I Understand It

an illustration by Margaret C. Cook for a 1913 addition of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass

A poem by Donny Lee Duke

He did.
He figured it out.
You haven’t seen it.
Oh my God no one has even read it.
What is your name?
A holistic reader.
There’s a lot of censorship
of the ideas that make the world.

The world ran out of culture.
It couldn’t see itself.
It didn’t care.
It couldn’t come up with itself.
It just stayed where it was.
It didn’t know where it was.
It had no means for improvement.
It was small and intimate.
It was huge and dim.
It didn’t know where to begin.
It’s stomped on itself.
It raced ahead.
It lagged behind.
It wore horns no one could grasp.
We sit here and stare at it today,
just confused by what we see.

This was self-taught,
how we reach out and touch the world.
It didn’t come in the papers.
It wasn’t on the Internet.
No course in university taught it.
No book could grasp the whole.
It wasn’t in speech.
You couldn’t find it anywhere.

Everybody was afraid of it.
They thought it would bite them.
How to reach out and touch the whole
came from inner experience.
It was deeper than the world.
It really tested your boundaries,
and you had no choice but to surrender to its process.
It had your very being at heart.
It schooled you,
showed the inside of everything.
You never saw it completely.
You just handled it with care.
It would eat you alive
if you affronted its mission.

You understood it was a Larger you.
You saw it dream
a nation of particulars.
It gave you vision,
spoke to you with the inner voice.
You held it close to you
and processed its thought
into the unknown.
Great the days lay
the seat-point of vision.
You just studied reality
absolved in yourself.

You had no way to communicate this to men,
wherever you came from.
No poem would read it,
no prose spell it out.
The visual arts could not express it,
no drama act it out,
no dance routine show it,
even in its living room.
It was beyond itself.

If you got life that need a poet,
I’m your subject right here.
Now go floss
with the rest of that form.
You’ve left something incomplete.
If I just listen,
I’d find it out numbers me.
I’ve encountered a different verse.

Its form is amplified by common speech.
There is the line.
Give me back my lunch;
I can do nothing with the way it works.
See there
you’ve been taken in.
Now tell me I’m a Great Lake I’m ready to play.
Now tell me I was murdered.
You know I just heard the news and wrote it down.
I’m a five star hotel,
and I’ve got the muse
in poetry form.
I mean inner voices speak.
It’s the divine muse of poetry.

How raw and off the cuff.
It has every name involved.
It won’t leave you alone.
Now say I’m silly
understanding prose.
All is said
to top off the mountain,
to be a governor unto itself,
to let you fly in the word.
How could that be?
I don’t think I got all freaked out about it
as grey mountain.
The poetry of redemption lands here,
the upper money.

I will just let you fuck me,
give in.
I’m about to be homeless.
That death I was telling you about,
they take my sky away from me.
The ground of silence eats me up.
I become a Silent Mind.
Realization proves my calling.
There’s nothing else
to realize:
we’re in love
with the whole thing,
each business and everybody.
We grok this.

It’s standin’ on your shoe.
Great the papers play
in the immediate seat of your room.
Welcome to the lost word.
That’s the sound of silence,
a preface to Enlightenment.

A shortcut,
I can write it down.
What else
can we do?
Headphones surround—
you’re hearin’ the interior music.
You’ve opened up that wide.
Wrap up some milk
left you some poetry.
This is your ticket.

For you it would be nice
right here:
the grinding of the dog.
I’m a farmer.
This is my business.
I keep business spoken.
Pinecones have left to a civilization.
What are you guys?
TikTok
describin’ the universe,
time of missed a keyframe
and causality.
Whether you want to or not,
the movie echo system.
You said what?
Reality in this page.
I’m gonna listen to yah.
Good mornin’.

I’ll loosen poetry I’ll listen.
Find that way offshore.
But Enlightenment seeks.
Ask her about the whole thing.
Did you tell ‘im you’ll take the horses,
make that your team?
Not that saying but keep
outside science,
and never cry wolf.
Read my full exposed.
My hands are tied.
Make me feel better.
Make me feel so much better.
We’re in this cut;
at least our voices aren’t.
He actually science.
Cosmopolitan
I understood it,
no doubt.
He’s right in front of me.
I could sing up here for hours.

