential details.
Kill all of these damn flies.
Why do you presume to know so much?
Triangle,
know all that you do is a secret triangle
where the One meets
you and the other party.
Even with an object this intimacy is found.
One builds that up.

Now what do you do with that?
You have to strike your own kind of balance.
It’s an identity bond really.
Come to that regard.
Who is a thing to you?
Who do you abuse?
You love yourself you love it all.

Frank,
I’d call that girl.
Anywhere where unity doesn’t meet,
call that to our attention.
What immediate cure?
We’re in the ways with each other a long time
before the One becomes apparent,
inwardly seen and outwardly acted.

You have my vision.
It’s not a little cost.
It’s not a little vision.
America are you hope here?
Travel down the road some.
Give this vision time to feel
what’s in store for you and carry need.

The United States of America
just can’t see itself.
A young filibuster,
you visit warlords,
and you’ve scribbled out some thoughts.
The private retrieves them,
and the penman retains them.
You’ve board a door:
a child’s link with sin.

Let’s look,
if you feel like it,
right here.
Porn does not make you image real.
It stretches things too far.
What’s you’re movin’ by art
is everyone’s have to see
to know the problem.

I’m the one on details,
what’s going on in the house of soul.
Does Nature essence this,
or is it in fact blind?

Five minutes
we’ve square rooted on a problem.
That’s visited,
the solution.
I don’t know,
I’d love to Bob but,
I’ll get back to ya.
Really believes the attack that Tibet is sending dogs.

I’ve gotta go to the phone.
Enough Riverwood.
Reader,
flowery alphabet,
high avenue.
That’s a lot of surplus.
Heads down.
Prayer.

We’ve spotted Virgil.
Come over here.
What would you say one night greeting the world?
All I can say
is change.
Would an American epic suffer?
American employment.
You’ve got your stadium
young poet.

Linked your mind.
We’ll put you down for
visions of mud.
We go @Firefox.
Okay,
pick him up
to your determination.

Hell, Jeff Gardener
would turn it against that way.
He figured out
we pay for.
What’s that?
When you abuse.
Since you’re okay
you put people outside
on it.
Can we poddle?

I apologize.
I have that in perspective.
They can explain
fit into explode.
From Grace I came.
From there study.
Win the house.
Are you gonna freedom?
Are you gonna quit?
I mean,
What would the address
Be hostin’?

What’s he mad for,
it’s them in America,
or you’re tunin’ it right
the guitar,
the avenue,
of the greatest public instrument:
all for change?

Just a lot of difference pal
you’re workin’.
I wanna see what I’ve been doin’.
He have a place to live
every soul?
That
help out.

Have to have a group to do this one:
you are a soul,
something that’s not
offended by anything.
No reactions.
What a gift
to society
(I ain’t givin’ this stance.
I only seen this stance),
the most wonderful
Person
it’s a challenge
to find.
The biggest thing I ever saw.

When I saw that…
They didn’t go in the backdoor.
They talked to Someone.
Will help
see the soul inside
a reference point
human
and over your head
there the God.

Toilet paper
Can’t cover it up.
Donny saw what he saw,
and he looked.
Whose coveralls are these?
Could be mine.
Play.
There are other trappers.
You made us there?
Just a look,
but I saw the world through Those eyes.

All this equipment,
that’s where it came from.
You have no idea.
You can play the player.
Play One.
Here I am always played,
rubbed out,
by your enchantment.

Soon fire all this light.
You take off.
Many times right there
the food the fight.
I write all of you
fullscreen.

 

Introduction to Soul Power

Me walking the dogs, image credit: Dhina
by Donny Duke

Posting this song around the net takes a giant leap of faith. (You can find the link to it at the bottom of this article.) Surely it’s an extremely intolerant moment for the minor attracted person, the pedophile, the villain of the internet, someone almost universally considered the most depraved unredeemable person in society. While I may face a social nightmare, or at the very least see its possibility loom over my house, there’s no better person, if you give it some hard thought, to show us the soul, the hidden and unrecognized reason we exist (its evolution), what’s missing in our moral reasoning. Evolution, in its essence, isn’t a material one nor one of consciousness; it’s an evolution of the soul.

The soul is as misunderstood a concept as God, used to mean a variety of things. While it’s been talked about in both religion and the arts for thousands of years, I’d argue true knowledge of it has not yet entered the public mind. We know of enlightenment, but we don’t generally know of the soul change, that our soul not only influences us from within, turns us towards God, more and more as we allow it, but it can also surface and replace the ego once we are in the emptiness of enlightenment liberated from ego. My use of the term comes from my own experience informed by the teachings and inner guidance of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo. Since my aim here is not to introduce the soul but its power, I won’t elaborate on what the soul is, as my teachers and I see it, or its evolution for that matter, though in a future article I may do so, one I’m planning to write about the finding of the soul.

