I don’t think it was specifically because of this poem, but Auroville International posted a poem of mine in their private Facebook group some days after I posted this poem to Facebook and here. I think it had to do with the quality of the poem they did post, maybe not in terms of poetic merit, but in terms of being sincere to the goal of Auroville International, which they seem to be. That poem is called “Prayin’ for the Hour of God” posted on this blog a few days after I posted this one.
photo by Nithish
Not one star Auroville International. These are the streets humanity is lost. Wow, could you say the Mother’s will is here? Fuck this assistant, is that what you say? I give my critique to the Sun. A poet’s basin it hears, and that’s how I write this poem. I’m a rose for my little boy, and I’m fighting for him here, S. Nithish. We make music together. Hear it?
Stop quivering old D, your fingers will look like the attention, and they are. Alright rebel, steal the show. I have my own blog to put it on, to make sure I can be heard. I guess you don’t have anything to worry about, and I’ve just processed you with the snake. Auroville International, here I leave my calling card you hateful organization hellbent on revenge, and that’s where we find your attention.
We’re all completely naked. All of you need to get off your thin horses and see this: that boy needs Donny. I feel like a fundamental character. I feel like a plot. These are ice to snow more shoes. We’re both realizing we’re here. Our mastermind sets people free. That’s the long and short of it. Now terrible channels go home. I’m about to go on the other side of the wall. You will see me there promptly. Then you can count grab ass and green cards, you holier than thou bunch of people, you people Auroville don’t need.
Just look at the character you endow with. You come upon the scene with the hatred of the machine, and you throw people away. Self-sacrifice to help your brother, go out on a limb to speak to him, you can’t find that in yah, because you’ve agreed among yourselves to hate and rob people of their right to exist and banish them from the land, and not even eternity can redeem them, oh you Christian bunch of people where your bones meet the land.
Stark naked I am in front of your mow me down, and I ride vulnerable and sweet to your execution where you ban art. I ride healing in the midst of your hate, and I’m here to stay. Are you gonna shoot me? There is no love in your ice machine, and that is pitiful and strange because you are the consideration of a city that seeks to grow new men and women who want to radically change the Earth into a paradise of brotherly love and hope that dares bring God into our human flesh and divinize the land.
You are that change, oh you normal people putting hate where God grows. Old system be gone, old ways, that punishes you an infantry of hate and ill will that has no means to grow the integration of society in healing’s ways. You destroy that too selfish and a pain to the officer of love.
See this and change or lose your raison d’être with us, the people on the groundwork of human unity, harvesting it into the hands of the city to realize this on Earth. Now take my sin and look at it again in light of the art I’ve given you. It’s the end of harm isn’t it? Paid for by penance and long years of learning the pain that I have caused. Can you grasp that? Goodbye. Auroville International will you answer your position?
When you meet people, it’s said to have a book confession. Don’t you like camera? There goes my hand in. Unlimited her tools, creation mother. I am really serious about my tea. I don’t pick up girls at happy bars. I’m bigger than that. No I live and learn. I too must lift the curtain of worn-mind. I can’t go overboard. I have to go to somewhere. I can’t get there too quickly.
We challenge each other, and you hear that basket in my house: my gravities have to be steady. I can’t pull the plug on reaction until I’m right where I need to see it. I’m pretty much a whole too. I see my desires. I’m not habituating them, and the sex chakra says no. Hang on, to the orgasm out the top of the head I am loyalty tower. I guess that’s way I rise behind this consciousness and enter the Silence again.
Astronaut, I am that astronaut torn the curtain between Nursemind and Supermind. Okay, if I get mad at you for up us in Elvis, I should just poet you shut up. Is Goofy’s rig not bad for sellin’? I’m at the end of my ferter of dynamite. You are all young. It’s a bit of closed up there. Can’t touch the Gods.
It’s not me didn’t see. That’s some awesome shit. I’m half-grown. Did you bring it one possible? Here it goes. Been there done that, I need you to do that, then study me some. Boy do I look different. Comin’ here’s comin’ here; I tried comin’ here for basketball, and it left me singin’ monster. I think you should just go inside.
He’s finished with the pencil, he’s ready for the expense. The world is not there with any street signs on it, how about that? Horse please, you can’t see the world as a substantial form. It’s a bare outline. You’ve lost the world right in front of you. It kinda gets me in my brother, and everything’s silent don’t you see you’re in the background noise?
