A Counselor

photo by Douglas
I remember now.
I built a mile high stadium.
Stupid show,
look what Hookah did
in the center of your program.
We’ll always have that voice.

I would murder in words anything I tried to say.
We have our long lists
of hurt that’s been put out there.
It’s how we tax the world.
It’s how we feel better about ourselves.
Would an actor see that?

And if I reduce it to a role,
do I bleed responsibility?
Do I reduce it to an abstraction
in the places I’ve bleeded reality,
the places I’ve burn?

I’ve grabbed the sun,
live on a height of thought and life
I write about all the time.
I see the representation,
the symbol we all are.
It eves my day.
What then?

How is it possible to hurt someone and not know their pain
because you’re a writer of sky dreams?
I communicate with the dead,
have them all around me,
each little life I’ve lit on fire
in the bucket of intimacy.

I don’t think the possibilities of healing surround your room.
You are not stark walking the symbol.
You know the outer lair.
An inside all day long,
you don’t approach that.

You don’t know what it’s like to love the world
in those places you’re sorry,
breathing those words all day long
to a you know you’re heard
way beyond man.
I don’t think you’re aware of the price you pay
when you become aware of man.
The pain you feel humanity.

But on the cutting edge of this
is who I make it up to,
a little boy growing in time.
He represents you.
He represents the world’s eyes,
and I am there for him.

We can take joy on the Earth,
sweet, innocent and kind,
holdin’ our humanity close.
It’s not all a razor blade.
We can get sweet on the Earth,
and when you get home,
you can love the world like a little boy,
and your representation grows.
photo by the author

A Penny for Your Thoughts

photos by the author
We have everything to do
with being creatures on a role planet.
Our time in space
blackens our time in thought.
I promote myself
spits in the wind.
Art and thought,
I wonder if you feel anything
derelict.
I’ve perished this bloom.
Since everybody’s here,
except any majority of people,
I might as well clear my throat.

What do I hog to you today?
I wanna pull existence out of the hat,
be right on the ground of being.
I want you to say, "that’s me."
I put it in flower pots.
I sit here all day and fight it,
our anonymous with each other.
This is stadium big.

We are all points in space
too big for our britches.
We see ourselves huge in other’s eyes.
I’m talkin’ about ourselves.
We feel and think and be
the center of any room,
so big to ourselves,
and even if we are not the reason everybody’s there,
we see reality that way.
Take us off the megalomania lists.
I’m just talkin’ what it means to be human,
or the dog in the corner,
or the ant in the windowsill,
and you know that plant think?
It’s just not corralled its self-aware.
It just does not pedal to the end of the room.
Those thoughts aren’t in motion,
but you’ve got a plant big there,
everybody in the room.

How do I toll the star-gate?
We are stuck on one world
in our rounds of thought.
We cramp existence here.
Oh my God the experiment,
would it be the same in every laboratory?
Can we count existence a cheat?
Does it handicap worlds,
universes,
or does it just stage things properly?
Do you know you’re blind, deaf, and dumb
to what you see on the inside
of the person sitting next to you,
or leaving a comment,
or submitting a poem,
or who’ve you’ve encountered on the news?
Their inner reality is blind to yours.
We have bleeding cakes
in dream and vision
and in our thought wares unawares,
but these things are disguised.

You can’t hear another person
fill reality’s room.
You only hear yourself.
Hey Jim,
let’s create a world…
Screw this.
You handicappers.
Can I explain the problems in the world?
Taste another person please.
Know they’re there
as big as you,
and if they think they’re bigger, well,
how many times does this happen
in any given day?
We have to mitigate it.

They’re just stupid that’s all,
like we all are.
I’m sorry you’re stupid too.
Do you treat everybody as you,
give them a break,
the benefit of the doubt,
or forgive them their trespasses?
You will have a million excuses
why you can’t identify with them.
Come on people please.
You’re the center of everybody’s pole,
as you imagine them looking at you,
but they put themselves there, you know?
We can get better at it,
givin’ people the credit they deserve,
givin’ people their own self
in our very own eyes.