I would imagine the soul’s purpose is more varied than the universe, and as it evolves, or its evolving aspect the psychic being I should say, the dynamic personality of the soul, it wouldn’t necessarily take on some aspect of the world to help set right, some world problem to help solve, but as my psychic being has reached the place of maturity where it’s free to choose its comings and goings[i], it has donned the scapegoat process. I should stress here I’m speaking of my soul and not Donny, and while it would stand to reason that Donny too should be as developed as his soul, soul process is irrational, oftentimes runs contrary to our reason, is free to don a very fucked up outer personality for some purpose the likes of which you see playing out here: Donny coming online, or getting in line with his soul I should say, in order to help with the huge obstacle in our collective evolution, the making and maintaining of scapegoats, and as well help remove an equally huge obstacle, the sexual abuse of children. The song I’m introducing holds this double purpose, sings the removal of both obstacles simultaneously, what can only be done by the seeing of the soul, not by a blind one-sided world power making the pedophile the seemingly foolproof universal scapegoat.

While the word scapegoat and its use is cliché, and today we seem more comfortable with the less defining phrase the ‘other’, the making and persecution of scapegoats is still the big hold up in realizing a viable human unity, what we’d need to achieve if we’re going to make it on this crowded planet. Put simply, a ‘humanity’ scapegoat is a group of people who are what they are by nature, not by choice, not speaking of quirks in the nature, but things fundamental like race or sexuality, whether they like or want to be that or not, speaking of sexuality, people who we don’t have to treat as fellow human beings with the same rights as everyone else, people we can vent on, who it’s generally socially acceptable to bear ill will towards, to hate, people on whom we project human evil so we don’t see it in ourselves, people we blame for the problems in our world so we ourselves can feel free of responsibility for those problems.

Though it may not be readily apparent, the scapegoat is as much a part of life in ego consciousness as the alpha male or female, what can almost be called a need of the ego and its maintenance, a need of the animal we are evolving out of I might say, equating here ego identity with animal identity. The scapegoat’s scope and purpose is quite visibly illustrated in the book and film 1984, and I’d argue 1984 is not only showing a frightening future to try to avoid, but at the same time doing what creative expression often does so closely aligned as it is with dream, albeit largely unconsciously. It’s showing the present social conditions of the writer in an exaggerated and larger than life form. What in 1984 people go to an auditorium to do, vent their penned up hatred and frustration on the scapegoat as he’s flashed across a screen, so they don’t turn that on the system, we do in the auditorium of our hearts and minds. It’s like the book and film is showing us what we do on the inside, using the outer symbol of an auditorium, even if such wasn’t intended by the creators, since, in any genuine creative expression, something of the representative nature of our world comes into play, and we see a little behind things, see much more than the human creator envisioned.

My psychic being became an adult (figuratively speaking) two lifetimes ago. It had donned the life of a black man in the South (of the U.S.) just before the turn of the 20th century, a person who “could play the guitar just like a-ringing a bell.”[ii] He played with his soul, that is, his soul was involved in his music to the point you could hear its qualities, as it was reaching adulthood. The scapegoat of his day, African-American, he was killed by the KKK, for playing his guitar in white establishments, and because he was on the edge of fame. I re-experienced the last day of his life in one of those dreams that last much longer than the time it takes to dream it and one where it was as though I was here in the world, not in dream, as there was no shifting of either the material in the dream or its field until the very end. It was as though I actually re-experienced the last day of his life. I was lucid but inside him experiencing both myself and he, aware of my thoughts and feelings and his thoughts, feelings, and bodily sensations, except at the very moment of his death, when the flames reached him as his home burned down,  his wife and children screaming as they were burned alive, when I became the fly on the wall observer outside of him. There was no need to feel the whole brunt of that moment a second time.

In my last life I was a Jewish man in Nazi Germany, the scapegoat of his time and place, of historic proportions, as African Americans were in the Old South. Though it was also a dream that showed me this, or the defining moment I saw it was in a dream, a very recent one, I’ve dreamed all my life of having a Jewish identity, inexplicably, since neither my mother nor father are Jewish, as I had dreamed of that black man in various stages of his life throughout this life, and I am neither black nor mulatto, although he wasn’t a guitar picker until that defining dream but someone of great talent or intellect, like an artist, a scientist, a university professor, and so forth. The remembrance of past lives is like that. It comes not as some instant revelation, although the defining moment is pretty revealing and may come as somewhat a surprise, but as an essential piece of your personal puzzle falling into place, fitting essentially into your process.