Oh God it’s principle arrangement. There’s nothing in your pockets. You’re not tryin’ to get anything. There’s no motivation on your own. The world is just there, and your oyster’s not in it. You’re stunned. You’re taller than mankind. You’re deep in the Silence, and you come upon God ways.
We’re almost there. Just shimmy up that tree and stop field mouse. I’m breathin’ hard, but I’m right there at the gun a pageantry. Don’t throw me away. I know the business, and I put two and two together. My little boy’s the land rover that principles enlightenment. He’s got the starry list, and I’m in my union circle. Is no ants get to bar. He gets held and catered to, healed, and I reach the 5th dimension. I’m a bullpen for he comes home tomorra. I’m in the Silence come home. Enlightenment is it, a shoulder's worth.
I’m on the edge of time. I stand here and sing. I’m not about the braggart of time. I hold my voices down. I’m all the way down where you know me invisible. I did not carry this to my car. I banished it. I operated on you right where it hurt. I hit you in your social glasses. I tried to be free.
For all the noise I made a scarlet letter came down and banished me, but it’s not there where I pet my dogs and clean my house and cook for my best friend caring for him. I greet people like they’re the node of the day. I want them to know they are big in my eyes, just to help them ease the day to a better feeling for them. I hold knowledge in my hand, but I cannot shake their hand with it. It’s an alien spaceship, fairies in the wood. It’s who they are beyond time, and it is what I can see ails them. I turn the page and spew this out on a page to you, dear reader, where audience is as big a mystery as God. Do you hear me?
I see where the world’s going and how it ends, edging universes towards yah how the impossibilities of the one fulfill the other. Look at our goat today, but look at our supernal skies. I’ve painted myself wood of a lone seer in time. Silly me I bark too, and I cry for myself in moments of abandoned self-love. I hold in my hand the wrong sort of type, the wrong font for you to see reason, because it is way out your door. Can you gauge me?
I’m in your toilet bowl. I’m in your lunch pail, and I’m around your cookery at night. I get in bed with your children, and I’m in the love of your dogs. I take your glasses off to see society, and I break you down to see your soul. I’m a view of the vision of God, and I’m this little man next door. Hear me climb to the skies a poem rider, a poet mile, and I’ll get you one day, to get you to say hello world it’s me, and I love this poem. Don’t you see?
This poem also was declined by the private Facebook group Auroville International, and neither their admin nor anyone else from their organization will yet speak to me.
Image from Plate 14 of William Blake’s Jerusalem, 1804–1820 (public domain)
I hate the shoot up of this wad. If I use sexual imagery you’re bound to buy me. We are not at our survival, and there’s not a bear chasing us. You’re in your kitchen or master room, hanging on every word to get clear reasons to put me in jail or finally prove I’m wrong you public think.
Let’s unload this on the public floor. I don’t know what it is either. I’m hearing things write down, a used garbage pail to most of you cats. Chop me to pieces will yah? I’m on Earth today getting pretty desperate election time on that world bar America. Trump just got elected, and I’m sorry folks he’s dead. The vehicle would shoot everybody. We can’t have him in office, understand?
What’s gonna happen? You can’t get America right again. The Right will take over, and all the policies that will police yah, and religion will have a field day brewin’ public opinion Christianity stalks. We can’t even stop it only aware of our own agenda, not necessarily nice. The world will change. American mean in it. To grow up in the new country, to grow up in the United States, you will see foreigners as twisted sisters come here and buy all of yah.
What’s the inner being like? It’s your pick this evening, to bring that nightmare further: oh my God America’s change. It will really throw rights out the window. You can’t play anymore puddin’ and spice. Get fuckin’ outta here! Who knows how many crossword puzzles paid for breakfast, and they weren’t even supposed to be admitted in the news. I’ve been here my whole life, and I study reality. Never mind, they were makin’ I need paper towels, but this won’t happen: nobody mops up the spilled blood. They talk about more than fuck out.
I thought maybe you’d grab a horn and keep America from gettin’ in office where Trump runs it. It’s dire emergency. Get with the lesson plan: we need a new world, the divine human being getting ready on our tops, not the Bible said today, a religion in office.
