To copy our means of hidden vision,
look past yourself.
I like your style.
There’s no evidence.
Just close the back door.
You don’t know the universe is knocking on your door,
for centuries.
You’ve heard this wash before.
It just means somethin’ today.
I can get screwball with this
and really twist your arm.
The possibilities are endless
in the coming of lines.
You don’t know what that means.
It’s a soup actually,
and the ingredients come from the stars,
divine being’s realms,
or they register your soul.
Can you be a shoemaker?
It’s a combat zone.
So many voices pipe in.
Fuck you I’m gross.
See there?
We go beyond the devil
and have a moment of silence please
gettin’ back to Starbucks.
I’m a holistic speaker,
and I tell you a ride,
all in vision’s lair.
You know I see the world
as a representation in time.
This is in the node of my vision.
It eclipses the world at times.
I see straight out there
the nature of reality,
and then I cry for my boy
or get mad at my neighbor
and lose myself in shoes.
I can still feel pain
of the loss that humanity wears.
I cry for you sometimes.
Oh my God I’m Still Here,
can you believe it?
Okay I cry for you a lot.
Papa come back please,
and the government’s dug ‘im under
in how many places on this planet
right now
Marcelo says.
Oh that little boy touched me
through his mother
and sisters.
I lived that movie
and hold it high in my heart now.
Can we call it a real life event
brasilero?
I want you to know I don’t approve of this.
Can you believe the oppressor said this?
Feel the pain
of I want you I’m murder,
and all you did was disagree with me,
hold an opposing opinion,
in a state where that’s not allowed.
How often this does humanity
like it’s an edict of God.
Is God a dictator?
Look how many people wear these shoes
one dictator smiles.
Hup, two, three, four
the output of a nation at your door
to turn it against itself
and control you.
Even the meek and mild support it.
It’s not happenin’ now—
I think they say that every time.
No amount of support can suppress it,
and watch the world deal with China
and make this okay,
because they have the industry
and the arms maker
to sow compromise in capitalism
and threaten everybody.
Its citizens are expendable.
Just step out of line
or mention democracy.
Most don’t.
Iran and North Korea,
we have kill boxes there.
It’s a slaughterhouse really.
I’ve come to political lists
to give you examples,
but we’re talkin’ half the globe.
Makes you question God.
It’s not odd it’s the default mode
of government handles on populations,
what we guard against continually
it’s so prevalent in us.
Do you just stand and watch it happen again?
We don’t know how to fight it,
as the majority takes control,
the base man being human,
the mass mind.
It’s always derelict.
It’s usually mean.
You idiot;
you retard—
said Musk to an astronaut,
and what do we do with that?
Everyone’s delighted.
He’s our man,
just as hateful as the bunch of us,
just as mean.
Yep he’s ripe for the job,
the Department of Functioning Government.
Does anyone else see this
ask somebody,
and Trump will answer just as mean.
When do the disappearances start,
that’s the tell-tale sign every time,
when it starts.
No other sign you need.
Trump’s the default man again.
You get my barometer?
Purple ass in common,
oh Jesus,
basic a dictator basically.
What are you talking about?
You’ve polished balls and chains too
in the rule it over people’s dicks.
Oh my God those glass relationships,
it was a microcosm of the macrocosm
a simple history show,
and I live that history to myself
in rows of sorry.
It doesn’t take the choir to remind me.
Do you see it,
where you’ve been a dictator too,
even if it’s just been a jealous husband
or a teacher in control of little boys
or dictatorial parents
or some bossman on the job?
It might be the way you treat your dog.
It’s such a human disease.
It heaves society.
It brings society to its knees
in servitude.
Wake up.
And changed Earth’s story,
alive in theater,
the divine pick me up there.
Great experience
I know an experiment.
What is that?
What is it?
And no handle,
and now
we symbolize becomes our lives,
and that’s the new TV,
and we symbolize a greater show.
It’s in our schoolbooks already,
a manifestation of truth, justice, and liberty for all
into our very rooms.
You can’t see it yet I know,
but those meanings hold Earth today
in her manifesting spirit,
and I’ve come to tell you
it’s there for the seein’ now,
another way to think the Earth
and your role on it.
That’s big symbol us
and your glow on it.