I have everything I need to start the revolution.
I’m a purpose.
I want a bigger world.
You can keep me out as long as you can.
I’m not gonna die.
I’m gonna change consciousness.
Look me over.
I’m real.
I am so very real.
You can’t get around me.
It’s reality I’m showin’ you,
all holistically laid out.
You can dance all you want.
Reality’s not goin’ anywhere.
It’s on the way to you,
even if you don’t want it.

Reality’s comin’ for you.
Hold your head up high and embrace it.
A poem with your name on it Marginalian.
Poetry works
I can’t ignore.
She’s busy,
clean up what happened:
showed herself a calloused human being,
with no feelings at all
for the man everybody hates.

There is no Whole behind the whole—
she shows you what that does to you
when you believe that.
You don’t have to love everybody,
and you can pick and choose.
You don’t even have to treat them human.
Your ethics just come from ground zero,
and you make ‘em up on the spot.

Okay Riviera,
let’s see you explore your consciousness.
Can you do that?
Wow, have you blocked things.
You will not be happy with yourself
on the other side.
Maria Popova,
live up to your ideals,
and that intelligence of yours,
taking it
to some encounter on the inside
you see the whole,
you see it all means somethin’.
Put your finger on it,
and let us hear your own source material.

Has the jacket,
a lonely packet,
of quoting the right material.
That’s starfish.
It says more than what you want it to say.
Okay I’m outta here.
I have to let you everything,
be a work in progress
understand human.
I’m reminding myself
of what I’ve been taught.
You can have this.
It’s a seer’s wisdom.
Handle it with care.

They were talking about
y’all are choosing the apartment
you’re gonna let this seer in.
I’ve reached out to so many people
over the years.
A big no they wouldn’t even tell me,
usually.
They just read me and tossed me aside.
Put up his banner,
that’s where we go.
Who stole the cones?
You know it’s not coming.
You’re here for the Rachel Carson.
Write someone back.
You never had more powerful that was the end of the game.

Can I Apprentice You With Love?

an image found on several sites discussing channeling, source unknown

A poem by Donny Lee Duke

But in your routine,
what is the foundation of the whole thing?
It’s that the technology?
Can you point to God?
What’s happenin’
in your soul’s process with God?

Can you get your soul to speak?
Why always this:
you channel beings
of a particular order?
Can you grasp the inner voice,
hear that on the inside that your record?
Definitely more personal,
it’s got you at heart,
a wide variety of vision.
You’re hearin’ it now.

Now let me speak some
about capitol.
You are not Nathaniel Hawthorne.
I hear no substance in your words.
Do you know the power of divine revelation?
It knocks you off your feet,
shakes you up,
makes you confront yourself,
and is really, really, poetic, you know?
No convulsions needed.

We can actually open a gateway
in people’s lives
to hope and possibility.
Wounded by something.
Now let’s go to the doctor,
and the young body
can open now.
Closed it,
closed it earlier,
channeling the soda pop.
I’m sorry,
that is not your next of kin.
I wouldn’t even call it divine.

I’m not gonna be used
by things that destroy
you just tell yourself.
Go get the basics
a little deep man:
we’ve whooped it up on stage.

The eve of creation—
you’ve hit the run around
with a big referral
to some starfish.
It’s got ears,
your soul buddy.
You have to ask it for help
fervently,
ardently.
Your soul rises to the surface
over many lifetimes.
I think you are where it speaks.
I offer you solace
in the form of understanding.
Come with me.

Stupid me,
I am not a perfected master,
not in Realization yet.
I’m sorry I sound so heavy,
so blow your tops off,
so glory in the hole.
I get in trouble
tryin’ to help.
People spit on me
the big bad outcast.
Oh have I sinned,
and so no one lets me speak.
Will you?

The stage the poem speaks of: Tonight on Television

I wrote this poem, or my muse did rather, which also serves to introduce the poem I’m currently disseminating, “Tonight on Television”, to a person who channels, Asil Toksal, after watching a video on YouTube where he channels, or says he’s channeling, the archangel Ariel. The video here. I watched the whole video and left the poem both as a comment after it and in an email sent to his site.

Can We Find Forgiveness?

Ravena, Auroville, photo by Donny

A poem by Donny Lee Duke

This is like fire.
This is electricity,
horses, I don’t know.
Take the sound off.
You have a pay by go guide,
a living tree.
What do I do with it?
It’s not of public interest.
You hear me?