Who’s humanity in the room?
Can a poet speak that voice?
Can we ride poetry there?
The productivity’s there
be a hurt bag
and find humanity.
And watch everybody spill the beans.

I am so very blacklisted,
I could rise to the occasion
and blossom humanity in my heart
and write it down in gifted speech,
and they would just turn and look the other way,
the stadium managers in humanity,
who’s who who block poems.
Now do you hear me
blossom humanity?
Now do you hear me blossom poems?
A bridge is the universe.
We are reality big.
It’s a major crossing.
Focus on the many aspects of this visual poem
heard while doing science.
In a round about way put it on your shoulder
I’m your friend.
It’s been a lot of Scottish in here.
I’ve done a daily
put people in the shoes with me.
He put the swim in there.
I am the render in time,
the render in space,
that’s the One I’m worth.

That farm,
that house is play,
here’s where you too,
not the separate consciousness
but the localized in space,
God of the whole evolves.
That’s the cherry blossom.
That’s where we all rise in sync.
I’m an American band I’m comin’ through your town, [sing line]
this is exactly what
the stadium room,
that cherry bloom.

A Trailer at Sky Noon

photo by the author
Have we always been human
and universal Brahman?
I killed 14 people.
Frying that up,
do I lose my humanity?
Back to the recent times.
Are people just badder than before?
What can we say about humanity?
You know I’m countin’ sheep.

We drag clothes wear.
This is not our first costume.
Where do we come from?
Do we come from ugly,
or do we come from good?
Do we come from the chaos down under,
spawns of hell that evolved to light?

We’ve been in the engines of the universe for a long time.
Are we emerging,
or was this a soul’s fall
into matter’s plight,
great heavens we wore
and then lost it all
in a sudden decision?
Are we universal existence
lost in individual chains
goin’ through trapdoors all the time?
How does our unity play?
How deep does our unity go?
Do we evolve together or separately?

You think the protozoa created us
scientific doctor,
and we emerged to man,
no soul in the machine,
no universal existence beforehand,
no Brahman with his gun.
The fish in the sea
are our ancestors on high.
We dream of being human again
you idiot,
where life meets the universe
on every frustrate world.

Is this all there is pond?
I can speak from my crash course in reality,
and we have scales of being
that rip us off
and brighten our days
and sometimes hold nothin’ with us
in the great majority of cases.
There’s the earthling man,
the universe revolves around this?

I have more fields to show
the origin of the universe wears.
I’ve poked my head out of the sky
and seen more than I can show.
You don’t know what it means to look beyond
and carry the glow of the universe
like it’s your backyard.
I’m a small man in Earth shoes
bustin’ at the seams with immensity,
and I can give you a ride home?

I ride these poems too,
and I’m a bucket in the sand
joinin’ reality with you.
We have more roles to play,
don’t you see?
And even existence is not all we are,
but let’s get down to Earth, shall we?
We are not the demon’s room.
We do not come from hell.
Escape it is our price—
a real punishment
you don’t need to worry about
all existence long.
And we were not once Gods,
and now we are men and women,
but of Godhead we did wore.

We come from beyond the universe
to inhabit these fields of clay.
We are existence before existence
in the planetary field ride.
We are burning suns each and every one,
to use the symbol that ignites the universe.
We come from on high.
We are principle actors in a principle game
that has stars for robes.

I just spoke the alcoholic’s din bin,
the wayward president his lair,
the child molester in bed with a child,
and the tax collector at your door.
I can get muddy these
or just be an ordinary house mum
or field husband
or kid in school
dreamin’ of what will become of me.

Lift up your eyes sweetheart.
There is more to come.
There’s the Diamond in the room,
and all your lives lead to that
as in the making of a star,
the crash and founding of a universe,
and we can be there kids.
We can be there
in great lone moments
of the direction at noon.
We can see the sky,
have great Earth thoughts
that make us feel God inside
and hurry this along folks.
Yah hear me kids?

