This is one of the poems that got me fired from my job at the Greater Fort Myers Beach Chamber of Commerce. The president, who fired me, told Douglas, who also works there, that board members and others were sending her excerpts of things I’d “penned”, claiming I was making fun of them.
If you are reading this poem on a phone, note that the integrity of the lines, a major feature of poetry, is not displayed properly. Many if not most get cut short because of the small screen.
For both a ride on me, ageless against you, and the age of the suns, I’ll be thousands of fallin’ underneath my mind, startled by the springs of enlightenment, and the cards are in play but too grandiose for my design.
Involved in the history, I’m not chuckin’ wood, but let’s face it I’m this little man in a little play. Now look, even in my beach job parking lot the herald of swift event patterned life. I saw the nuances of things to come, and I was a bearer there.
You can’t grasp this in your hand. I held the Earth in impossible lilies. I knew it was a steamboat. I handled it carefully every damn day. Can you imagine sleep without it? It held me at night, working on its intricacies.
I saw the world comin’. It held my gasping hand in its own. It was a birthday kiss. It was a holocaust of things known. I did not put all my rocks there. I had bigger plans than Earth.
Can you starry enlightenment? It will do you away. You’re not there seein’ it. You’ve disappeared, standin’ right there in the middle of it, and you’ve gone father than the world.
I know this land. I can’t describe it to you. It’s taken the world away in perfect seeing. I am not sure of its moorings. My times there have been brief, but you hear it in my gifted speech.
A whole field’s to play, famous hotel, unknown to the world. Can you imagine seeing the impossible, a world where none is, sights and sounds that not be, thoughts where none be, a whole world arise from the Void where nonexistence is? What arises now?
I don’t know if I’m worth this. I don’t know if it’ll come, the springboards of the Earth a seer’s grasp, the passive in God’s hands, the no-self of enlightenment, the end of suffering for individual man.
The floodgates are open for this puny start, a beach bellhop boy liberals through the strong right-wing the doors of enlightenment, contentment and peace, where the wild things are. I carry that trailer. I tarry there.
It’s worth it, no firecrackers in the belly. Wish you that payment. I started looking at shiny objects. I realized there was a behind the behind in every word that’s true, when you touch base with reality.
I wanted a bridge. The vehicles of enlightenment silence the world, engineer reality to make the grand crossing. Uh-Huh, there’s a reality there enlightenment leads to, the nature of reality, where we come from.
And you think you’ve stalled on enlightenment? There’s a beyond. It studies the world for you. It’s its master design. The roads ever get deep. Another universe holds this one in ours, and we go on from there.
The All-Encompassing All-At-Once is the study of the game, and we’re on flat level Earth, the first rising structure to pick up This land. How can I get this across?
No sight can show you it. No mode of thought gets there. You can sit in the All-At-Once of the sun to use a metaphor, and there you can see the dynamics swiftly over your head in a secret passage to our Source.
Now bring enlightenment into the picture. It’s stills the world for you to get to the other side into the reality beyond the universe, into the reality that made us.
Glory in the spoken word of poetry. One bad dream is this universe to cross. Right this minute, can you get the sense of creation? Can you see it larger than the book?
We went past it. What happened? We got services hello Cape Canaveral. One accident, it’s gonna be close. Till Hunter gets back we don’t leave reality to the fishes. We get out of these beach suits, the mere survival looking for enjoyment, the group mind. I’ll be right back. And it was a hunter for spiritual dawns.
Can you see that out of the routine? Bonanza, we’ve established this fact on earth again. The pilot’s license, where we start. Oh my God my head on my shoulders, this is like the bus you know.
The podium on the stage of the Art Hall in Koreshan State Park, Florida, where the utopian religious group, Koreshan Unity, had its community, whose founder and prophet was Cyrus Teed. A visit and a meditation there inspired this poem.
This is one of the poems that got me fired from my job at the Greater Fort Myers Beach Chamber of Commerce. The president, who fired me, told Douglas, who also works there, that board members and others were sending her excerpts of things I’d “penned”, claiming I was making fun of them.
If you are reading this poem on a phone, note that the integrity of the lines, a major feature of poetry, is not displayed properly. Many if not most get cut short because of the small screen.
In dreams and visions my voices speak. What are you doing over here? I’m a religious nut. I can’t control myself I hear visions. I count the salesmen in my dreams. Go wake up humanity, I can’t count the number of times I tried. I can’t even get a word across.
This is not save the world vision. I mean like I’ll never forget that I made the wrong sort of mud pies. I write poetry to reach the world. I’m not a religious figure to charm it. I’ve opened up consciousness inside. There’s no barnstormin’. I’m a quiet place takin’ a mile. I sit and read muse, no religious fanaticism, but I answer questions bluntly and with sarcasm. Let’s see what stinks here. Your mind.