Magical,
it broadcasts the sun.
I just sit here and read it.
It’s got lives in it.
It’ll tell you anything you need to know.
So much to hear.

I’m not fond of it
where poems are concerned.
It’s like a tunnel I have to go through.
It’s got me until the end.
Can you say it?

Let’s twist the words around I’m sorry,
can you meaning?
No, it’s not a broken muse.
I’m godawful sorry
for things.
I don’t know how to show this to you.
Do I take my hat off?

I think about you a lot,
where feeling meets life.
I don’t drag my wrong through my mind at every moment.
I think about how you feel.
I put myself in your shoes.
Remorse has this as a gun.
Repentance means these words
and a lifetime of service to humanity.

I gut feeling this.
I’m racked by your pain,
sit at my computer and cry
when I encounter it,
or in my mind’s eye when I rove around the world.
Your loss rents my breast,
the pain of the tortured child,
the destroyed city,
the puppy dog that’s lost its owner,
the man that’s done something wrong,
terribly hurt somebody.
I want to gather you all up in my arms
a power of God to heal,
but I have not God’s strength,
and I can only feel my inadequacies to help.

Let me tell you my strategy.
I have a world
in front of my face,
all these people I care for,
tend to when they’re sick,
encourage them when they’re down,
counsel them when they need,
cook for them when they’re hungry,
shop for them when they need things,
carry their dreams in my heart
to help give some interpretation.

I listen to them.
I hold their hands.
Half of them are dogs.
A puppy is to me a human child,
and I spend all day with one,
giving her that special attention,
and with a human child,
giving that concentrated care.
It’s how I take care of you.
When I look in their little eyes I see all the world.

Can you feel me here?
I am a servant of mankind.
I am my brother’s keeper,
and I love you so very much.
Have you heard me?

Forgiveness is a model
for the road to understanding.
It’s not something you do
like a magic out of thin air.
We know not yet the issue of our deeds.
We cannot see their fount.
We have a whole ride to do that,
a great big storybook to learn.
It takes inner searching
to a degree most are uncomfortable with.

Understanding comes that way,
in the middle of forgiveness.
Can we learn forgiveness?
Can we bring peace on earth?

The Dream Company episode 4

Luna baby before and after Nitish’s dream. photos by Donny

A podcast of practical demonstrations of dream interpretation given by a four-member dream group in India that has been together for many years. We show how to interpret dreams, using the same method mother nature uses in giving us our dreams: wider than the world, as flexible as a snake, as irrational as the path of the wind, as unorthodox as God on Earth, and as natural as the soul of things. Join us.

photo by Jana

Listen to episode 4

(Every Friday or thereabouts we post a new episode, whether we announce it here on our blog or not.)

A Rabble-Rouser

Nitish’s new video for his YouTube channel: https://youtu.be/yt_dgyVRqJw

A Rabble-Rouser
Well I’m Mr. Big.
A lot happens in two hours.
You ever hear of the Pathfinder Section?
Bad idea
YouTube channel,
a big mistake.
You’re free in the top part.
You’re not in the reality of the moment.

This video’s about you.
We run out in the street—
check it out!
Have you heard the sounds of New Tall Torio?
A rather embarrassing moment.
We aren’t being who we are.

Yah hear me kids?
That’s the storyline:
this guy over there
has got the worth of the moment.

I’m on the phone.
I gotta talk to Him,
not the new banjo the sky keeper.
Hey God!
I wanna be where I’m at okay!
the real me,
the one beyond ships.

Look at him.
He is the reality.
That’s who we are.
Take your head out of your storybook.
Get that mountain in your hands

I’m it.
Surround the place,
even a universe,
and I’m so big I’m free.
You have to look.
I am really free.

My God the paperwork
just to speak about him.
It’s not online.
It’s in your kitchen.
Think
just like this:
it’s not beyond us now.

I have to look for a channel:
the real thing.
Don’t stop believin’.
God on Me
He thinks out of your field of consciousness.
Field of consciousness,
an opportunity
to be involved in His masks
—shy Ram beyond be said—,
an opportunity to field some notes with Him
Nitisheh.

They’re family.
They are together
that man and this little boy in this mountain.
It’s where they belong.
You wouldn’t put them apart.