You Lift on a Stroke, There’s a Dog Shelter

A video-photo-poem, my own design, on its material level this is a promotional video for the Auroville Dog Shelter in Auroville, India. It’s the aim of this video art to take that material into the spiritual realms and beyond. To send donations to the shelter, go to this link: http://www.aurovilledogshelter.com/

The Damage We Do to Earth

photo by the author
Is by human nature human nature changed?
Let’s defeat our purpose.
Let’s go around the Mulberry pole again.
Let’s just not listen to our teachers.
I will by human nature outcast this person,
in the middle of a human unity project,
where the Integral Yoga was set down on Earth,
and I will do this willfully and strongly,
not caring for the consequences.

This is how it’s done,
if you want to protect the group from someone.
You don’t give them also divine eyes,
and you give them no public venue,
and by that I mean you keep their voice unheard,
and you ghost them forever and ever without end
in your little social bubble.
It’s high time we changed that,
in such a powerful place as ours

that holds such meaning for the Earth.
Are you with me?
I think not.

The opposite poles of human unity,
that’s the whole way to rape the system,
when we keep them apart.
I’m a whirlwind of the proper material.
Don’t you confuse me with panic.
I have my rocking chair,
my golden years.

I am the toilet that speaks
one more time.
I just want you to consider your own goodness.
Why would you castigate me?
Because God’s the author of punishment,
and God’s called you to punish me?
Sri Aurobindo gave this commandment:
thou shalt punish the wayward sadhak?
The Mother despised sin
and dealt out punishments to people?
The Integral Yoga hates sin?
The One cannot stomach me?

Let’s look at your business.
You don’t know who you are.
You are not the sadhak with the name you call.
You are not the Aurovillian you sign your name as.
You are a person beyond time.
You can’t get this right.
You think it’s some far away,
and you are supposed to act in human terms.
The Zeitgeist says it;
you carry it out.

There were times and there are places
I would not be the ass among you.
Your morality is relative to the times.
You can’t see straight
when you face a sinner
your town and country hates.
This is rock bottom being human.
You see it unleashed on the globe,
this breach of oneness.
We are killing each other over it.

Oh Islamic State was a model for our eyes.
They thought they were justified
in bringing the hell they did
to punish people,
or the Nazi and the Jew.
The scapegoat they made
was another attempt at Nature
running something into the ground
in her symbol wrought her blind actions speak.
The availability of the Jew as the scapegoat
came to show us we wear scapegoating shoes
as the modus operandi of ego-led society.

You don’t have a field for this:
where we take our scapegoats and make them human again.
You just hate
and justify your hatred
by the human mass.
You are not godly citizens.
You burn witches.

You have been given a vehicle of thought
unparalleled in the history of thought
to arouse your stomach,
to change your heart,
to detach from this human clay
the pettiness of human life,
the vile emotions we feel for one another
and see beyond the play,
and bring yourself out of this turmoil
and into the light of day.
You quote these fields all the time.
The Mother said this.
Sri Aurobindo wrote that.

The Integral Yoga can heal anything.
I have been among you 20 years showing that,
but you cannot see it.
You don’t want to.
You will not apply the lessons you’ve learned Integral Yoga.
You will just deny,
hate,
and castigate,
and as a group you do this.
What do I do to bring you to peace
over this person named Donny Duke?

I offer you my home
for a station of tea,
and you won’t even answer me,
stubbornly justified in your ill will
by human morality that has no part God.
I am the reason for Auroville’s fall,
and I graft upon it
the deception of a poet
that hides his sins with godly words,
wants to commit them among you if you but let ‘im,
deceiving the elect with holy lore.
You don’t know the price of sin.
You don’t get away with it,
even if no one finds your ruse.
Say you’re a sadhak close to God.
You have no way to hide,
and you learn to do what you’re told
to get out of your mess.

It does not take forever.
Low and behold I have sinned and healed that sin
and given the beauty of art
to give you examples of healing’s ways,
and now it’s reached astounding.
You will not sit up and take notice.
You will not even let it in your groups.
No one can read it.
No one can see it.
You hate art
the scapegoat of the day makes,
the one hated among you
by an agreement of the times.