Flying saucers from outer space did not tell me a thing. I have not been visited by angels tellin’ me I’m the man. I don’t want to get in your pants. I don’t want you to obey me. I would like a better society. I would like to say things that mean somethin’. I would like to hold your hand, where you don’t look down on me. I would like to lift you up in your mind where you think and touch that heart of yours.
We have a society here growin’ money and hate your neighbor. The mind of us is not the best of us. Our souls are only beliefs not houses kept. We think each other wrong. We don’t hand out society so you’re a prized member. That’s the rich and famous. We don’t know how to do it, be kind to one another, and it’s not a social laugh, the uncomfortableness of putting each other down to get at time with one another, or at best we keep our distance from heartfelt communication. We laugh at one another and wear big social masks to prove it, or we’re tryin’ to sell somethin’ when fake that sincerity.
Who is vulnerable and sweet? Who lets their guard down and give people meaningful communication? Our minds are full of the kingdoms of ourselves. And I’m not sure how to write that. Would you group with me? I’m a group-minded person, and I give group to my human being. I don’t consider other groups human, the Democratic Party for instance, or those Republicans. Man I love everybody. Now you everybody’s get off the bus. I’m lying to my social lying. I can only tolerate certain people.
You disguised my I, and I’m sharin’ in your business I don’t understand. You’re not the biggest people in the world Americans. You’re not even tryin’. What happened to me? There are changes in consciousness ahead. I’ve had some previews. I was not someone you handled correctly. You didn’t know how to see me, and I just fucked up. I got intah trouble. The previews came as a start to help me feel you as I feel myself, even if you look down on me.
I saw humanity. I’ve seen the world as my eye, no, no, not its offerings to me. I am a vision of the world as we speak. We look out each other’s eyes, in the world being that we are, and we look out the eyes of God, who is the vision everything. It is possible to break free from single vision’s number lair, from one pole of consciousness don’t you see? I’m about that vision. It’s universal. We all share it.
We’re lost in me’s and the boundaries of our group. I’m so sorry this chain gang has defeated my eyes too. Can I help you some see the truth, reality as it is, no religious overlays, no scientism that can’t see past its own nose? Reality’s bigger than you think, and you have identity outside of time. You aren’t this puny self laboring on a hapless globe that can’t see itself and know it’s true. You’ve put on actors wings, and it’s a hell of a ride ain’t it?
And all your dreams represent things to you because you are representative in time. You’re bigger than you think, in household wears, not your peckin’ order. You are actually beyond the stars lookin’ through a thin pigeonhole at that embarrassed I down in time. We’re all naked down here, and pride just can’t seem to go with us to sleep. It takes coffee to perk it up, and who knows the master plan of the universe? Kids we are and kids we’ll be, until we wake up on ourselves.
Do you know a mature notion? It’s not here, in every man for himself, in the little world we’ve made, in the societies we’ve engendered that make you obey it like it’s a real group but blames its faults on individuals, a world that does not know itself.
Good works and technology, you can’t move the field there. We have consciousness to change, and that’s not a thought process. The consciousness changes into its larger type. I’m puttin’ this in your hands, the ideal for the ages, the thing we’ve been workin’ at all along. It’s not a messiah you see. It’s not wings from outer space. You do the change and me, and we get bigger than ourselves. Blinded I am?
The Dalai Lama in Auroville, 1993, putting in the foundation stone for the construction of the Tibetan Pavilion there. In a speech afterwards, he said, “You can be a believer or an unbeliever…, but there is no choice between being a compassionate or non-compassionate person.” Photo courtesy of The Auroville Adventure
Did you know an Aurovillian won’t read this, no matter what I do? These are tough shares. Talk about hang in the water all in yoga. My cousin slapped my mother. It’s hard to believe such anxiety. Let me muscle you at, heart poundin’ in my ears.
Let me say that again. Oh boy, you wouldn’t believe it. These are in heartbeats that you don’t know to measure the light of the sun. I wish I could come down to a heart in my living room the Shambhala success magic. I cannot spray this in numbers. The heart central has to be the case. It’s dog eat dog otherwise.
Where do I put this compartment? In everything I do and breathe. It can’t be left out. You regard everyone as potential shares. You can’t stop evil among you with the ball and chain. You can’t just keep it from happening with everybody’s suspicions.
You have to rise to the occasion and also consider the bad man. What does he need to do to change? Can he do that among you? Yeah, people just want him gone.
There’s somethin’ I can’t get across over here. If you wanna create Shambhala, you have to envision his place among you healed and changed. Shambhala is the perfection of humanity where Auroville is. You have to rise above yourselves and do that.
You will not even listen to the change. You have closed your hearts and ears to a peaceful man among you who is poeting this change. How can it leave out the community, the bedrock of the change?
You know it would speak to it drum rose people. It would have the imprint of the divine sounding poetry’s worth. Terrible is it?