It’s not details such as names, addresses, and the like you remember, or it hasn’t been with me, and nor is it in the teachings of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo (I can’t tell you the name of the guitar picker or even what state he lived in, despite such a revealing dream about him, as those details disappeared upon awakening), but moments when the soul comes to the surface or very near, like the last day of the guitar picker’s life.[iii] I should also say these two recent lives are the only ones I remember, and my memory of them comes as a necessity of my present life, to do the work my soul has set before me. To truly remember your past lives, “one must become a wholly conscious being, conscious in all its parts, totally united with one’s divine origin.”[iv]

With the Jewish man the defining dream was full of all the shifts and strangeness of dream material, where he was part of a small group of Jews being hidden by farmers in the countryside, the railroad tracks leading to the death camps a central feature of the dream, that threat and utter despair over the whole situation taking him to rock bottom. The dream revolved around a soul moment when he had a momentary experience of liberation from ego, enlightenment. It’s not only sadhana that can take us there; sorrow can too if it hits the right note, a soul note.

In the dream there were a score of others who experienced the same, and I feel that represents an unknown aspect of the holocaust: out of the millions who suffered the horror there were those whose soul was reaching maturity, and they experienced the spiritual liberation or a flash of it. You might imagine some marched into death triumphant. Neither the Nazis nor any hate group has any control over the soul. You might also imagine that, in a representative world, nothing and no one can touch the soul, it being the reality in it and behind it, all else mere symbol and representation, the will-o-wisp of dream really, even Nazis.

Such definitive soul contact did not arise automatically. In this my present life, soon after reaching maturity as man, when I was around 30 years old, I made the inner journey to my center, the well of soul, connecting my surface conscious with it. It’s a lengthy story I won’t relate here other than to say that I’d opened the inner consciousness, was not only lucid in dream very often but also learning to try and remain conscious as I fell asleep and during a full period of sleep, all the way through a night’s dreaming, and it was in dreamless sleep I found my soul, “on a remote extremity of sleep,”[v] but it was a journey in stages, over the course of several days, a journey I made one time, a journey that had me face my greatest fears and overcome my strongest attachments. You might imagine that to find the soul is actually to find it inside you, and that, while a strong belief in it or feeling of it can bring or indicate contact with it, you won’t have the definitive concrete contact until you go to the deepest most remote place inside you and find it.

“Turn Around Soul”, the song I’m introducing, was shown I feel in the dream of the guitar picker, specifically in the dream short that came at the end of the dream, a dream short something that comes often at the end of a powerful dream that’s a basic summation of the dream, a symbolic representation of it, so different from the dream itself as to seem another dream, but there is no interval between it and the dream it’s symbolizing. If this song does get heard by my society then it is what that dream short was showing: being heard. I was watching a man with a guitar on a high ridge overlooking a large valley below. He was both black and white, not mulatto but actually a black man and a white man at the same time, an impossibility dream can do. There were lay lines along the ridge, and he was trying to hook his guitar into one so to be heard in the valley below. He made some unsuccessful attempts until he was finally able to hook into the one closest to  him, which made his acoustic guitar electric, and it was like he was inventing the electric guitar by hooking into that lay line. When he connected, his guitar music resounded throughout the whole valley, and it was more than sound I heard. I heard reality resound, a common feature of powerful dream, it ending with a sound, simply a large ‘crack’ in some cases, that you feel in your very soul.

I doubt most will believe that the soul can do what I show it doing here, write an entire song. While many believe in the soul, few know that it’s capable of healing us, as individuals and as a society. We not only have an immune system to heal our bodies; we have one also to heal our hearts and minds, to set right what’s messed up about us. It’s this innate and largely unknown immune system I want to show with my song, a system of soul more powerful than any world system, what sets worlds right.

The lyrics were sung to me over a period of months, via inner voice and vision. First came the two lines that form the backbone of the song, “Hold on tight. Turn around slowly.” It was sung by a female singing group complete with musical accompaniment and had a pop sound to it. Knowing there was no way I could manifest it into outer reality with my not so great voice and guitar skills, I nonetheless focused on it so that a full song would come, something I’ve learned to do with voice and vision over a period of some 15 years. With this song, unlike my others written from inner vision, I accepted only lyrics that I knew were from my soul, not from anywhere else, not even from the divine. Years of soul contact has enabled me to distinguish its voice from any other, knowing also that it often sings when it does speak to me.