Ladies and gentlemen,
will you castigate me for all eternity,
name my sins and how ugly they were,
without ever seeing the unexpected good that can come from woeful deeds,
without ever admitting that God has a plan
even for one such as me?
This is stubborn willfulness
out of the hour of God,
away from the lessons of truth.
Who is the greatest sinner?
I forgive you of your self-righteousness.
I understand your state.
I don’t blame you for being human,
but we can’t stay in this state.
We are called to greater life,
and we have to go together or none.
The people that refuse,
God just takes more time with them.
Are you one of those?

This poem was recently rejected by Collaboration, A Journal of the Integral Yoga, whom I have submitted numerous poems to over the years, hands down the publication I’ve submitted to most, because it is a publication of our yoga, it’s name claims inclusiveness, and it’s by fellow Americans, but they have not published a single poem. I have this theory, and I submitted this poem to prove it to myself at least, that they will never publish a poem I submit, regardless of the quality and truth of the poem. This poem explains why.

In other news, the admin of the Facebook group Friends of Auroville approved it, although the other Auroville Facebook groups I submitted it to didn’t, and it was submitted to Auroville Today and Auroville News, and Auroville Today at least replied rejecting it. Auroville News did not reply this time, and they too I’ve sent poems to over the years.

Representational Think
 / A Blog Post

photo by the author
Alone for you,
state it and I’ll bring it.
That’s our duty.
I’m not a poet I’m a blog artist.
These are
thousands
is that so?
Would you gear with me
the impossibilities of paint
another form of blog?

I wanna get in your living room
the poet speaks aloud,
the blog artist
refashions the internet,
and it is as legitimate as a piece of paper
sayin’ things.
I’ve got out the bugs,
the pieces of electricity put into us
electronic think.

This is my whirl with you.
I take the possibilities of poetry
and group think
and put them right in your lap.
I’m a rebel I’m a holder.
I’m sincere with you.
God it all stinks,
and a better world is coming
in the kitchen sink.

Sylvia Plath
did not Gertrude Stein.
You know what a kitchen is thought,
and how many people sink there?
I bet you didn’t include the kitchen sink,
and I double meaning my poem
blog post.

It’s all gone to hell ain’t it?
I sit and count God on my fingers.
I can’t get at it that way.
I’ve got to get bigger than your living room,
your apocalypse see.
I’ve got to get bigger than the loss of my boy
and Auroville stinks.
I’ve got to be a bigger poet
than a blog post.
Fuck you I said.
That aughta do it.

Oh my fucking God,
I’ve got to get bigger than my pen.
I’ve got to say to you words
that open up worlds inside you
that change the world.
I’ve got to make you see for one goddamn minute
we are not animals in a bullpen.
We’re not even That.
We’re ourselves in time
with the means to change
out of this skin of loneliness and disease
that even all good people wear.

We can improve the human condition.
We can get better at ourselves.
I’m finding that in myself
as we speak.
Adopt a belief?
Change yourself
into the bigger man
when met with the opposition,
your own damn faults
or the shit storm of others.

You can be a bigger person to life’s faults.
You can be the skies
all take room in.
Do you hear my apologies?

The Window

photo by the author

I live in an undisclosed location in the area of the international city of human unity, Auroville, and I keep repeating that, and so it could get disclosed if I’m not careful, but I want to draw attention to the fact that I live where what I’m talking about is the center of the world. I’m an ex Green Beret, expat American, ex Classical Greek scholar, in India 20 years now. I traveled the world a penniless vagabond for 10 years before I settled here, but with my skill set I sometimes got nice work and lived rather well, and sometimes no; I lived outside. I spent a lot of time, months at a time, a hermit somewhere in self-study and inner exploration. Yes, I urged the machine on on a U.S. special forces tactical nuke team and in ’83 parachuted with my team into West Germany with the bomb, not knowing until we landed if it were armed or not. It wasn’t obviously. In ’95 I did a hunger strike in Jerusalem with a Danish guy, Lars, so he’d help me tape poems of mine on holy places around the old city, and I looked at them like tactical nukes. I went on alone to put them on the top of Mt. Sinai and inside and around the Great Pyramid. I’m just talking here, and I repeat these things a lot. In a world where make-believe superhero after superhero save the world, the universe, and the made-up multiverse, where stories bigger than reality make up the big screen, are the top off of entertainment to the mass of us, we get numb to reality, and a real guy with an interesting story just doesn’t stand a chance.