I come from another land. I do not meet the world it’s a thing out there and I’m a thing in here. / Those lines have been drawn, and they are wiggly now. I meet the world inside myself. In the substance of my vision something is wrong. The world is not a normal train ride, and my thoughts don’t take me there. I see the substance of vision it’s all acres of That, the substance of the show. You wanna know the gist of it? It comes to oneness.
Now bake my bread I’m normal, nothing special to look at, just another person to be around. Now test my feet I’m normal. I get angry laugh and cry. I can give you an argument. My difference is my hands on you. I’m lookin’ at the One starin’ back at me.
This is so real to my eyes my hands collaborate this. I am in your field of vision, and my that hurts, if I even make you feel bad. I don’t wanna do that, and this is strong stuff to prevent me.
Are you an alien on that? Have you reached the divine in vision? Do you know how to heal the sick, and they are not sick in body they are sick in hands, and their actions hurt the world, rob the community? How many times we said we needed that, heal the community?
This is a frog suit. I’m lifted out of the water until I cry. I mean I have to come up and record lines. Do you get the picture back and forth? I’m hearin’ these lines in inner vision I’ve developed over a lifetime. You hear the sauce now all Sri Aurobindo’d, the Mother’s guidance please.
Here’s the thing. It changes consciousness. The world grabs you in this. You see signs everywhere. You’re walkin’ hand in hand with the divine, but that’s not the beauty of it. It’s soundin’ bodies way out in front of you the substance of their mystery crayola figures of That, and it dawns on you it’s peeling you through everything, and will you get a load of that? The invisible ties connects us. Wow, I’ve just shored everything.
The Prime Minister, Shri Narendra Modi at the great Banyan Tree in Auroville on February 25, 2018. Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and the Prime Minister’s Office (GODL-India)
From the paths of the Alone, if it’s any consolation, I alone this to you, the next lesson cheerio. The heart of Auroville is the banyan tree establish the Earth oneness drive everything. The Infinite of days, things are stepped back, exploded on the scene: I hate this bible; I have a schoolbook to cram down your throat, the rules and regulations; I just wanna have fun. The voices chorus. Just leave my damn trees alone and my vegetables— I’m sustainable Auroville. I’ve got some rocket science get yah, a whole lot of Sri Aurobindo— the Mother’s disciples’ Auroville.
It’s a land grab right in the heart of the city, and then the government comes in and makes you disciples of her all the way to India that’s the tower we find. It makes you want to pull up stakes, the whole registry. A failed experiment has come apart on itself. You can’t get there from here. You can’t even try. You just sit and wait for another dawn.
Where do we go wrong? The goodwill to continue. It doesn’t hurt anybody. It doesn’t seek them shame. It’s taller than a government and is not about right of way. It has no agenda to sell you at the expense of itself. It’s charitable to everybody, even the weak. It has no bad man. Goodwill lifts him out of that. It’s good to everybody.
The fundamentals of goodwill started this place, and all this was hijacked early on and has led to today, a fractured Auroville. Policy glows in goodwill, is meant for the right change, and it glows on our vegetables. People’s particulars glow in goodwill to come right themselves. This is not known among you? If you see the fruit you see the tree. Goodwill governs all, and that’s where we land Auroville to come back to itself. Are you going to fight this? Are you going to make it mean?
The heart collapsed, the heart of Auroville. It puts lunch in children’s boxes and go all over India. Get to every place on earth, the Auroville plane. This trap is completely in our noosphere, such is the spirit of this endeavor, the daunting human-wide of Auroville.
You’ve blocked me with anger and ill will from the anger and ill will in the very pocketbook of Auroville, the poet of your gifted change, the poet sent here to warn you. Just come and govern everything with ill will, is this just your blindness or your willful stance? Time of death, is that the lesson of Auroville?
This is the form of the divine. I report that they are only satellites. It's all fences regarding the sun. We can’t get at that meat in the matter. It’s too broad-minded you, and you will not meet us there. I cough this up now a poem rose in certain straits, but I’m not in a tin can. The availability of truth is relative to the participant, but I tell you sincerity guides my house. It’s what I lean on. I can get closer to the truth, but will you meet me there? Will you even try?
Oh my goodness Auroville, that’s the study sheet, that’s what we make our daily rounds: ever widening to the truth, ever widening to contain it all, to stand at last on higher ground, to get there, the reason Auroville was made. We localize human divinity here, and that is ever the strength now.
I attempted to send this poem via email to recipients in Auroville, but my email ID was blocked. I’d sent the previous poem on this blog, “The New Business”, to all the addresses that blocked this one. This poem and the previous one made the secretary of Auroville, Jayanti Ravi, mad, and she got me kicked out of India over it, personally.