To Further Science

Lisa Joy Rottweiler

Yeah we went down to everybody’s but King Lear was here.
Spiritual enlightenment,
I’m past gold card.
It’s hung up in the bank.
I just keep getting tested I’m sorry.
Now we call on rabies to get vaccinated.
Will I die?
I’m a patrol boat.
I turn everything in.
I’m strong in squares.
Everybody’s down on me yes.

All night
jazz somebody.
Is it overkill?
I’m talking about the Frenchman in the harbor,
my toe
broadcast to the world.
The muse is my bedfellow.
Stranger coming.
And I hear the voices at night.
All along the shores of reason
this infinity swirls.
I’m a gust of wind called.
I produce alphabets,
stacking up reality in pictures
that are not what you usually see.
Can you reason with them?
I’m an explosive marinade.
I paint past pictures.

I’m edifying you.
Would you laugh in thought
or take my hand?
I’m a dumbbell.
How many reps can you do?
I mean read to understand.
We are for folks.
We sing loud and clear.
We are fro friend in need.
Look at this as a gift.
A microcosm,
I’m a twilight zone.
I do pronouns bigger than you.

There are voices behind this
bigger than me.
It’s all fountain keep.
I love it in the afternoon.
Who doesn’t want to sleep at night?
I get paid.
Divine love in boxcars
show me the way.
It’s substantial rhythm
taking my life apart
and going to harmony work.
I know my own business.
And here we are.

Rolling pin anyone?
I just got so much to say.
No problem,
he’ll be joining the first one.
How for?
How could I do that?
It’s so funny,
my moon face.
Social media,
I’m a strong count here.
Of course use me.

Everybody’s model,
now, this is gonna be difficult.
What baby?
We throw in the dog,
and Luna.
Well ride ‘em on my puppy is not as single as all that.
An emergency takes aim at afterlife.
Where’s Luna,
Bruno?
No this is
Lisa.
Lisa’s like that,
is a to herself dog.

Can I get to know her?
She’s easily put.
It’s hard to put you there.
This is exploratory duty.
You need to tell Lisa you care.
Talk and say things.
Your puppy’s not gonna
order her light bulb
in the next few days.
Well we love about her.
We adore her.
I mean sound her name
every time you turn around,
she’ll grant you
some special privileges.

Why can’t she go?
She likes it
so near you.
Is she suffering?
She has all this radio station.
She is so occupied with you guys.
A lot more wood
had to be put
into the system.
Just rises in
that is the toppest dog you’re hearin’.
Keep sayin’ her name.
Lisa baby
please come with me.
This is so close:
you’ve got to be human baby.
Lisa baby,
I’m on our way.

Venture,
wow, what a year it took
bulldozers
getting people outta here.
They not deserving and not needing
synergy,
the sadhana circle.
Can we grace them please
while they go?
I hear the heart in your room.
I’ve got this incredible heart of my own
you’re not balanced with.
Bye people, go.
We used to it,
taking advantage of Steve McCoy.
Now this affects her thinking.
This is written on our desk.

That’s what I’m gonna be doin’,
gettin’ into world thought.
I do that every day.
Now I have the plans for you.
I’m gonna move in
and question reality.
Save the country,
there’s something there.
There’s a being.
The people to become better.
The being to see the world as its friend,
educated
on family.
That’s the thought,
ride family
to everybody’s related on Earth.

We finish with this blog
Harm’s End.
When he goes back up here,
now harm’s end
I will reach you.
Get ready.
Now Lisa,
I’m going to find my dog.

If you wanna touch mark on the spiritual path and be seen by future doctors
help this guy get published.
A scientist
didn’t study reality.
A seer did.

The Minister Everywhere

Pope Francis in Rome, photo Credit: AP/Alessandra Tarantino

What is it about to see a priest?
Be reviewed by God
doesn’t happen.
You’ve just been given time off
from that urge to find God.
It satisfies your religious sense,
nothing else.

That’s the big lie:
popes and priests grapple for you God.
They are the wellspring
of our inability to find God.
You must believe in them or else.
Have I mentioned the clergy?

We think they’re holy men and women.
They don’t know how to tie their shoe:
be a system unto God.
They are a profession in a bank,
are not knowledge of God.
They can show us the way to enlightenment
very few.