I’ve had some small town fame, a TV spot in Cuzco, Peru, made local news sometimes being a homeless pilgrim, but fame and me are a world apart. The poems on holy places were rather bad. Now I still write poems, post them on the net now, mostly here on my blog, get published some, have a very small readership that seems to be getting smaller not bigger, probably because of the subject material of last post. I can only say the poems are better than the ones I tried to nuke holy places with, poems which were not loaded with the weapons grade plutonium of the muse of poetry. So it was a practice mission too. Am I still on a practice mission? I now have that weapons grade plutonium. The problem will not let you see that.

Anyway, I don’t think you see the problem. It’s not Trump, Modi or any political person or party, although they certainly cause a lot of problems. We all do, some a lot, some not a lot. The problem’s not racists, sex fiends, war or even climate change, although we all see what those things do, if we want to admit it or not. I’ve been on the outside of society enough to discover hidden things, and one of the biggest is that consciousness is not localized inside of us some imagination of a thing we live alone in; we share it among ourselves, the good and the bad. This knowledge alone would revolutionize society. Thoughts and feelings move like waves among us, disguised as or own, and we act upon that in mass, most especially hatred and ill will. A magnet picks it up and tries to kill as many people as they can in one go; a president or PM picks it up and ruins a nation more than it already is, and, let’s face it, not a nation one is not ruined. A blogger picks it up and spreads more misunderstanding and ill will, a poet does and does not revolutionize society.

There is so much more to us than the tip of the iceberg. Just the everyday of dreams will change your mind towards shared meaning, if you learn to interpret them, and I’m sorry, but I bet you really haven’t, and you haven’t because it will knock you down with the knowledge of the future they give, of the hearts of the men, women, and children around you, dogs too, of the world unfolding before everybody’s eyes that you are beginning to see because you can interpret the representation, knock you down enough you keep trying to get up and get the word out, in the stunned manner of somebody with really something to say fumbling all over themselves with that word just seething with the elements of inner discovery. If you have then show me. I’m open to your interpretation.

I’m trying to say we are likened unto cavemen still in regard to being ignorant about very basic knowledge of ourselves because we see out the cave of our lives only open out onto the outer world and not also into the hidden caverns of our deeps, are still little animals vying for feeding space and a place in the sun, have not even become fully human yet, in the sense of being creatures more than animals able to move, live, and have our being in the good society nowhere yet created on Earth, but we can at the very least understand we are still becoming and open more to that than the disappointment and fear the times give us, have always given us since we began to speak and build fires huddled together in ancient times afraid more of each other than bears, lions, and wolves. What does this mean to you? I imagine it won’t mean anything more than a curiosity, but I thought I might post this anyway.

My blog gets maybe 10 views a post, and when I have gotten off onto another blog or, recently, onto a literary and art magazine, my content gets the average views/likes the blog does or the magazine, and that’s that. I just can’t say the ‘problem’ right, in poetry or prose, but I want to try again, but you’ll wonder at the digression I make in doing so. It’s the problem with knowledge of anything: you have to explain the whole world to enter any house of ideas within it. You’ve got to start at the beginning, which, I might add, just keeps trailing off into infinity.

The revolution in thought that led to us seeing Earth as a planet rotating in space with a host of ‘dead’ planets around a star in a galaxy one of no one knows how many in a universe that seems like some finite infinity, as opposed to the religious views, which put Earth front and center, not only in Europe but the ‘civilized’ world over, took too many ruined lives and deaths, many, many years to establish as the reality we all take for granted except for some who would doubt that the toilet bowl they sit on is round they are so big-headed, holdouts to themselves on the throne and not the group mind, now so divided we risk the death of us.