In the stories of the Self, the eyes of sunshine, it’s been Armageddon. A small voice out front says no, it’s been leading to something big. I’m a hope, and a skip, and a jump away from that. That’s what I’m pettin’. You hear the ups and downs, the soliloquies harbored on the snake. I swear these muse. I’m tellin’ the story of God. I’m not coughin’ up Skid Row, but I’m giving you pencils and integers of everything, and I don’t neglect nothin’ out. We’re on a roll now.
I feel something big. I can’t get my heart out to show you. I’m bein’ pushed from the inside. Still I can’t see my boy or anything else big, like a sudden public share. I still sit in someone else’s pain and cry, anyone on the planet I hear their story loud, and join that with my own. I still see the pain of the world and not its bright sunrise.
What is this bear I speak of now? A coming tidal wave, my head upon the stake? My faith in God hasn’t reached that far: he loves me at high noon, I mean like in front of everybody, and I’m not a bad man anymore. I’m a way with him. Would you count that, or do you even see him right out here open fields with everybody? I do have that smile.
Do performance art, and I’m from there. Stay in your room, that’s me. Catch me, you are my god I announce things at the seriousness of a child, and I am hurt by one. Look at me, a fattening calf, I have golden reins. I don’t know how to handle this: you don’t put my face on. That’s how it needs to be done to God knows what. You cannot contain this. You think aliens wrote it, or a moved lunatic. Some of you know I smile the meaning of the word. Play your blindfolded world.
Did the boy end up revealing anything to us? He’s happy and content on the outside I heard that your honor. On the inside he can’t handle himself, is boiling in pain. These are irreconcilable. He can’t hold this script down. Those around him only see the happy kid. He doesn’t reveal himself inside. I am not a name on his lips, like he doesn’t want to see me, but he cries for me inside and is continually scheming to see me or make contact.
These are all along the lines of Earth. He can’t make it right. He can’t get up out of his stool. He’s frozen there, and he and I are frozen there. You don’t know how this hits me. It’s like a betrayal that loves me so impossible to understand. He won’t even call my name, acts like I do not exist, and he is finished with me. This just does my head in, confuses me to no end. I swear the real boy’s right there, but he is so earnest when he shows me his inside, especially when he calls me and cries— so much pain, so much out of control, with a rage that wants to blow up the world, and I’m supposed to believe him? I get so worried about him. There is no end to this. There is no issue from this as he grows older.
I just want to walk away, but I’m pulled back every time by divine love and my unmanageable love for him. He is so big inside me. This is all in my reality. Can you lose a child, have him kidnapped, and he’s winin’ and dinin’ with his kidnappers just down the street, sending you secret notes of ransom that say daddy I love you so much and want to be with you? This is a crash course in reality. Fuck this I want off, and the Mother and Sri Aurobindo and other divine bid me stay with him, and I love that kid so much I do.
Here’s the trick. Get rid of the pain they say. Don’t even operate on that attachment. Count the divine only you see in everybody. Don’t be forlorn. He’s comin’ back. It’s all in my muse, there or in the background of every poem I write, his name, his name, Nithish, Nithish.
Stop the forlorn? The ache inside my breast all the time, the absence of my child and his dangerous psychological situation, how in the world do I stop that or believe the divine he’s here sometime soon? This plays with me and plays with me. Are the divine devils? I don’t know what’s goin’ on. I’ve lost my child.
You my divine reader swing with the Gods with your heart-breaths, your beliefs, your unaccountable sum. Have you seen the Great Beyond? Are you a born object of God, what others now discuss as an occasional moment in the Sun? It would change your way of life, radically transform society, because it’s there at our divinity’s base. We lit triumph with our children to bring this home to us.
Do you know the transformation of the outer life into the inborn divinity we wear? When do we put that on with our children, a radical new way of life that busts out of the husks of the old, where children can be themselves and not the uniforms they wear, not crammed down society’s schoolbook, not made to think your thoughts but open God up inside themselves? I’m a motion on that, a mover, and can I remind you here of our high aim in your classrooms with your kids, in your downtime? Nothing more to say except my time with children is that, who they are in time and their inborn sense to go beyond it a revolutionary.
How do the boatmen row? Gently and in springtime. I’m saying my worth, and I’m not a cherry picker. I’ve seen the city up high and the elephants the grass ate, the thieves that robbed bottom and the song they sang when they saw God they now with children row. I’ve counted the stars and their admonishments and protests, their gifted speech to the poets of the time. It’s all a crocodile beautifully put. It doesn’t change us. It only makes us mean towards our brother when we find them doing wrong.
Who can translate poetry the Gods themselves can’t bore? Do you know the living Ray? It comes form other shores, and we hand it in our pencils blockchains we wore. Can I pencil this in for you with the freedom of the Infinite involving children, involving Light?