Spider monkeys, somebody’s gonna have to put lead in their bullets, and do more than just chime, and vote them suckers down far out of thirty minutes, like a rollin’ pin. You need elections, this election, beat her up, go out there and get milk, from the Statue of Liberty. That’s not all she wrote.
My own show, it is very opening. (vision with the line of scrolling down my blog Harm's End, but the only image showing was one which illustrates a post, a photo of a Black man of about a 100 years ago holding a guitar, obviously an expert on it. The post is about my past life as a Black guitar player who was killed by the KKK, burned alive, for playing in White joints. The vision ended there and the scrolling down) Poetry as a means to communicate words of action is nobody’s pick me up. They suck. They tell the truth. I’m out of fields today, and I don’t know what more expression I can write, hallelujah, amen. Keep Trump out of office.
I’m actually a century before. I don’t know what they had in mind, the colony who populates divine word. Give ‘em an hallucinogen, the reader I can’t see. It heightens everything, even Auroville, but no I didn’t take one today, or since I became better at knocking on wood, years ago. I can’t stomach your audience. Is that Auroville? No I speak to America from, doggy style. Don’t get Trump in office.
Is this the Hallelujah Trail? No it’s not it’s language. I eat camera’s all the time, the one I told you about yesterday in your own cabin. In the history of Trump I stop wanderin’ around. These are the votes. I’m the vote that let’s you know divine will in the matter. Compared to our official engagement, even Saturday Night Live can’t keep up. This hole in the ground, this hole in the wall, has consequences I’m gettin’ away. Grandiose title, ain’t it, Thought About Rainbows? Try on Earth some more. You deserve them.
Jacob Wrestling with the Angel by Leon Bonnat (public domain)
You’re on live. You’re still switchbacks. Let’s see if I can find ‘im, wife beater. High on our side, you’re the premium. You prove the words. Put you in the dustbin. Where you think you are buddy? This is Afghanistan?
I’m gonna be sayin’ I’m really glad you’re here in the not too distant future. Agreed, don’t let him in. See you tomorrow. A new episode, Aimless By Elvis. We’re 9:30. Fresh took from the Mother they did not realize.
Higher law would you challenge? Listen to this bullshit. I like that medical. I like that emergency. Alongside I don’t wanna bother people. I don’t want to fucking bother people. So we pretend we’re okay. I’m the manager of a showcase word that’s totally unacceptable in society. No one listens to it, except a few who know what it means, because they write the stuff, or it’s in their hands to read.
The city of dawn don’t like it, won’t even give it the time of day, who it’s for where its record keeps. They don’t listen to it. They don’t want it. It’s a waste of time to write it. I look at the long of it, and help is on these pages I can’t get out to the public, understandings that would bring peace, revelations enlightenment.
I can heal, and I can just listen to sins. I sit here flabbergasted the world does not want to heal, and no one wants to face reality, and I’m reality’s keeper, the healer of old wounds. I can’t count this. I can’t see its shores. There’’s no end to the proud ignorance we all share. There’s no listenin’ to our faults. There is only straight ahead bullshitting ourselves we are honest and sincere, or just say fuck it screw everybody I want my MTV, a cultural allusion to I want whatever pleasure I can get to get lost in it, and some say really wanna hurt people and let that world end.
Where are we today? We can’t see ourselves. We are not there, honest to God trying to better ourselves, to make the world clean, to have a functioning society. We hate each other, and sometimes with good reason, but who thinks hate heals? It destroys our world. It’s a poison in your inner life goading your neighbor to sin, like pick up a gun and shoot people with it.
And here we are on the airways putting thoughts in people’s minds an unconscious contest. We are not ready for everybody thinks in the same pool of blood. We can’t see that, and it’s not a belief you fit into. Painstakingly over mountains of years, this comes up in dream and vision.
You see the inner connection interpreting dream symbols and see them manifesting in the outer world. You have to see it for yourself. It comes up again and again. This in itself would revolutionize society, make us kind to each other in the wheelbarrow of our try, make us join together as one people that holds humanity at stake.
You can’t see it if you’re a scientist studying dreams. Their field won’t allow it— too many rules, but take a choir and put it together, who sing their dreams to one another over many long years, and you will definitely see it in the songs that you sing, and you will change the world. God no, you won’t even get it to listen to it, and I’m comin’ from one choir. Hear me speak?