After the initial lines, more came but very slowly, one or two lines a day (and not every day) that not only fit into the song but were also what I needed to hear that day, what I needed to see. Soon I had a skeleton of a song but didn’t even know what it was about. By the time I knew it was about what it’s about it was too late to turn back, and I couldn’t deny I needed to sing it and my society needed to hear it. I must say this is embarrassing for me, or for the ego I should say, and singing so openly about being a pedophile in today’s society is not what I want to do, why no doubt my soul kind of snuck it up on me, knowing I’d not have completed it if I had know what it was about from the first.

Then came some months of the song being filled in, one or two lines a day, with many, many corrections to the lyrics, all of which were sung to me, now in my voice and guitar, and in a couple of instances, where I was having a hard time, even my hands were shown playing the guitar in vision so I’d know the right cords and right way to sing it. I still haven’t gotten it all right, very far from it, but this is the best I can do with the talent I have. It would be appropriate to mention here that my family, especially Douglas, my psychic being partner, a life partnership other than romantic/sexual not yet generally known to be possible, had a lot to do with the development of the music. He and my family kept it from getting out of  hand,  making sure it matched my so-so voice and guitar skills, else I would sound like an out of tune hillbilly.

It’s a contemporary folk song, a person and their guitar singing about their society and their between a rock and a hard place position in it. You have to engage with the lyrics to appreciate it, which are largely symbolic, poetic even, and it’s not so much meant to stir the emotions as much as it’s meant to stir the soul. No doubt it’ll make a lot of people mad as hell. That’s not my intention, and if it makes you angry, figure out what it’s saying and then see what you got. It goes from the general to the specific, each verse getting more specific, taking you on a soul journey. So what you’ve got is a soul, and by showing you mine, I hope you hear yours. At the very least, you should be introduced to the soul’s power.

Please click here to hear the song.

Turn Around Soul

1)
I’m sittin’ here on the bottom baby,
hold down tight,
standing all over town.
That would be
on the stairway.
I’m well armed.
I can’t believe he’s out there.
To keep them in line.
It’s huge practice huge practice.
Find it on the news.
Closed weapons by the rest of the world.
What a cost to our humanity.
Run around soul. 2x’s
How high we step there
and turn them in line.
God sent me to my soul, 2x’s
in a straight line.
Make you soul know you go,
hold south you fix.
Oh wave your fingers are you gone?
How should I change? 2x’s
Make a new world. 2x’s 

(Chorus):

Hold on tight,
turn around slowly today.
Inside out,
turn around slowly today.
Hold on tight
turn around slowly
in vision
will today
turn around soul. 2x’s
Hold on today. 2x’s

2)
To be somethin’ different
So keep it from runnin’.
To be somethin’ different
that warrant is for your arrest
on the 7 seas.
Take the best metro back there.
Walk heel in line. 2x’s
And that weakness was no longer
on the 7 seas.
The spirit was to find peace.
Entire soul. 2x’s
I can’t believe he’s out there.
To keep them in line.
One realize.
I promise I promise.
Come and speak,
cause I’m livin’ in a world that’s new,
vision of a world that’s true.
I saw the planet.
I am one another. 2x

 (Chorus)

3)
Find them and expose them
shows no solid arm.
Truth will be an attitude.
You have to live there.
I’ve seen him upside down.
I’ve seen him to my soul.
I am warm and I am cold
like the light of the world.
I’ll grow up
in the wild frame.
You hear Houston
name names.
My hand’s in the system
cause I’m livin’ in a world that’s new,
inner in the world that’s true,
when nature comes together,
from our door 2x’s
open.
What about soul? 2x’s
You can springtime
oh, oh, oh, oh,
above the world,
thunder like we’ll make together.
It’s a surrounding world. 2x’s 

(Chorus)

4)
Con you’re out there
problem in line.
You’ll have to see
how much we step there
over the years.
What in the a dark city?
Hold on out there.
With my hidin’,
with my terrorizin’,
In that flaming member you can’t decide.
The answer,
oh, oh, oh,
words of sound and murder came from his incantation.
What it cost to worlds.
What a cost to our humanity.
Run around soul. 2x’s
Dark science
turn of the century
pedophile. 2x’s 

(Chorus)

5)
Lacking in the system,
in the whole human race.
And there’s another thing
I didn’t question
in America,
when America.
Here’s something under there.
Don’t see my mind
and show of peace. 2x’s
You see what he means.
Allow this arm.
I’m well armed.
This could be real.
That was the most soul
word I ever heard,
a conscious soul. 2x’s
Oh the inner kingdom.
Of I’ve been born.
I’m the nineteen.
I’m your friend.
I’m the only romancing need
goin’ in the wind.
As long as it takes
if you mean work on one’s center.
Callin’ me today.
Please don’t put yourself in harm’s way.
Master and able it’s possible.
To believe. 2x’s
This is the melody.
Pledge the long road,
here in the top
in ‘bove the house. 2x’s 