Now no one need blast off in space or study the views in a telescope to convince themselves the Earth is not dead center. It’s established fact, but what long-term, iffy at first, in fits and starts revolution it took to establish it, and we might even say that science had its birth there or at least cut its teeth on that struggle to know and establish. We are faced with the same now in regard to other facts of us equal in enormity to these scientific facts I’m stating now but greater, much greater, to what it means to be human and live and work together on this planet. And now science, holding the position of arbitrator of fact, as religion did of old, blocks the new incoming knowledge, not with imprisonment and death but with ridicule and obscurity, oblivion, and religion too is there with its dogma opposing fact, as always.

The revolution in thought needed now is one that decentralizes ourselves, and I mean the one by one of us, from that dead center space, where each one of us are separate islands unto ourselves the de facto center of the world because our senses put us there and our thought and feeling, where we only know others think and feel as we do because it’s obvious, or should be, not because we experience theirs firsthand, and where it’s the degree we’re able to realize that fact of others, that they are the center too and think and feel every bit as real as we do, which determines our success or failure in being able to uphold our moral principles and our higher ideals, which, if you get right down to it, all have as their basis being good to others.

Compassion, peace, unselfishness, and so on are each a higher ideal, and as that only a few of us are able to grasp a higher ideal with our hands and have it guide our lives, such is the overriding strength of the infra-rational in us, and even those few fail quite often. I know I do, but what makes me continually pick it up and try again, indeed forces me to, is the knowledge that I have gained, know as intimately as I know my own penis and body parts, whereby we, all of humanity, including all other animals and every plant, even the denying stone and refuting earth, share our awareness of being with one another, notwithstanding the stone and earth’s denial of such, share identity, share the field of consciousness, which means that we communicate with one another via dream and vision every single night and day, as I’ve said, flinging contradiction to the four winds, hate into every heart, such is the node-gas of the human field filled with so many of us the Earth can’t contain us. We need the higher ideal written upon our hearts and minds so that they are the very stuff of our mouths, hands and feet. That is the revolution we need, an inner revolution.

We are still in the very beginning, early stages of grounding the knowledge among us that starts the inner revolution I’m speaking of that comes from knowing we share a field of consciousness among ourselves and the practical implications of that in terms of human behavior, and that we share also identity with other human beings and also with all beings and things, and the knowledge of higher being that comes from the deep discovery of a shared identity.

That revolution I am still undergoing in my own life, but the lifetime I have spent to gain the knowledge and experience that is giving rise to that inner revolution is not possible for the mass. Only very few can afford it, and I’m not talking about how much money it costs; I’m talking about how concern with money, and all the survival implications of it, cannot be of any capital importance, and who can live like that? And that’s not to mention how many among that number have the capacity to open the inner doors to begin with. Which leads to the second obstacle in establishing such knowledge upon the Earth, which no doubt was one when science was trying to get out of the vice grip of religion and float the Earth in infinite space where it belongs and not at the center of all of creation: there are so very many voices saying, “It’s here the knowledge of world and being; I have it; to me men and women, to me!” It’s impossible to find the needle in the haystack that has the goods, or to put it more concretely, the needle that is pin-pointed in reality and not speculation, conjecture, belief, and superstition.

Before science became science, with its method and set procedure that others could see the results of and judge whether or not so and so fulfilled that, because they could test the results themselves given the right setup, a lot of voices rose in the mix. How were the true scientists discovered? By their testable results that set them apart from other voices. What else can I do but show you my results? You can employ the same setup and get the same results, but you need a master key, not a leap of faith but one of intelligence, what might be called representative intelligence, something that approaches the supra-rational, so to interpret the data that comes in, which is the same data coming in to dream laboratory after dream laboratory, only, because the data is representational on a level science does not yet consider, whereby it’s not outer events being symbolized but the inner reality giving rise to the outer event, its essence showing itself in an act of creation, the creation of the outer world, either possibilities showing themselves or an actuality manifesting, science cannot crack the dream code. It does not give reality to the inner field, much less a power that is creating our lives. You must pardon my indulgence of conjecture and speculation, but I cannot resist the temptation to ask where our dreams and visions take place within us if not on a very tiny level, perhaps subatomic, creating movies we momentarily live in that are moving worlds that cannot possibly fit inside us, if you get the picture.