Kinda makes yah release the prisoners, eh?
Let’s go.
It’s your thought’s glow.
Everybody watch it glow.
Life is a journey time got on.
Bag it,
all the glorious symptoms of God disappear.
The middle of man
will not shout our name
or even know we’re there,
yet the Godhead lives inside of us.
We’re not there
at its manifestation yet.
I’ve put it together in words
to hold our hands and move us along.
Ya’ll leave me alone.
You’re crazy.
But I’m a spoonful of God
completely outside
the reign of the dictator,
as my fashion words to you.
We are all in this disease,
when it’s called I be the one dictator.
School on it
the visionary of this poem.
Completely outside fashion dictators,
parents honey,
can you strong that?
Can you please?
That’s the handle on the world today.
There is where we begin,
and you know I’ve said the truth.
I’ve been here anyway
championing my little boy come home.
You know he’s unbelievably sad,
crushed,
spent,
under total domination
that won’t let up,
simply because his parents is jealous of me,
no other reason.
I’ve got to show you its price
so you can come up with my poem,
get these lines down,
so we can heal our world.
It’s on fire.
Category: ego activism
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
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.
The Smile of the Seed Bearer
The barriers of time,
I don’t think you ride them very well.
We come up against them all the time.
They’re in our shoes.
They hurt a lot.
You can’t see this for the daylight,
the great big prison playroom we are in.
It’s got walls to it
intrinsically built into each one.
That’s where our cameras go.
That’s how we feel this test.
Your loved one’s on the other side of the room
bakin’ pies.
In symbolic meaning that’s a round of thought
comin’ your way.
You’re separated
by time’s barriers.
You can’t get at each other
in the physical sense.
Great big surprises come your way
when you do,
cramped experience
that puts relationship to the test.
You hold them there
sweetly,
and then you may never see them again.
You don’t know what’s up,
what’s goin’ on.
I’ve left my poem alone in a fire
so heartfelt in love’s embrace.
I can’t get at the tires,
or maybe death’s got your door,
and your dog’s died,
the great big sloppy-lickin’ dog of your life,
and no ma’am I haven’t just lost a dog.
I’ve lost a reality so big
it took up half my room.
She was always there lickin’ paws
next to my life.
Losing her took my front teeth—
my daughter you know.
She’s melting time’s barriers
tryin’ to see me.
I don’t think you know the cough of this universe.
It’s horrifying.
I see her damn near every day
tryin’ to reach through vision to get me
near to her.
Death’s reality would spook you
if you knew it’s there.
I’ve muscle on this,
but I’m pigeon-toed.
I can’t just hold my girl
like she’s right up against me.
I hold her paw
in some astronaut’s gleaming
Interstellar there at the back of the house.
The confines of death,
they break us apart.
The muscle of time,
do you know it’s there?
It separates you from everything—
one little lonely being at a time.
Times barriers put us in a single physical space
where we can’t figure each other out.
We laugh out loud,
then cry.
You’re a pickup truck
that can’t pick anybody up.
You hold yourself
the station of the universe,
but you can’t move a goddamn thing
if others block you.
They are themselves the center station too.
The great paradox of life
makes you powerless to act
where you would give your right eye to act
but cannot,
in those places most meaningful to you
you have no power over.
You sit in time
scaling your life,
a sheer wall of belief and hard fact,
never any top in sight.
What are you doin’?
It puts us to the test.
Time’s warriors
bake and sell us at the flea market,
but this is not why you’re here,
and you last longer than Heaven,
a safe haven at the back of the house
to get our strength back
but that can trap us too.
We are so much bigger than death
that blinds us all while we’re still alive.
Hold your child close.
Can you protect him from anything
bigger than your arms of control?
Fiend death my friend,
he sucks.
What’s the answer to all this?
What are we doing?
The answer lies on a page in a WordPress blog?
Definitely,
if you know how truth presents itself.
It’s not haughty and it don’t wear spears.
It might even be embarrassing,
hittin’ in society’s low spot.
It would be uglier than the norm,
the vehicle of truth,
but it would shore you up with sincerity if you test it.
It would be one among a mass
that your truth sense recognize,
because it is beyond belief
in name and form.
It’s not part of the system
that ensnares you.
Come to my party?
There’s no snaking you there.