It breaks on us a new path: you’re the leader finally acting, and I storybook my little boy from a full moon today where we draw redemption. Outstanding citizens no, we want radical revolutionaries with every child we write. Do I dare you? Radically I write time. I am life’s sacrament. It won’t pull me under. I am not dyin’ here. Somethin’ climbs in my room I don’t know. It’s got handles on it, but oh what they are? I’m a space nigger in time. Maybe that’s coming to an end? Maybe there’s a zombie apocalypse, and I get loved right out in the open by my boy? I think it will take that for him to act, despite this poem I wrote. Maybe I’m onto better days. Maybe I’m big stuff.
It’s Armageddon folks, is that how this is supposed to end? No we just pray there, and we get up and run the world again I lit in the face of certainty. The foreigners would wait outside folks, and the lady is a figure on trapped. Startled by his brightness, I see the Alone in every tree. It looks out at me with my dogs’ eyes. It’s in every figure of self, looking out at the world with timeless eyes. I am not alone here, even though you keep me at bay. I am a figure of Self, and I break bread with the Alone as a matter of happenstance. You can’t rob me of that deep. You can’t even see it.
Fine, I will wear your society, but I’m on revolution’s springs, and I stand there alone investing in time an uprising out of it. Now read me won’t you please? I see the Alone in every face, and you are nothing but he. Crowd me now with your figure of him. I dance on this delight on Earth’s shores just poetin’ the hell out of time, and that’s the start of it, prayfully yours.
The muse gave me a message to you, the muse rise and poetry. I’ll see it in the garbage can, won’t I? I don’t know how to negotiate this landmine in outer things. Every world has rejected me. I’m a nation to nobody, dear reader except you. This is across the board. It’s unhand me. It’s blue and it’s red and it’s gold. It’s unbelievably tight.
What do you say to no, we don’t want to have anything to do with you, and this is the entire of the yoga you follow, the city on earth that’s to realize the human dream and be alright with each other? I get kicked out of there too and in the hearts of every man and every woman who could make it possible to see my boy again right out in the open his daddy again, and that anomaly is solved: why the divine in-look on me carries his name, and it is a phantom make.
I stand here confused. Even the halls of poetrydom have spit me out. I have no place in society. I live in some little island of bright, and Douglas and our dogs hold the world together. Our visitors only want something, all they can get, and they only come here for that. We have no friends here. We have no one looking out for us. We are here alone and that’s it. This squeezes you, you know? You don’t understand when humanity and the world mean so much to you.
I’ve painted this isolation for myself. Douglas has friends and family who care for him and provide, else we wouldn’t make it. He lives in his room and I live in mine, but our best-friendship has reached the stars, but can I tell you about Paul? A friend for all the years, who is in the world at large giving me e-blasts I’m your friend. When the world rejects you, you get compensation, friends for all the world, if you’re holdin’ hands with the world, if the world means as much to you as yourself.
I can’t bear this, spit on by everyone, and I’m just diggin’ my hole deeper with these poems. They cost me so much. They tear me apart I am so real with you. I don’t know how to begin to really say it, the be there of the human being.
Oh my God I want to describe it to you, so we can join there. I want you to see my humanity. I don’t want to be an outcast no more. Oh I wish you could feel that. God does, and he’s here with me all day in bright thoughts and muse on the edge of time. Would that you could feel that.
A meaningful life, that’s established. Come to terms with myself and terms deeper. This is all in the sky. I’m a blockchain. I matter to mankind. I’m significant to your notions of self. I’m good to all you haven’t seen yet. I love people and feel their oneness. I am not about the snake. I touch you with deep meaning. I am really there.
The world blows up inside me it has eyes. I commune with the Unknown. I’m about your rocket ship. I ease on you these things: the starling oneness inside us, the jumprope to God, everything we have to do with each other in our ballpark with children and the animals in the room. You hear me there petting my dogs in wonder and taking children to the sky.
I cook meals for you and attend to your business all day. I am not just a selfish wound. I have lifted up the race everywhere I look. I am dawn on you the understanding of poet, and here I am, in my most serious mood, standing up and be counted, because you’ve shunned my face, a rocket-man that knows we share meaning together, that knows my part in the world, that knows I can’t live without you.
You’ve kicked me out of your homes, you’ve kicked me out of your hearts long enough. I’m not a beggar at your gates. I’m the poet at high noon. It’s time we fly. It’s time we fly.
photo by the author, a chalkboard at the entrance to an Auroville middle school
Boxed in the corner, I hear You call my name. I last. I play the game. I know how to handle time. There’s a secret to it. Open yourself to the Invisible. Hold yourself on the inside and see the outside. Don’t just stand there and swim. Mount time the stadium you wear. Don’t be bashful about it. Don’t overrate yourself. Stand up and spell time the way you wear it. Give the voice to the ages. You want to be so sincere you spelled time for everyone.
It can be in a broom closet, but you’ve made that closet sing. I’ve been in dens of iniquity, and I found the price of the world that way. I found out how much we cost hurtin’ people. They wore the boundaries me. They were the hope that carried the world, and I just cried my eyes out when I discovered that. Can you embarrass God? I think I did.