(Chorus)

(addition to chorus, excluding last line “Hold on today”)
Turn around love,
yield today,
turn around love.
turn around soul,
entire soul.
It could be real,
a conscious soul.
I can have no beginning.
I can be soul.
What about soul,
run around soul? 2x’s this and above line
Turn around soul. 2x’s
It won’t be long. 2x’s

*          *          *          *          *          *          *

[i] “The time [on the other side] depends also on the development and on a certain rhythm of the being – for some there is practically immediate rebirth, for others it takes longer, for some it may take centuries; but here, again, once the psychic being is sufficiently developed, it is free to choose its own rhythm and its own intervals.” Letters On Yoga, Volume 1, page 444, by Sri Aurobindo, Sri Aurobindo Ashram Press.

[ii] Lyrics from the song “Johnny B. Goode” by Chuck Berry.

[iii] “But this memory is not a thing of the mental kind. Those who claim to have been such a baron of the Middle Ages or such a person who lived at such a place and such a time, are fanciful, they are simply victims of their own mental imagination. In fact, what remains of past lives are not beautiful pictures in which you appear as a mighty lord in a castle or a victorious general at the head of an army--that is only romance. What remains is the memory of those instants when the psychic being emerged from the depths of your being and revealed itself to you--that is to say, the memory of those instants when you were wholly conscious. That growth of consciousness is progressively effectuated in the course of evolution, and the memory of past lives is generally limited to the critical moments of evolution, to the decisive turns that marked the progress of your consciousness.” From: The Writings of the Mother, Memory of Past Lives, 1958, Sri Aurobindo Ashram Trust.

[iv] Ibid.

[v] Savitri, Book VII, Canto III, by Sri Aurobindo, Sri Aurobindo Press

I’m Not Picking Up Stump Posts

photo by Dhina of Lisa Rottweiler posing here as my altar ego.
photo by Dhina of Lisa Rottweiler, my dog

For the longest time, I had thought that all we needed to do to see we communicate with one another on the inside in the inner life was to become conscious of dreams. From there it seemed to me we could easily come to know our communal identity, human unity, something we can infer from the inner communication, but not confirm until we get beyond both the outer world and dreams and directly experience it ourselves. We could infer it, I’d figured, because our dreams are chock-full of such inner contact with each other. To my surprise, I’ve found that’s not the case. Most of the dream workers I’ve seen in discussion groups on the net and those I’ve talked to in person seem to be unaware of our inner links.

While it’s the needed direction, towards the inside, we seem to be going pell-mell into dreams without knowing either how to interpret them or even that they often tell us about incidents and situations in our waking life days before or days after. Most people into lucid dreams and those giving workshops on the same, of those I encounter, do not have this very basic foundation. Douglas has been showing the connection between dreams and waking life in articles on this blog. In this article, I hope to demonstrate something of our hidden inner communication by illustrating a dream, one that doesn’t, as is often the case, show it as only an aspect but as its focus and intention, showing me what was going on between others and myself.

I am at an American diner but in India, and I have a gift of $365 I want to give to my stepmother Ruth. It’s been a long time since I called her and my dad, but I’m confident she will accept the collect call, which I know has to be collect and somehow know she’ll be the one to answer the phone. There’s a pay phone in the restaurant, right among the tables, though it’s at night, and there are only a few customers, and after reflecting a moment on Ruth’s hatred of me, I make the call. It’s accepted, but I don’t speak to Ruth but my dad, and I tell him about the gift to Ruth, and he starts talking very fast about why I haven’t called in so long and at the same time not happy I’m calling.

There’s a dream shift. It’s very dark outside, and I’m alone sitting on the passenger’s side of the front seat of a car parked outside a bar talking to my dad on a cell phone. I’ve not gone into the bar and have no intention of doing so, but the bar has something to do with my dad I can’t figure out. On the other end I hear silence but know my dad is there. I try and talk to get him to talk, but he’s very reluctant, and maybe I hear him say a  word or two and maybe I don’t. I can’t tell because he is so distant on the line in terms of his willingness to be there. I begin to cry the kind of cry I do in dreams sometimes right before waking, where I’m dreaming I’m in my bed in my room but know it’s a dream still, a place I release emotional pain, a place I use for a lot of things. As I release the emotion I begin to become aware it’s a dream because I’m consciously now feeling the pain of being an outcast by my yoga, by almost the entire world. I hear thunder and see faint traces of lightning flashes, as though they’re not in the dream yet but are coming.