My partner in the investigation of inner experience, Douglas, and I have cracked the dream code, and we have data-driven and evidenced-based results in the form of a podcast, The Dream Company, which shows how to interpret dreams and see that shared field of consciousness, demonstrated in the daily life of a dream group together many years, but you have to listen to more episodes than your patience and your like button would allow because it takes many, many examples for that field to come clearly into view, and when the creators of such content are unknown and with no real credentials, on an electronic communication field that doubts its own validity, you don’t have the group okay it takes to take that time.

You’d find my poetry and prose on the net if you looked, returning to me personally, although Douglas has had a lot to do with my writings, providing financial and emotional support and the discussion of ideas. It’s particularly when the writing relates my own personal experience as an adventurer in the inner and outer world that you see the inner revolution in progress and the cathartic events that led up to it and continue to lead it on, but that all-negating word anecdotal will crop up, a way science has shielded itself from new knowledge of ourselves in terms of consciousness, intentionally or not, and I’ll be laughed into the barn.

But you know, America was discovered long before it was discovered, and it wasn’t discovered by the scientific method. You couldn’t repeat the results of finding it in all these other labs. You had to go there yourself or trust the anecdotal experience of those who had, and when enough had, America became a factual location on this Earth to the people who didn’t know that before. When we are speaking of events or locations in consciousness, not in terms of the brain but of consciousness itself, such as the discovery of the shared field of consciousness, or even the interpretation of dream for that matter, and I will only mention here but not really include the shared identity, which takes so much more to discover than merely reviewing dream and vision, you have to have as your source material the anecdotal experience of everyday people because you can’t reproduce those things in a lab, the same dream and inner things I mean, but you can approach those things with a set method open to being as flexible as the wind so it can establish the inner facts of us, shared symbols of the inner field, shared locations in the inner consciousness, so that we can begin the inner revolution that leads to that shared us.

Okay, do you see the problem?

Here’s looking at yah.

Look to the mountain humanity.

I sell garments there.

I’m a piece of the Earth
put a Mac in space.

Playing God

photo by the author
About concessions surpassing condition in this mutual lust’s core. /
From Don to poet in 30 seconds.
I’m on poet duty.
I’m a hole in One.
Can I tell yah our range card?
The ego sits in its bunker
wonderin’ over friends and family,
excused about relationships
the very center of relationship.
Hey you I’m a world,
a big planet unto myself,
the center of my see.
You have not that validity.

You’re just out there,
and I’m in here
the substantial train yard.
I wanna melt these barriers down,
but I grab myself again,
and that’s impossible.
I really love you,
and that’s sweet and kind.
No it slaps you in the face sometimes.
I’m all animal whirl
when someone gets my goat,
but I mitigate it
with you must be in there too,
just fightin’ your own wars
really feelin’ yourself
a wounded soldier.

Can we get out of this?
I try.
I don’t know where to put you
if you don’t see my worth,
if I am just a blob in a corner
to you.
We sing awhile
the injustice in that.
Oh my God do I compensate.
I think I feel every hole in humanity.
I so understand your pain,
and it moves me to tears
I’m embarrassed to show.
My God you have a rough time
little Gaza boy
alone in his bed
of refugees.
I don’t know where to turn
from your pain
Parkland shooter
realizin’ what you’ve done.

I’m a hole in the fence
to a greater life
I can’t fit my own self through,
but I’ve been there
a time or two,
on the other side of that fence,
miraculously arrived
in the very vision of God’s eyes,
and I know we are safe
caught in the lifetime passage dream
to bring us all out of strife
at the end of the tunnel.

My God I would be there now
if I could unrealize the dream.
So I sit and suffer
in a peculiar sense of humor
that sees beyond the show.
I know we will be made right.
I see this in my puppy dogs
trying to crawl into me to feel safe
and ease their loneliness.
I am the master of love to them,
and I am but a prototype
based on God.
We’re headed somewhere,
you and me and the whole damn crew,
so I hold my dog and comfort you,
who set bars alight
wantin’ to get at this lust’s core
to dream to change it.