You just have to realize what’s been true all along,
but that you have never seen
because it’s so represent itself,
and you only see the representation,
the figure in time,
or the one who has wings
to be your figure of God behind it
you thought about a lot
but never really met.
The scientist
would just see a meaningless void.
Can’t you see I got your skies on?
I’m not pollutin’ the skies.
I’m not anything wrong.
Well how about that?
I hold my boy in love’s embrace,
and we figured out time.
That’s the challenger
for your social skies.
I’m not doin’ business.
I’m a love angle on time
to make us greater in it.
That’s the vehicle in the room.
Can you dig it?
The limits of time,
they are both normal and strange.
You can’t be in two places at once
a sudden trapdoor
to a greater life.
You are either who you are upstairs
or the little I down there livin’ life.
I’ve seen this juxtaposition,
where I got out of time.
It was a railroad.
Greater times are comin’.
Now I just comb my hair and wash my face
and shoot my gun?
No I land this in your lap
reachin’ through a poem to you.
It’s fresh meat now,
but where will I be when I am dead,
and you’re readin’ these words?
Look around the room.
Am I there
a thought stroke?
That’s life,
you know the big one.
Strict society belt
won’t even let you think this to yourself.
I’m bein’ looked in on by me
with a question:
how much longer you runnin’ half the house?
You will have a future
integral
with who you are on high.
My God this is big,
and we meet time’s barriers down
the because in the room.
I’m comin’ after you
foldin’ time,
a lesson in reality
completely out of the script.
You’re gettin’ that script.
I’ve come all the way from the ground up.
I’m not an existential crisis.
I know who I am.
I’ve been shot that’s all,
ghosted by most everyone,
put out to pasture.
What do you do with that,
and you identify with the world,
hold it close your livin’ self?
You have gone out of time
and been the big who we are,
enough to see it,
enough to be it
to know it’s there.
I’ve seen outside the symbolism,
outside the roles we play.
Even if you call it a computer simulation,
figuring the unknown with the known,
whatever you call it,
I’ve been in compassionate reality,
the bigger reality beyond this one.
I’ve seen the real thing.
No one counts this
as a thing to be known
where animals food our feeding faces
as our reality,
no depth to it,
no meaning,
nothing behind,
except Gods to worship and obey
or enlightenment’s sweepstakes
that bring you empty shell.
Can’t you see beyond time?
What’s bigger than the universe?
Is that just empty skies?
What’s bigger than playpens?
I’m a figure on that.
So like the show
to give you the universal accepted scapegoat
as the one to show.
I can’t get my name in public.
I can’t even write it down
anywhere near heard.
Is that just because I’m lying?
Can I show you my flag?
It’s not rainbow screwed.
It’s your heartbeat
and mine
symbolizin’ time.
It’s where everybody goes to school.
It’s the time of day
in this poem.
It’s where we all meet
at the end of the classroom.
I’m sorry it’s me,
but hello I’m yours.
The terror is only a being in time.
The face of evil,
It can’t get at that larger you
in transcendence’s sphere.
It has no power there.
It can only rattle your cage.
Anything it does to you
it’s not doing to you
but to the actor in that cage.
This is the meaning of no harm
can come to you.
It’s beyond time
time's relevant,
time's keeper,
truth's formula,
but it can act within time and space
with impunity,
with absolute, unhindered power.
It is bigger than evil.
It has eyes on you,
not to save your life
but to bring you home.
It does not stare you down.
It doesn’t even guide you
with any advice.
It’s up there.
You’re down here,
but it’s comin’ to meet yah.
It’s comin’ to be who you are down here.
This is the plan of Earth,
what her victory skies.
You are a crossroads to that.
We are at Earth’s great turning point
to land ourselves there.
I am a seed bearer that is all.
I come to tell you what’s comin’,
and if my voice don’t get out
someone else will.
This is the mystery time hides,
why it put you in a straight jacket,
why it won’t leave you alone.
Can you understand me?
Do you see what I’m doin’?
I’m meetin’ you with your maker
who is you.
I’m solvin’ the mystery of time.
I’m giving you wings to grow.
Take my hand please,
these worded verses,
and make it all worthwhile.
Protracted,
a polar bear’s smile.
It’s gonna take a long time to reach Supermind.