I don’t become lucid. Instead another dream shift catches my attention, and I’ve just gotten out of a car having driven home. It’s night still but not late, as I see my uncles and dad working on an old car not far from the house. It’s an old wooden one-story country house, and I walk past the front and stop to look at my dad and uncles working on the car, which is just on the edge of the light from the house on the other side from where my car is, and something I can’t quite relate happens, a different kind of shift, where my dad’s no longer with my uncles, and I realize he was just there, had been there a long time, and I should’ve talked to him when I had the chance because he’s gone, as in passed away, and I won’t have the opportunity to see him again in this life. As sadness wells up in me I walk to the backyard, and that scene takes my attention, the sadness leaving.

It’s now the backyard of the house I was teenager in, only much bigger. I walk up to a shed and suspect someone’s been in there and gotten some of the special kind of organic material I’ve made and allow the neighborhood to take if they want to, but I’m not sure. There’s no light in the backyard, and it’s very difficult to see. I follow faint tracks, like from a small tractor and wagon, and come to the back fence, a wooden one as at my teenage home in waking life. It’s been opened, and the tracks are very visible going into the backyard and coming out, and it confirms that someone came and got some of the material. I’m not bothered by it, just don’t know why they did it the way they did, at night in secret, not coming to the front like good neighbors, and they took down  part of the fence too, which does bother me a little until I see the fence can roll back in place without damaging it, sort of like a hidden gate, and I understand people can take the material that way too, understanding too that’s how people have been taking it for the most part. All I have to do is close it, but there’s no latch or anything, just roll it shut so it looks like there’s no seam in the fence there, and as I do I wake up.

Why it’s so hard for us to see the inner communication between us has to do with the nature of dreams, which don’t often or always depict the actual people or situations they are about but are symbolic in nature and tell a story of the story, some representative scenario often using our own family and the scenes most familiar to us as the symbols for the dream. Our creative reflex, what I call that in us which fashions them, can do this because dreams mean more than one thing, have more than a single interpretation, can be about your family and at the same time about whom or whatever. That’s the case in the above dream, but dreams are also irrational, that is, they don’t come from the rational thinking mind which likes order and symmetry, does not like loose ends, prefers a one to one correspondence in the making of analogies. Dreams more often float their different interpretations, rather loosely, making it not possible to interpret them the way the mind likes to do that: this means that, not this means that here but not also there.

We are also rather ignorant about universal symbols in dream, have some sense they occur, but for the most part, from what I’ve seen of dream dictionaries that now abound upon the net and what I saw available before the web, we are much more off base than on in what the symbols mean, for the mental reasons I’ve mentioned above. We tend to assign meaning to symbols with the thinking mind, or the talking, reading, networking thinking mind, and we don’t understand that we learn what the symbols mean from the very fashioning of our dreams, that is, as we open the inner consciousness, that part of us in which we experience dream, the meaning of the universal and personal symbols reveal themselves, as though we’re being taught, and we are. There’s a soul behind all doing that instruction, the psychic being.

With these things in our awareness, I’ll now interpret the above dream, assigning meaning to symbols as they occur therein. On the surface the dream is about my relationship with my dad and stepmother. We are estranged. I’m in India and they the U.S., but there are other gulfs of distances between us. The dream is symbolizing inner communication between us, but it’s not that contact that’s the focus of my interpretation, or not that interpretation, a contact that happens all the time between ourselves and those we are bound to by family ties or whatever, but an inner contact hard to see with the reason, though once it sees it, it doesn’t take being spelled out each time to see it. Though it would seem the dream is about that familial inner contact, what triggered the dream to show the disguised contact I’m focusing on, what the dream’s more about, is a situation I was involved in at the time in waking life, some two weeks back, and is the interpretation I’ll be  demonstrating. It bears some elaboration, which can be done in process, though you’ll have to keep picking up the thread of the dream so as not to lose it in the elaboration.

The contact the dreams shows isn’t just a representation of an event in waking life but a live streaming as it were of inner contact occurring at the ‘global’ moment of the dream, the timeframe of the unfolding of the incident the dream represents (along with the frontal or obvious familial interpretation). Before the dream, and after, I was seeing/hearing in my muse the discourse I was having, via a Facebook page, with the editors of a major publication of our yoga, the Integral Yoga of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo. That communication resulted  in a muse poem specifically to them and which I would post as a comment after one of their Facebook posts so they would accept a friend request I’d sent. That  poem  came during the day after the dream. Since the poem has that inner contact as its content, something they would recognize, since it reveals their thoughts and feelings on the matter, they friended me shortly after posting it. The dream I’m demonstrating, which occurred the night before they accepted the friend request, shows the ‘fury’ of inner communication between us revolving around that friend request as well as  a comment I’d put on their page asking them to read a poem of mine on our page Harm’s End that I’d written and posted before the dream, called “Pardon / Tell the Truth / You’re a Satellite”, a poem about atheism.