What do you do with them?
Helping men and women for causes just
we give them credit for.
Something in them has a calling
they’ve mistranslated into religion.

They could go deeper,
and some have.
I don’t think you would find them in today’s textbook,
but I’m sure there’s one or two out there.

So are they obstacles to God?
In a manner of speaking yes.
Desmond Tutu would not find for you revelation.
You quote man’s ways
on his greater path.
You are not a stark naked outlook on God.

So, do we just find God ourselves
unaided from God?
What is a seer?
They’ve opened God unto their lives,
can express the spoken word
they hear from on high
or from their being’s core,
the hidden speech
that labors out the world.

It is not God talking,
but it is the sound of His voice,
clear with His meanings dim,
for God cannot inhabit human speech,
but revelations still come down,
and the mystic word gives us bright hints of God.
This the seer does.

You have heard him spoken in cities,
heard her upon the mountaintop.
Can you find the inner Guide?
That’s the clergyman in every home,
the minister everywhere.
Can we come to this?
Can we be unto God?
The minister of the Earth
God everywhere.

Look at the Outcast

Adolf Hitler 1933

Infant Orgasm,
Infant Orgasm You See

(Note: from July 2016 to December 2016, I posted seer poems on Facebook written specifically for our educational page Harm’s End. I know FB was aware of the posting at the time, because some poems were boosted and had to go through Facebook’s review process, with one being rejected, one about the prophet Mohammad, although FB did not take it down or flag it in any way. On August 4, 2020, I copied all the poems, along with their images, to my computer, and a day later a poem from 2016 was taken down for violating their community standards, showing me my activity was being closely monitored by FB. I then deleted any image I thought FB might object to, unaware that an image of Hitler is now flagged by FB as a matter of course. That it is now but wasn’t in 2016 reflects a growing trend of censorship on the net. It won’t be long before anything that seriously questions the generally accepted reality construct or tires to introduce things that construct isn’t seeing and doesn’t want to will be banned from the major social media platforms and taken as far as possible out of the public eye. In other words, the net will become like TV.

This poem along with this image was posted on FB September 10, 2016. It was flagged August 15, 2020, but not taken down, citing it violated their community standards, and I edited it the following day, adding material in brackets within the poem that explain the poetry, to make it clear I wasn’t violating their community standards. Within 10 minutes after editing it, our page Harm’s End was unpublished. Although this poem fits into a poetic conversation on my FB feed and is out of context to post here by itself, I’m posting it here to protest the censorship of art and poetry on Facebook and on the net in general, in this case, poetry whose purpose it is to heal, not harm, however controversial it may be.)

Executive order.
Anyway she just surprised me.
Hitler, the 1st letters of incest,
rape.
It started World War II.
Half the money
the gate come open.
What come out?
I know it,
the material,
the material of war,
the material of concrete war.

Incest gun,
check it out.
That’s not a gift.
It’s an orgasm
your mom gives ya,
or your dad,
an adult in the family.
The house owner
outside of somethin’.
It’s American.
We know it’s German.
It’s also England,
all countries,
just a story on it
broken.
You wouldn’t hit everybaby,
enough to organize
the required material.
Is that war?
You said it baby.

It’s German
under the feet.
That means it’s right there:
kill ‘em,
thousands gas.
Bring them on the table
but be careful.
Daddy was good wasn’t he
or mommy special?
We do this in an orderly fashion.
Got that right.
Just line ‘em up
and shoot ‘em,
terrible.
I’m gonna
keep comin’.
What’s this?
An orderly compound,
an orderly room.
Procedure, procedure?
And we built the gas chambers,
and we built
orgasm.

Give that kid
trouble,
not between his legs,
not
now,
not now.
Look out the window.
Go to the door.
It needs an umbrella:
the night of the generals.
They have a very detailed IQ.

THEY.
People are bad.
Not everybody.
He doesn’t like,
he has a very knowledgeable
presence with Jews.
Art school,
they wouldn’t let ‘im in.
Art college,
they wouldn’t let him in now.
Okay make them unworthy,
lump them with all the undesirables,
society’s degenerates,
but blame them for everything.
They are the masterminds
of all that’s wrong with the world,
of all that’s wrong with our country.

[understand the poetry: those are Hitler’s views, not the poet’s.]