It’s not there at our feet.
It’s not your garden grow.
It’s not at the hoof of your horse.
It has to be as common as a cold
for you to see it.
The more people up there
for a moment’s gleam,
it holds you up there
breakout sweepstakes.
This area’s comin’ into our view portal now
the hesitancy in time.
It’s comin’ your way in poems
Emily Dickinson’s undiscovered continent
she looks out on from her pier.
Rumi’s love poem
says you can only see the sun by the sun.
Did we see him there?
Now this poet speaks
in plain as day.
I’ve reminded you of Supermind
in Savitri’s care.
I’m just the outcast that says it.
Now hold me close.
You don’t have to do nothin’,
just read the poem
the miles that you work today,
the poem that you reach today.
It’s such a piano to
look at the subway
and see supernal skies.
Stand the subway of time.
Is that tomorra mornin’?
Emergency level
truth’s barriers,
time’s walls.
There’s a lot goin’ on.
Right at the turning point.
Except for the money I wanna tell you somethin’.
Your morality drinks beer.
You’re not the captain of the ship
people.
You’re who we go to to take our stories off.
Right here for you
on your mark, get set…
The restrict we have,
we put it on things.
We use safety to protect ourselves from safety.
Actually a lot right here.
We’re movin’ on.
What’s your plan,
bring us all to safety?
That one சாவி,
I’m inside a poem.
In Holocaust
What’s the biggest love you ever had?
The receipt is in the bag,
and you’re probably
torn apart by it.
Good how you doin’?
That’s the ode of life,
our first knowledge of it.
You can’t get over its size.
It jumps out and bites you all the time.
There’s somethin’ here.
Your love has nothin’ to do with it.
It’s a list of hard.
You can never reach it.
Look at the dog.
That’s payment of love let me tell you.
The point of this
somethin':
Donny get your head out of your ass.
Get so close
makin’ it look
like people look,
hear their voices,
hide their fears,
and they are the lovers of your life.
You want me to tell yah
this dangerous love?
You look
awful.
Do it,
love you in the perfection of love’s care,
and you’re this simple little organism
that must awake to itself
as the horseman,
that you are the starship,
you are the unicorn,
that shatters time and all barriers
to arrive back at the house
the One,
who wears time as his robe
and space as his molecule.
Ever the mystery of God finds God,
and God himself is a station of the One,
created before time began.
He bids you a self-discovery bigger than himself
but that can fit into an atom and a plant
or any ring around the rosie,
but only the human being can make it real to itself.
The dog just loves its master.
Now I am clothed in time,
but I have worn this identity
in an unimaginable sphere,
and that brief moment has determined all my life.
I have to deal with God’s love
putting me on those tracks again,
day in and day out,
and I have been given a load to bear
that makes me hated by you.
Only the most exceptional people,
and they are few,
will make my life easier
with their care and concern,
give the comfort you get every day
from friends and family.
I am almost completely alone in this world,
and I don’t think you can grasp this isolation
it hurts so.
So I have taken the world
what to make of it,
and I have found God.
Wrapped in unimaginable mystery,
he holds my hand
and lets me see things you don’t
and gives me keys to man’s change,
and I can still love my boy
and my best friend
and my dogs.
I can still love the world.
I can love mankind.
I can love it all
because I have gone through a holocaust of human abandonment,
and I discovered what love is.
God is love my friend.
God is love.
Representational Think / A Blog Post

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?
A Shoulder in Immensity

I wanted to die.
Everybody knows how to die.
Sufferin’ from panic disorder
my only friend.
I have no comfort in anyone,
and this woe is me will not say it properly.
I cannot believe
I have no worth to anyone.
I’m just a field of crap,
and I have seen God’s eyes,
feel the world’s pain like my own.
I sit in a height of thought
where almost no footing is.
I’ve taken you there
in our thought realms unawares.
The All-Negating Absolute has me by the throat,
and even God is buried in immensity.
I cannot discover God one last time
as who we need in immensity.
3:33,
28-years-old,
I can’t give God the proper numbers.
He is too right and wrong.
Mexican,
He took my pants off and raped me at seven.
It hurt too much to tell anybody.
I was cleaved.
Why am I telling you this?
Afraid to tell anybody,
I put back action
comin’ up in the rear.