I would not be bothered safe.
Now tell me now would you?
Would you give it to ‘im,
this poem over there,
if he were your little boy in trouble?
We can fly the world on a single point
where suffering goes
and capture the whole poem.
Oh my baby dog Nithish,
we wish you a happy birthday
on tomorrow’s wings.

Prayin’ for the Hour of God

This poem was posted on the private Facebook group Auroville International. If you have been following recent posts on this blog, I’ve chronicled how they’ve declined everything I’ve tried to post on that Facebook group, totaling nine posts. Now, do I erase all I’ve chronicled? No, I think this might be valuable to show what it means to be heard.

Many a short to a poem.
They won’t do definition.
They get Auroville
working
in its nitty-gritty.
I’m a mountain boat.
We’ve gotta come up with a freeway
to blanket taxes.
Are you on the hate side of reason?
Does anybody get your goat?
Would you like to see them punished?

I’m a round about can.
You’re supposed to do this in your underwear.
I’ll let them know
they have my vote today,
and I will drop all punishment lists
and let them be there,
on the star of human unity,
and I will include them in the new human being.
How can I ensure all this happens?
I don’t require of them anything.
I am just kind to them,
whatever they’ve done,
whoever they are.

If it’s really close to home,
some dirt they’ve done,
my gee that hurt
I will tell them,
but I’m not going to hate you in this conversation.
I’m going to battle you with love.
It’s my duty as an Aurovillian.
Can’t you see the problem?
Human unity cannot hate.
It cannot exclude anyone
from its acceptance speech,
meaning you ignore no one,
and all get your goodwill.
Are we right on that?

That’s the holistic speaker.
That’s how we bring human unity into the room
and not just talk about it.
You with me kids?
I didn’t think so.
I’m just teachin’ yah how to be human,
and you refuse me.
Are you still a mountain to my molehill?

Unconscious everybody
take the city apart.
It can’t stand from within.
A foreign body of law
then comes in
and lords it over all of yah.
Let’s get the goats out of the shed.
She’s not gonna happen
you have no more scapegoats.
That’s a big horse you’re ridin’ Auroville,
and you’ve achieved human unity.

What else is it but including everyone
in the worth you give human being?
You don’t have to take them to lunch.
You don’t have to tie their shoe.
You give them the time of day
like you mean it.
There’s nobody that gets excluded from this.
Alright Aurovillian,
measure up.

Now look behind you.
I’m on your report card.
I open to you
a scientific altar ego,
the scapegoat of the day
where sexual sin meets the railroad tracks.
Nailed on the Cross to suffer with Jesus I said
this isn’t working.
I can’t author you along.
I can’t show you art.
I can’t startle you with spiritual experience.
World experience doesn’t impress you
or the quality of my education
Classical Greek and all that.
Even that I’m a kind human being
that cleans his own house
and makes buttered bread for yah
doesn’t move your feet.
Tada!
It’s a miracle
my boy back this evenin’,
and it wasn’t supposed to happen in a million years.
That made me human to you.

Okay let’s go.
We got so many who just need good faith
to add to their humanity to make it work,
or at least put try on the table.
Come on let’s go brother,
and let’s get goin’ sister.
Made you human enough to look
center stage,
and that’s where we need to be blessed,
oh people of Auroville.

That was an impossibility
you threw away my opportunity
that boy’s comin’ home.
We’re going to do some work
in other children’s bedrooms,
and I’m just going one, one, one.
Silly boys, eight girls,
this tie your shoe.
In the nominal,
in the history of God,
where will we hunch those things?
I want you to lay down,
and we’re gonna move through dream to spiritual experience.
That’s my forte with kids,
and I know how to do it,
and I love it there.
Not the shoes.
A little open-minded—
if I don’t touch a worry root,
okay?
Now let’s get God manifested on this Earth.

photos by the author