The diner, the first scene of the dream, represents Facebook, and that few people are there would indicate, though it’s a public place where people eat (we’re consuming for good or ill in the posts we read/watch-eat), there are only a few people listening or reading in on the event in question, that is the communication via Facebook  with that publication. That it’s night means, in this situation (night would mean something different in others), the whole event is under wraps, something done not in secret but, though occurring openly, not one anyone would want to see. The gift I have is the poem about atheism, and I can tell you what the numbers in $365 mean, but that’s too much detail. I’ll just say it has to do with the cost in my consciousness of the poem. That’s it’s both to my step-mother and that she’s the one who has to accept the collect call (collect because it’s their page they maintain) has to do with her hatred of me, what would be unbelievable if I tried to describe, what it was like being her step-child as a small boy.

The hatred of my yoga for me would also be likewise unbelievable in terms of its unwillingness to ‘accept’ me. That hatred is what I must go through to communicate outwardly with anyone in my yoga that knows my story (everyone gossips everywhere), with anyone in the world for that matter, and, because my writings are a bit revelatory and at the same time revealing, showing not only good stuff that attempts to sound the depths of the world but also stuff that sounds the bad I’ve been a party to, I seldom get a reply to any communication I send, to the yoga or us, us being humanity. In the dream, however, I’m confident the hatred will give way, and I’ll be able to get through.

Your dad in a dream is both your dad and representative of an authority figure in your life. Whether you accept their authority doesn’t matter. It matters that they have power to punish you. In the dream, the people behind the aforementioned publication, people with authority in the yoga, are represented by my dad. It’s been years since I called him, as it’s been years I’ve been a more or less quiet outcast in the yoga, though there have been periods in the past 12 years I’ve been in this exile, especially in the beginning, where I sent out a flurry of communications, but now, for the first time, people are talking to me, what the dream’s showing, since my dad, who are the people fielding the Facebook page and possibly their superiors, are at the same time ready to hear from me (full of questions about me more like it) and angry I’m contacting them. The gift, the poem, is of no consequence to them, only those questions and anger, but I do feel the gift has been accepted, and as I do find myself in that car outside a bar.

The windows are rolled up, and the doors shut, and I am very alone inside that car, much like I’m inside my room, where I spend most of my time, but the dream’s also demonstrating that the communication with my ‘dad’ has gotten real personal and private, between he and I, how it’s being experienced by us, regardless it’s still on a public Facebook page. A bar in dream symbolizes lower vital indulgence, whether that be drinking itself or other substances, or sex and the like. In the dream I don’t know why I’m parked outside that bar, only that it has to do with my dad, as though I’m waiting for him to come out, though I know he’s not in there and know he doesn’t drink. I’m there because my dad thinks that’s where I go a lot, or, to say it literally interpreting the dream symbol, the people of that publication, as well as my yoga in general, and the ‘world’ for that matter, see me parked at a bar indulging my desires when they think of me. You might notice that in the dream I haven’t parked myself there and don’t know why my dad has me waiting there, outside a bar.

Though it might be too much detail, why I’m in the front seat and not the back, and why I’m in the passenger’s seat, has to do with the fact I’m not driving either the car in the dream or my room in waking life, and it’s not the Devil driving let me tell you, but neither am I  just in the back seat a passive passenger; I’m riding shotgun.

The silence on the other end of the line, me trying to get my dad to talk, not knowing if he’s saying anything or not the darkness is so thick, night here again meaning what it does in the diner, jars me a little towards awareness. Pain tends to do that also in dream. The dream symbol begins to come off, and I start feeling what pain the dream’s surfacing, the position of being an almost total and absolute outcast in the household in which I live, on the inside of things, the house of The Mother and Sri Aurobindo. I release some of the emotional pain associated with that, and as I do I begin to wake up in the dream and also hear and see the play of thunder and lightning, as though it’s there but at the same time not yet, it being more an outline of the phenomenon than the full monty, a common characteristic of dream and its manner of revealing our reality. I’d be bold enough to say that it’s presence shows our communication, between the publication and I, to be significant at the very least, and that it seems more on the way than all the way there to be indicative perhaps of some coming climax in regards to my acceptance as a sadhak in the Integral Yoga with a contribution to give: understanding, though that contribution is an elaboration here, not a facet of the dream.