Squealin’ inside me,
they crossed death too
a courier
of the same disease,
those little tummies.
I can’t give you molten lava
and expect you to cherish me.
I can’t even say my name.
I’m a brick in a wall
that you don’t identify with,
bricks in the same wall.
Up here,
I’m a way
to photography that wall,
to hold it out open to daylight.
I’m a measure of that peace,
but you can’t come to terms with me.
I’ve sinned to much for God cares,
or I remind you of sin.
I’m an enigma with an open door.
God the carnage at Troy,
sit back everybody
and tell me what hero came home.
The canonical field of Troy.
Do it again,
I stand before you now.
Will you hear me?
We swim in oceans of blood.
Don’t underestimate
life.
There’s a moment
before you
when you can give it to the challenge
it tasks a man with,
and he must stand alone in immensity
and be the voice no one wants to hear
turning every ear on
to a future in ideas
that will save us all
come that future,
whether I’m the voice that says them or not.
See me today
sittin' with you holdin’ your hand
likewise tell me
the world has turned its back to you too.
A pencil in agony,
it’s too early to tell,
and I’m a measure of that immensity.
So brothers and sisters,
I’d help you.
Those tummies are in good hands.
You cannot electrify them like that,
put them on lurch
little boys and little girls.
A needle in a haystack
give you a tap.
Raise Supermind,
I’d be one in the world.
Get ‘im a chair
to latch from our very disease
and bring us all to peace.
You know how it works:
no ignoring you
world enigma.
My OMs are here.
My front door’s open.
Enjoy a body of ideas.
Do it again,
I’m really intercepting your thought.
The Window

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

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.
The Last Outcast

We all understand tomorrow.
I’m goin’ somewhere.
It’s not dishes.
I find my boy,
bring him home to me
and do something bigger than life
right there in my homegrown.
It’a about my consciousness and its see.
I arrive my boy first,
giving him healing.
This is a new brand
we will get good at
so it can be mass-produced.
I’m in enlightenment shares
healing my boy,
a spiritual consciousness override.
They’re dealing with
a mass showdown.
Right now it’s all black.
Not even a pinpoint of light
gives hope.
It’s all gone,
the whole save my boy plan,
and spiritual practice
has fallen by the wayside.
I’m merely drifting
to no ends.
I count my stupidities now,
where I am half-crazy in rants.
I sound good on a piece of paper:
I’m gonna see my boy;
I’ll get that spiritual consciousness again;
it’ll all work out.
I talk to his parents
like I have the power of God.
His parents have the absolute power to rule his life.
I just make them mad and guard him more.
You’d think I’d learn by now
my voices are deceiving me;
my voices are derailing me.
You’re in trouble.
You’re on a stage.
Are you there
with anything bigger than life?
The world’s not gonna listen to you.
Everyone ignores your pleas,
and your knowledge don’t turn anybody’s head.
You just sit there and sing.
This is the gist of life.
This is how almost everybody feels the world.
It’s impotence sings.
I’m a diamond in the hall.
I’m on top of everything.
I really know my business,
and I understand the rise of the world.
I don’t spit there.
I feel humanity like it’s my very self.
I can see the cutting edge of time.
Movements I see,
world shaping movements,
that give me a great yard.
I’m of few people see them.
Now I come back to myself again.
I’m not the stupid guy.
I have reason to believe
my boy’s comin’ back to me,
and I will put on the Silence once again.
It’s evidence
I can get big as the world in tellin’;
I can wrap the hours around God,
and I can make you examine yourself
in your hands on children.
You sit there and believe me,
some of you,
because you hear the angels sing
in this poet’s gut.
I’m a strong one you know,
and I hold up the world
an Atlas unknown.
I really do it,
take the ideas that change the world
and transmute them into verse,
one rocket at a time.
You know I’m there
because I love you
in that special formula
that makes you feel me
in the very place we meet,
in the intimacy of a poem
that’s got handles on it
that bring the world closer to you
as God sees it,
dangerously in love.
You must have some
grace
to journey this day.
It’s the vulnerability of a poet
I give it,
just role of bein’ hallelujah. [line heard sung to tune of Leonard Cohen’s song “Hallelujah”]
You doin’ okay?