Then I opened inside myself time and discovered its secrets. I had damaged time, and it didn’t punish me with it. The way of redemption is forceful and slow, but you can ride upon its back if you find redemption’s base: I am trouble I am, and that is a whirlwind, and I turn that whirlwind upon myself, and I open time and fate upon myself, to rack the tools up in inner man to overcome evil with good I’ve paid for myself.
It happened, and I grab you by the hand and show you inner healing’s ways. We are not an accident, and we are bigger than the wrong we have done, and you are bigger than having it done to you. We get trapped in these ways, and we make reality existence either hurting or being hurt, the clash of right and wrong.
How this fools us into little lives that can’t see past their own noses, and we make everything a sin, or we are trying to get to sin. How many can let a child play with themselves and stay out of it? Why you want to stop them or join in. Fuck let’s cut that asunder and just stay out of it. Fuck, you can stay here, or you can allow language to get a little tight to come into these narrow straits of time. It’s difficult to go past your moral boundaries, and the world needs to be saved, and our existence depends up it.
Children need to play with themselves, and men and women need to heal from sin, not punished, not beaten, not be made outcast. You cannot stop evil you can only heal it, and that changes it into something else. We can heal together. We can find the weapons to do that. It’s much deeper than a doctor’s office, deeper than a psychiatry chair, deeper than a religious conversion and any form of prayer.
We have to turn inside out. We have to get to the bottom of things. We have to open our consciousness and get in there to the secret stuff. / We have to get clean, not from sin, from even the desire to hurt and harm. We have to look at each other and know we are more than any me. We have to find the secret Inhabitant that sees out both our eyes, and we both see together that we are one through that gaze.
Man this is reality, who we need to see to survive, and it’s how we heal from hurting people and being hurt, but you have to arrive there not just in belief. It’s to see that Look. We wear time. It doesn’t bury us. It’s not our keeper. It’s not who we are.
The phenomenon is just a wonderful in the All-Look’s gaze. Wonderful we see that, and wonderful we see each other, and a panda is to us the moon and a dog the starry sky. Can you get there? All life has Eyes, and oh the splash of healing there, phenomenal.
Do you want to understand? I can give you all I’ve got. That’s the music in me. You have to be wide enough to take it and not stand in its way. We need to heal time, and are you gonna block that?
Oh look at that swing behind the throw up. It’s how you reach enlightenment my dears. Believe it or not a swing shows up in dreams when you approach it. It’s a force that takes you like the spiral, and you literally swing. How about that habitat? Nothing can get in the way. You’ve got to swing all the way there. Your life will proportion this out to you. You get closer, and you move further away, swinging back and forth until you get high enough to arrive.
Do you see how tall you are? The symbol of dream has shown you up close your waking life approach, time’s secret here I’ve shown to you. If you do anything, habitat this truth when it comes out.
Am I allowed to continue? Why thank you I appreciate that. The little swing of enlightenment people, how we tell time what we are.
This poem began where Death went off his office, and it revealed. It’s beginning to baby us, political allies. About exit, what does it reveal today? We’re not safe in our own shoes. Death is the beginning of misery.
I kill myself from the beginning I bet. It’s a written, a written piece of paper. Now I left coins of me, shekels, splashes of time, in your jukebox. They’re horrible. It didn’t work. I could not write my name in the sky.
Just how do you do? I’m small pittens for small fare, smaller than that. I just do your head in, don’t I? Come talk to me I’m worth? And you don’t. [The sound of laughter here] You’re the wrong people. You’re not wearin’ soul shoes.
This is message for the times today. We did love. We’ve lost some trying to get it in there now. What in the hell’s a matter? It’s the go car looking for enlightenment brown. Make alright boy that’s it cut the track. Just need to think your love can speak. [sing line] Freedom caring, just need to think. Some of it has been miracles in the room. [sing line] One at a shot have a world education. [sing line] He’s called a creature of a dying world job, little until tea tomorrow. You’re getting good at it. Leadership is worship. Bake down, ask about your soul technology. Become immortal.
Before my life was over, I want to find what my life was in. I’m normally ask that, if I haven’t given up on life. Would you lay with me [sing line to tune of song of that name] all over this answer? It’s not a field of stone. It holds us all in tight keeping, but it’s not the angel in the room. This is pre-God ladies and gentlemen. Can you hacksaw that?
I’m getting deep into society’s ways. I’ve just found Spirit, the first covering of the Unknown. It’s how we have being. It’s where we come from. A great big Spirit wears everything. It fashions God. We’re getting into preexistence ladies and gentlemen, when only the Formless arise. Can you imagine nothing as its sailboat?
What’s the rule of this ship? Don’t fashion nothing. Expand into global waters. Make existence be to pronounce Itself. Spirit is the first form it wear, that makes for us souls. It’s aligned with God, but it’s not God. It’s the soul, the basic who we are.