Fell down –
see a war,
a war,
a world war:
give to me
my mountain.

You have to understand
orgasm.
It changes war.
It’s a blitzkrieg
of physical pleasure
on an I unformed.
One second.
There’s an I.
Is there
more like the animal I.
Is that me?
That building centerfold
the earth
is removed from the scene.
I’m a baked chump,
burn in a holocaust of pleasure.

Understand
repeated action,
all this mess over time.
It has a tendency
to rob you of pleasure,
organize your role
an antenna
to try and get things in order,
down
if you know what I mean,
not up in the sky.
Look at
the nice uniforms,
the insignia,
the roll of tanks.

You’ve been robbed you see,
and that damage,
and you in ego formation,
and God did it,
your parent.
Any questions Paramount?
That’s it.

(There is, it should be understood, a personal interpretation to this poem throughout, since, in truly inspired art, in seer poetry especially, it’s at bottom, however remotely, also about the artist. In this light, the verse about Hitler being rejected from art college and subsequently scapegoating all Jews because of that can also be interpreted to be about the refusal of my entire society, Jews, non-Jews, everybody, to let me into the art of the day, but the personal interpretation isn’t tit for tat with the poem, as it just lights upon it here and there. If you want to know how the personal interpretation applies to the main subject of the poem, infant orgasm, read this comment I posted on Medium before my Medium account is also suspended, because I color outside the lines.

If you want to know the occult truth behind Hitler, read the book The Light That Shone Into the Dark Abyss by Maggi Lidchi-Grassi, 1994, Sri Aurobindo Ashram Press (not available to read online). Facebook, which almost a third of the world’s population uses, has such an unwarranted and inequitable influence over the knowledge that we pass around, and it (like not only the other online mega-businesses, but also the major news outlets and the great majority of the entertainment industry I might add) is in its core beliefs reductionist materialist, however many employees it has that doesn’t hold those beliefs. If that’s not enough, it’s in it for profit, and if Facebook encounters material that makes people feel uncomfortable, a loss of profit steps in and makes the decision, and even if it doesn’t violate its policies, FB will simply ban it. Now, the truth of us, the good, the bad, and the ugly, it might hurt to hear it, you know?

Is the human matter finished? I mean, is there anything more to discover about us other than the fundamental beliefs that we’ve built human society upon, and those are that we are individual human islands expendable to the sea of humanity and inconsequential compared to it, islands possessing an absolute freewill and a consciousness that doesn’t extend beyond the island that we each are, and, in the intrinsic ground of who we are, we are nothing more than that island? Here we are at the cutting edge of humanity. This is the denied knowledge trying to gain entry: there is more to discover about us, and we are more than that.

I’ll end with an analogy to put the subject matter of this poem into a context that will make what I’m attempting here more apparent:

“This thing no one ever talks about before, and when we are the first ones to talk about it, there are a lot of people that think this thing shouldn’t be touched, this thing is you know, sacred, and the people that think you are going too far, and all of these people are going to undermine our movement, for sure.” Quote from a Thai protester in Bangkok speaking to a BBC reporting about protesters questioning the power of the Thai monarchy. Source: BBC video “Thai protests: Thousands join rally in Bangkok”, 17 Aug 2020.)

 

The Pupil and His Divine, a Harmony in Five Measures – 4

the Mother at 5, Sri Aurobido, 7

The Top of the Head Show

[Although formatted to fit your screen, the poem was originally written in 2014. It’s in the form of a dialogue with multiple speakers: the poet, his divine, various people in the audience, including children, and even a hostile being. Paying attention to punctuation and listening to the poem read, the voices dramatized, play key roles in interpreting it.]


Daddy,
you come.
We chakra this drink.
Can you believe I touched that?
That subtle body field,
where you put your hand,
can go inside.
Right this way.
The tooth fairy,
she do it,
touch zero
in my chakra need.

That little flower
below the navel
got burned
by pleasure.
It’s spinning faster now.
There’s a whack in the system,
all out of line.
Watch out,
behavioral problems,
emotional issues,
communication difficulty,
and it continues.

At the base of the spine,
at the tip of the tail,
a stir is underway.
It’s a partial kundilini arousal
of the sleeping kind.
The touch wanted it.
Eventually frustrated.
I want two hundred rupees
life-force size.
You ever wonder why delight?
Will go in directions
all this energy.
Puts the finger on it.