The dream shift captures my awareness back in the dream which is a much different scenario, and the only link to the other parts of the dream is the car, which I’ve just gotten out of after arriving at my house, which is also the Duke family house, my dad’s side of the family and made up of country people. As I walk across the yard/driveway, I see my dad and uncles working on an old car, just in my awareness, what it means when the action’s taking place on the edge of darkness. That my dad’s suddenly died, and I regret not taking the long opportunity I had to see him before that, is the dream shifting more to the frontal interpretation of it being about the relationship with my actual dad, and once again I begin to become aware it’s a dream, the regret pushing the boundaries of the dream-movie before my eyes, but it’s not enough to make me lucid , and as I walk to the back of the house, I see the shed, and the dream captures my complete awareness once again. The shed represents our Facebook page Harm’s End, and the special organic material are the muse poems posted on it. I can see that people have been on the page reading the material, though I see that in the symbols of the dream, not aware of what they represent.

The evidence, however, isn’t substantial enough for me to be sure neighbors have come and read some of the poems, taken the organic material, and so I follow the faint trail leading to the back fence to investigate. I should say, leaving the dream a moment, that I usually get no reactions from a muse poem post, except sometimes likes from my kids and their friends who like the pics, or a like from Douglas, my partner on the page. So I have no idea if anyone’s reading them or not except for the little round world on the top of the page telling me I’ve had pageviews, something that isn’t daily nor ever very many except when we’ve boosted a post, where most of our reactions for posts have come from: paid.

Nighttime here in this part of the dream has more to do with my neighbors getting the organic material, reading the poems, under the cover of darkness, not letting on about it , leaving no likes or comments, unless, like I said, it’s from our family or a boosted post. Once I get to the back fence it’s very clear neighbors have come, with a small tractor even, and gotten some of the reading material. It being the back gate represents the same thing it being night does; they came in secret, almost as if they stole. They left the fence open even, and it wouldn’t be stretching it to say that represents the two page views I saw the next morning after the dream, what had lit up in my little world at the top of the page. It’s no problem closing the fence again. All you have to do is read the message, and the number in the little world icon disappears. I don’t like it that neighbors are coming in secret to get what I’m giving openly and for free, want them to come around to the front, give some appreciation, but I do realize some material is being taken at least, posts are being read, and so, as I close the back fence, click on the little world, I’m not unhappy about it.

Although I don’t absolutely know that publication read the atheist poem that I asked them to in the comment I left on their page, the dream, along with the two page views, gives me good reason to believe that they did. The dream and other inner communication between us resulted in a poem I put as a comment on their page, during the day after the dream, and as I said earlier, they befriended me soon after posting it. For the past two weeks I’ve been waiting for them to like my page, and not even another poem has moved them, but I don’t see them ignoring me. What I do see is the necessity of showing I really see. Especially religious authority, as history bears witness, when it’s confronted by what it fears and doesn’t understand, is not a kind father.

Though you might think I’ve read too much into this dream, that it’s not possible to interpret them in such detail, even if I’ve gotten a symbol or two wrong, I haven’t over-stepped the boundaries of dream. It takes a lifetime to learn to interpret them, as much study as we put into books and other outer media, and few seem willing to do that, wanting just to jump to dream powers such as lucid dreaming and out of body experiences and the like, or even straight to spiritual experiences. Becoming conscious of dream initiates a multifarious process that eventually culminates in understanding not only the nature of dreams and their symbol meaning, understanding how to consciously use them to investigate reality, find the soul and look for God, seeing in great overabundant detail our hidden inner unity, how we communicate with one another on the inside of ourselves, but also, coming to the understanding that outer reality is as well like unto a dream in that it’s a story of a story, though a more substantial story we might say than our personal pell-mell dreams, a real story that represents layer upon layer of deeper reality that when you get to its bare ground, you find God.

I can’t lead you there, but I can try to show you how to see our underlying hidden unity, at the very least, how much we talk to one another in our inner life, and that the most readily available window to see that is the field of dreams. We don’t normally see it because, as I said in the beginning, we don’t yet know (have lost really) knowledge of the interpretation of dreams. This article might be called a field guide, looking however at only one species, but you have to use more than your reason to use it.

How in the world do I tell you, you only use your soul in a manner of speaking? To see what I’m talking about, your soul shows you that it’s using you. I don’t really think language can get here, it being itself a story of a story, representative by nature, and the soul, speaking of it in itself here and not its evolving personality the psychic being, well, how to say it? It doesn’t represent; it just is. It’s where dreams are born and all this communicating in them, sleeping dreams and world dreams, from where the seed is cast.