You can touch that ship in intimate contact, feel it ride the wherewithal of your day. It can take over and rubs your belly with sweetness, and you are charged for awhile with everything’s honey. You see the soul in things.
How can you do this in a concentration camp, in the worst hell on earth? That’s the soul of the ages in bare bones reality giving you eyes to see. Overcoming physical pain is one thing. Watching cruelty mark the Earth, devour babies, and we’ve gotten down to the purpose of soul: don’t let it in, the despair.
The soul can get you out of this, even in the midst of it's bear. We are a sublime soul range, God gave us Savitri reads, and this is down on earth. We tarry there. The soul is completely out of this picture, the whole fortnight of evil takes our ship. The soul is not responsible for sin. It loads up our day with the honor we give one another for being the Itself to Itself, and we feel sweetness everywhere and principles of joy.
This can break in on us in the hell we have made of our lives, or what others have made us suffer. It can even break the dull routine of the days. It can be in ordinary and lift on you extraordinary in every mode you wear. There’s no end to the soul’s keeping. It’s the basic ground of everything. It’s goodness rides the high seas. It has so much feeling for everyone. A plant is to it existence and little dogs so lovingly looked upon. It can hold matter in its hand, and you don’t want to bruise that ship either. You’re careful with everything. You have respect for the Earth. You are never out of love, even when you see society’s nigger, the people we are allowed to hate.
I can’t fashion this for you. The soul is a mystery you know, but I can tell you how to do it, reach for soul, let it in. You grasp it all the time in bridges you wear. It’s the most common thing in life, coming upon your feelings, and you feel so alive with everything, and you want no harm done to the aliveness in front of you. You feel the pain of the Earth, the sorrow, disguised as your own or your close neighbor’s, and you grasp your loved ones to yourself and be good to them. You feel ranges of Spirit right there in your baked pie.
A moment of eternity has looked in on you, and you feel sublime with the Earth. You hold them with your children, these feelings, or your best friend’s face, and you love to pet your dog with them like you’re petting moon time. You want to protect everything don’t you? And you put down your enmity for a minute.
Can we range there, take those feelings to the sky? We can sure get along there, if we try. There’s more to soul science you know, but I’m trying to get you started on thin ice. We don’t know how to handle the world. It ruins our day, even when we’re drinkin’ with it, but we are not left out of soul. It envelopes everything, and when existence can be anything, the soul is there first a witness, then a power to bring the soul round to things, and you just have to grasp it in what I’m saying now.
Is everything okay? Is everything alright? I wear society like a sleeve, and they do not worth me in it, not even my own kin. I am left apart by everybody. Few call my name. I’m treated well by Douglas and a few others. My child cannot call my name, and though he is living I cannot see him. I live in isolation, bearing pain. I look at the specter of death. I’m in danger of society’s wrath. It sneezes on me.
Have you ever seen the sun and the mysteries of existence? I’ve pulled them out of my pocket. I’m a crash course in reality. I write this to you now in poetry that has never been seen before, and I’m a black bag. Society won’t read me. It spits my name out, never calls it. I want you to recognize this pavilion. I want my boy back and safe, and I want all of you to be safe.
How can one man’s love change the world? If it opens up the eyes of God it can. It can bring us to soul. I rabbit there and show you soul moments, a day or an hour, I can see because I wear. It’s close to enlightenment’s springs, and I refuse this honesty just as much, feeling my pain, my isolation and the loss of my boy, who tells me he’s walking in a void, in secret messages, and he’s lost on himself no light he can see.
I bear these days not as a guerrilla. I return again and again to the house of soul, what I’m lifting up for you to see in a certain light that give us release from pain, and I love you there, even though you give me the cold shoulder, again.
Rushing through a path of ambulance, I participate. I don’t promote my own story. I hand it to you because it’s how I found out things. I’d rather not tell it as honestly as I do. This does not do me good. It gets me ignored, not a poet in good standing, and no one will promote my work, except a fellow poet in Israel I can count on to call my name.
Just at the home of mankind, I’ll have the day at some point, and I’m in your picture of what everything means. For now I want to pass ships. I’m on a mission to get past my own boat. Come get me please. You’ll like what you see.
photo by Lydia, Dylan’s mom, a representative photo: the you in the poem is you, who ever you are, not the kid, or not until he reads poetry
Shooting rifles into the air, that’s my electric snow. It won’t move men. It can’t get at the oil in time that damages us, makes us mean, and I can’t even make you feel better.
Headlong into our joys and pains, into what makes us tick, into together you and me, I come up empty of the value of our ship where you whistle on board.
I don’t know how to reach the other side, where I’m not a page in oneness, but I’ve crawled under your bedcovers, and I’m up against your body safe. Tell me how to do that.