I don’t know what I’m lookin’ at. Check this out, there’s this guy on the radio crammin’ religion down our throats, the nut, magical thinker pattern picker-outer where they’re not there, magical thinking fool. We can’t get around this introducing consciousness into the picture in a world of material thinkers who bargain for the day.
AI speaks and everybody listens, or enough that endanger our world. Can I crawl this to you, an innate speaking system that spiritualizes mankind in great healing waves your own inner voice speaks? How God you have to be to get there, how many trials.
It heals humanity, like a rocket test. It won’t make the news because it’s individually run, a healing system on Earth, where the Earth loads itself all shame and everything, where we don’t want to see. This is the great test of healing’s ways.
You see the rulebook? I can’t get this across. So the city laughs at me you stupid little thing. Got no time for your poetry. We are too busy with our not see. Can I spell this out? Auroville created for great change, to create among its selves the new human being, based on oneness and I do care, that brings humanity to the mountaintops, is closed to it when it comes, laughs the poet off the pier, just wants him out of town.
Alright listen up. I’m here, and I’m not the new human being, but I got recipes children that’ll put this in our hands. There, there now no. I’m a fire speaker on your shores, and I continue with it now you know reluctantly all systems go.
Art in the nature of its see looks at us through tall glasses. We think we’re the audience. We propaganda time. Art, when it comes from its source, makes us move mountains to see ourselves, and therein lies its price.
It’s not beauty you’re looking at, or ugly turned inside out. You’re lookin’ at yourself in mirrors of our kind, so we can sit with it awhile and put the light on our lives. Can you find art today?
A little bit of Heaven is the maker’s bill we’ve lost in how it's made, inspiration’s golden ring. Would you throw this away because it wrestles with sin and vice, wrestles with the Gods to bring Auroville here to bring down God here on Earth unpunished Prometheus, ordered by the Gods no? You tell me.
Another poem declined by the private Facebook group Auroville International but approved and posted by the Facebook group Auroville, INDIA.
image by the author, photo of the Earth by NASA (public domain)
Upholder of consciousness, can I call you a name? You just got laid off, and you’ll get laid off again, and there’s nothin’ to get ready for tomorrow. You’re not a big man on campus yet. You’re an embarrassing little thing, and no one will hear you sing. This is not standin’ in the air. This is not wide enough silly in the air. You’ve got tall trees growin’, and you’ve reached the limit of your room. Things get bigger. They envelope in consciousness.
Wow I believed you this time. I thought somethin’ was gonna happen. I don’t even worry about the fish, the fallout from this. Nobody understands my shores. Take ‘im away Bob. The irony in all this, and I have the light that shines on Earth. Foiled again at the book nodes.
Where’s my superman, my help you with it? I’m not just a fly on a coffee table. I’ve actually seen what I saw. Answer your question: your art and poetry put out, look what’s happened. Nobody wants to see you. They’re all put out, and they’re hungry from guess room again. How can you say such things you measly little piece of paper? And we shut you down. You are not making us mediocre; we are.
Now let’s ride to the end of this chapter. You won’t get it, and I will stand by your work. You’ve got a major 2 o’clock comin’. It’s in your show/window now. [two above words heard spoken simultaneously] Don’t sit just there read somethin’.
He hadn’t looked around. He was not just a horse in time courting sincerity. He grafted you upon the tree of life where you mattered and held count. One, they don’t know you play ball with God and life and time, and second, they don’t know there’s more than what they’ve got. This played with you, and it didn’t mean anything a thing you did, and you were not big in that boy’s eyes as you saw him lookin’ at yah. You were not important to him, as you saw him glow. This bothered yah and really made you think. Listen to her, listen to that boy in pain. You alleviate it and he knows it, and he can’t wake up to himself yet. That’ll come soon enough.
Oh wonderful thing hide in Their character, hide on Their tongue. To discover the hidden reasons of the Gods. [vision with the line of my own hand writing this in cursive on a sheet of paper] To come down on student terms and find out why They tick. Why are They a decade ago, never where man is right now? They don’t know people like we do, and They can’t gauge human life in our exact location. They are tall and kind, but They propose to us things we can’t do.