They would like their children…
They’ve already arranged things the way they like them you see.
The children are a boiled mess.
Even a Hatha yogi
– hello –
can’t swim these waters
without preparing years.
A child has its chakras out,
something we don’t know.

Seven dollars
divided by a rule
giving her a favor,
a full payment plan
individual.
I’m pretty sure
that agriculture is used.
The lesson plan:
get your
wrong TV tuned.

You’re a loud movie
Little boy.
Turn down the volume
I don’t know,
except that kind of love
increases it so.
Alternative medicine:
they have a top of the head.
Let’s reverse this flow,
channel that energy.

You can see
all the things they want to do.
Maniac,
it doesn’t make sense.
He has the capabilities
of being a proper powerful.
The top of the head focus
will open their inner vision.
All the behavior
has clouded it considerably.

First comes the cleaning
your room,
pick up after themselves,
take out the garbage,
sweep the floor.
Here you know what we found?
A divinity of cleanliness
gathering the ground
on that level.
Finish off this subject.
No one
likes their picture taken
dirty.
Field,
go, go, go.

Second program:
open the top of the head
and keep it open.
This is an area of the house
you can’t touch.
Focus them there.
This is why it takes so long:
well I can’t take it,
quiet now.

Calm down.
Pinpoint your awareness there
with me.
They manage a little bit.
The candle flame
as the sun goes down,
they can feel that
in their crown.
Do this exercise.
It’s a daily practice.

I’m going to the top of my head.
Who wants to join me?
(Lesson out perfume.)
My child where is your awareness?
What about a mountain top?
The television can wait.
Are you alive?
You’re so different.
Anything comes
to mess the routine,
hey,
be flexible.

The top of the head,
let me tell you some.
That’s where we cross over
at the death of the body.
The ignorant world,
that was the filling
of knowledge and the divinity.

She goes to school
to learn her way.
I’m not through on my way to the pool.
She holds back.
She’s tired.
Assimilation a lot of read until
the way they are
underwrites divinity.
They’ve got a few minutes
mind you.

I’ve given you something to chew on,
a riddle put in question
and solved.
We base our experience
at the beginning of evolution.
If you read that
you would open the top of the head and keep it open.
It’s a conscious movie.

Can I ask myself,
substantiality,
where is it found?
Why they look
there on the ground?
Asking a Hatha yoga this.
I use mercy to find out.
Meets the standard.
A division of excellence.
You want the best program.
You can’t buy a better arrangement.
I don’t want anything better than that.

Try to use the grocery store.
There’s a, index.
Oh that’s so beautiful
Ladies.
We support our groups.
I’m an issue at the top of the head,
spirit informing matter.
Where are you led?
I don’t think it’s to please behavioral problems.
We focus on matter matter’s our object.

It’s a beautiful arrangement
the world that we see,
but matter’s a picture show,
and we are spirits in it.
Who woke from the dream?
Is matter their gospel?
I bet a kundilini gave paper on this.
She’s around.
Can I borrow a drink?

Kundilini’s ill informed.
There’s a field there,
unshaped energy.
She’s not Spirit’s standing ground.
I’m gonna go in just a minute.
If we start at the base of the spine
to get a spiritual grip,
everything’s under conspiracy;
we have no leadership in the head.

Why did I start this mountain?
Our children’s future has a journey now.
Matter on top,
spirit arranged last,
their journey will be very predictable:
ordinary life.
Yes I agree.

My hat size
has a question for infinity:
matter a rigid movement,
how do we spiritualize it?
Just down here
there’s something going on.
I’m a top down answer.
Oh my folks?
Two disciples of yoga,
the Mother and Sri Aurobindo.

Names aren’t important.
How would you know?
It’s like a bite,
all the matter
of a person.
My intention
is to get this airplane off the ground.
Any serious pilot knows
that his instruments
are not where he is going.
They guide him there.
This poem
gives a very practical lesson in ground guidance.
I’m not getting a maintenance program.
I’m getting evolved.
I’d say that’s substantial.

We come to the close of our book.
Any questions?
Why it came.
We brought
this little boy
out of dog’s house,
put him in front of everybody
so that matter
can be woken up
from the crown down.
He’s a light on this subject.