I spill myself. I just pour my guts out, and darlin’ you get enough of that. You aren’t gonna lie to me I know I reach your bed or not. I can hold innocence in my hand, but I can’t rub myself with you with it, but I can’t find that spot on you you take it.
Dang blast it stars, it’s not all about the body, but that’s where we meet each other in person. I’m tryin’ to say we can still do the value in verse of the sincerity meeting you.
It’s the secret of poetry. It’s my hand in yours as you dally with your own. I find you there my sweetness givin’ your kids a bath, takin’ your dog for a walk, liftin’ your mind to the skies in anticipation of more there be. Oh honey boogers, can we swing together?
I think you’ve found your verse, Eastern were able to read. There’s a piss on your blacklist. Guess what ladies and gentlemen, a rowboat, and there appears on your ears deeper meaning.
You think you’re too weird for our TV? You’ve touched hearts, you know? But the chorus rings out— how did it happen? How did you do anything at all? [sing this and above line] It’s about how to hold life at bay when we’re in a very physical intimacy. My official model is bliss. This will be call master.
image by the author, Earth in space public domain via Wikipedia
The world is at the skid point. We are so caught in this movie we can’t even see beyond. Tell me you don’t care. Tell me you’re hangin’ out clothes to dry, and your little one’s screamin’, and that’s just big stuff on TV. Got caught in the movies. I know you ache at night, just about to spill it all, everything you know about the world but don’t. You don’t know what to make of it it holds you so close.
Can we climb out of this? We can sure get lost in it. Will you play with me? I’m a poet from Skid Row. No I’m not a drinker. I’m a free world thinker, and I want the world to last longer than its appointment in the annuals of our sun. I’m with you on that. I want to outlast the sun where I know I can be happy.
Have you ever seen the world up close? It’ll finger your dickens. No, no I’m not talkin’ about the rovin’ mania all around yah— the whole teeming world as an entity in front of your face. Got boxes and spring cards, but it’s the real McCoy.
I don’t know if you know what I’m talkin’ about yet. I scrap it off my shoe no. This is a divine appointment in time, the world as an organization that brings God on earth, and we can’t get over the word divine. I’ve lifted up your skirt and showed you religious offerings. I mean an intelligence bigger than the skies that can fit in our green Earth and bring it to the next level. You think of the universe as a flat individual organization, but the many levels of the universe go beyond the universe, and I tell yah Earth is scheduled for that.
I’m far from the clothesline now, but that screamin’ kid, I’ve gotten into his ache. We want a better world, expressive of need, and the world as an organization can do that, be unto our need. It’s flat and big everywhere we look today, but have you met the world yet? That’s what I’m tryin’ to say so that it matters, so that we can get bigger than ourselves, knowin’ the world’s done with livin’ for your kin.
Bigger than any national flag, the world is our step-brother that needs to know its name spoken on your lips. Oh no Mohammad you don’t own the world, nor Jesus Christ, and certainly not Hindu or Buddha, and the Jewish people will not rule the Earth. We’re all gonna get goin’ to see the world in each of us, to understand its nature bigger than the machine.
Are you with me on this? I think you’ll fight me some, until we realize Earth’s got an appointment in blue skies, and we will all revel in it, giddy with the realization of harm’s end. Do you know that cost? Can you turn around and see the world today? Flabbergasted can you see it?
A step-mother, seven kids, and digital shock, can you grab that? Help me chase it to we meet the world there. I’m not horseplay. I’m the world looks in on you, not the teeming multitudes, the world as a being in front of you in time, and I’m travelin’ a poet to forgotten shores, what a seer give society, its determining wings, how it lays out itself and what it be's. It’s the arms of society to tell you the truth. You must not let that little you. It’s the One looking in on itself. You’re the One. I am really here for you.
Now sing along. You can’t fool me anymore by your nonchalance. I know the score. You can’t shoot me anymore either. I know what I’m about, and even dead I’ll know it, and so will my poetry.
Open up in there. There can be no losers. Bite into something hard. Stare into something new. I gave you the congressional service. No shame in that. A wardrobe you know you can catalogue here take this self: we’re goin’ to the end of society as the machine.
Sheltered animals move and breathe. They just don’t get away. What was defeated in Mexico? Waiting by the bomb. You’re encountering that work’s envitalment, and you can’t get out of it. Best documentary That Worked. What are you doin’? Getting our own hands dirty in blowing up the machine, a long action that we can do without war or blowin’ people up or shooting them down. Here I am doin’ it don’t you see?
Never mind the behavior they stopped us from realizing it. What was that membership? Blowin’ up the world in I don’t care, oh no. I’ll give you as much as possible to farm time freedom from the machine.
Love, it actually gave us tomorrow, is the active ingredient. I find that news with anything. It’s real and normal if you realize you have met the world out during the day in every box you’ve met today, in every pair of eyes staring out at you, all of it, the whole damn show.