The Pupil and His Divine, a Harmony in Five Measures – 1

Sri Aurobindo

 

The Listening Post

[Although formatted to fit your screen, the poem was originally written in 2014. It’s in the form of a dialogue with multiple speakers: the poet, his divine, various people in the audience, including children, and even a hostile being. Paying attention to punctuation and listening to the poem read, the voices dramatized, play key roles in interpreting it.]

You can see whatever you want.
I’m eraser not found you come in here.
We’re a friendly service.
Pull on it make sure it’s there.
It revolutionizes
your whole universe.
Wisdom is as free as doorways,
long direction movement
wrapped around your skin.

What the hell is going on?
That facility to hear playback,
all the universes spinning and you got a sound.
We pop in your head.
It arranges things,
continually adds to your bank account.
Completely unborn children
spend all their time
(Alright then I got plenty of time)
warming up to this sound.
It’s their pleasure arrangement.
Like packed honeycombs they are born.
I’m sorry you’re not very easy to control.
The baby knows a greater TV.
It’s his home channel.

We see our voices,
images in the air on the notebook of sight
the inner eye sees.
They’re often read.
Language can’t describe their variety
unless you had infinity’s notebook.
You can open up this vision,
this paper weight of silence
in the magnet of your thinking
that reaches beyond itself.

Large voices will attract,
entertain your ear.
There is no limit to its development.
You can construe it,
order it around,
when you want it to say something.
There’s mixture there,
an unaffordable see.
It costs dearly vision.

This eye of sight
can see the world in view
and work about to change it
starting with you.
It habits this land,
makes it build bridges
to further understanding.
Low and behold a new bridge is built.

We widen our view.
It goes without thinking.
We are in the cockpit of a larger plane
I’m going to fly around.
We silence our music,
give it greater strings to play.
Then it listens further
than the frontiers of time.

I see the images:
a waterfall of words that pressurize silence;
large freedom hills
naked as the Sun;
a camera that reads music.
Those’ll get yah warm.

A greater life is calling.
We seem to think we’re fine.
I’ll destroy your music
If I can’t stomach your thought,
so the Pied Piper says.
Wouldn’t want to hear about it first.
We’re not living.
We’re dead ants.
We suffer our measure
and drink it as wine.
Come to think of it,
we’re fine.

Can we escape?
We have this infinity’s ear
that helmets in the sight
to what larger there may be.
I’m giving you airplane.

I mean what stopped it?
It’s not broken.
We can try to remember it
some close to a dream.
It slips in like a spiritual thought
and says something new.
The listening is active but your father can’t come in.
Thought will override the program.
You must keep it on its knees.
We wait our season.
Right in the place where people are talking,
you give it an in-look.
That means you wait for something to happen
in the beginnings of sleep.

His day would go quickly he was trying to clean up.
Not a hat could be found.
He reached into his vision.
Just take that other one.
Just take His one.
I’m not going to talk to you about it
off guard.
A teacher does my thinking in moments of silence.
He is my vision’s partner.
We dock a few lines.
Ever hear of the master worker.
I’m the arrangement.
He’s actually there.

One hundred:
I can hear a reflex pointing our research first.
It aggrandizes the dime.
This snake has many things
at its garbage disposal.
Open your eyes and smile.
Village your truth.
Do you hear mouth here?
I hope you’re able to separate your hairs,
I mean lines.
A rough text point,
this signals your thinking.

We infinity our truth.
These are infinity’s guidelines.
I hold them out straight.
Infinity would never believe it.
You’re supposed to catch on.
I’ve rounded your thinking
with the history of milk.
You must be a pauper to drink it.
It orders only silence.
You listen in need.

We pull the kid out.
I’m about your thought,
your merry-go-round.
I follow the leader
of what you drink.
There caution sorrow,
disappointment’s ring
if you go off on some tangent.

Listen to spiritual practice.
You’d need to listen wide.
A dream fashions from this same fount,
and you can take us anywhere.
I come from a higher place than that.
I come from infinity’s window.
I’ve ordered your thinking
along these lines:
there is a listening post,
your higher heart.

Good word.
Sit in there
come clean,
Recover.
I can get richer,
but I’ve spent all my dime.
Listen again.
To be read over,
listening silence.