They do not understand the human state. They punish us for our condition, and there’s a discrepancy between time and fate that no amount of mercy can absolve. We are lone here, surrounded by Gods. They know our every thought and deed, climb your mind like it’s Their jukebox, but they don’t know how to understand you in the ways of sin. They say no. They don’t heal. They do not integrate the mountain with the sea. They meet each other and collide.
They are on our backs all the time to ever showcase new lore, to be an instrument for Them, but they cannot reach us with the love we need when we need it, and they will let us go down doing Their work. They will take from us our most beloved just to test us. They will treat us like human souls not like breathing men. They can’t be trusted. They will always put Their work first. In the quarries of the Gods we labor under the breath of death, and we don’t get out of it. We don’t even see it.
We can’t know it’s there, all the labor for the God, least we separate our life from our sanity. You can’t take a God’s force bearin’ down on you, a God’s thoughts. They are too immortality for us. They take on airs we cannot breathe. They give us one commandment: worship Them in time, letting Them be the light of your life. You cannot go astray from Them. They will hound you in life’s deeps, and you cannot stand against a God. You can only pray.
Why am I telling you this? The liberation from the Gods is our aim in how we count human. We don’t need Their scaffold that stops us in midair, that bullies us in time. We don’t burn Their scaffold down. We understand how inadequate it is. We accept Their help but go beyond it. We go to the back of the plan, what started all this universe and show, a whole other order of being testing limits for itself where no limits are, its growth by us into the unimaginable of its see.
We are bringing this order down now in the great upheaval of the Gods. Can you fathom this change? It’s a whole new way of doing things that has harmony as its base for righting wrong and oneness as its lookout for all it sees. It does not shy away from one. It incorporates all into its grand plan. It is the substance of itself it’s planting into the universe. It knows its great self by itself, and it knows itself as all, is not some cosmic God looking down on the riddle of creation.
This way of doing things, this Supermind, knows by identity and never strays from that. It’s a Truth Consciousness. It’s a vast Truth Consciousness, the exact truth consciousness ridin’ everything that is behind its base. It does not lie, knows not error. This is what we’re bringin’ down. This is what we are. It will change the world. It’s what we need to see today. It’s comin’. It’s here, and that’s the master plan. It’s the truth of the universe understandin’ time.
Look at it in the hours, and you are in transformation, God’s glow. I show this to you now with my head half in it. I’m movin’ forward now towards a completeness of my see, towards supramental change I see in my Lake, the figure of Silent Mind flagging me its approach. I stumble and fall and can’t keep up, and it’s an everyday pick me up, but I can see it HD.
So I sing my songs early morning vision brings, so I can look out now on what needs to be done. You’re in my field today. Hello, are you there? Auroville, are you there?
The epicenter of spiritual change, modern life Auroville, it can’t see itself. It’s bigger than the sky no. It grapples with human problems. It grows its children to grow nature in her room, to be the normal round of human being. It has high ideals that are not in the hands of the city in daily worth. Impossible to describe, the mounting towards a change in consciousness that’s Auroville’s aim. Human unity will not field show.
Where is the city goin’? Can you see ordinary where Auroville meets its road? No amount of spiritual-mongering can put it there, the spiritual consciousness. The gap between Auroville and her spiritual aims throws Auroville out the window as a city of spiritual change. It’s a city of proud belief, yoga tags, conferences, spiritual workshops, sound gardens, the green munchies. These move the city along a false bravado. No spiritual revolution seizes its day.
Can somebody tell me what we’re doin’ and why’s not the change? We’re in plans with yesterday, not the new planet in the making now. I ring this to you now. Can you ring with me and not vote me out? What’s the plan? It’s not the issues that divide us today. Are you gonna help?
The drawback for spiritual change to say nothing. We substance where we change. We tell you in the manner befitting our service. We tell you spiritual change, how it’s happening to us, when we can tell it without spillin’ it, the purpose of art and poetry when you’re undergoing spiritual change. You talk about it the inner voice, unprompted by your decision making process. You don’t let out a word, otherwise. Now it dawns on your community.
Got so many minions, so black, speakin’ in the voice of your word. This is not a mere dictation. It is a battle of the spiritual word. Great variety sees that, honed in occasions. We ride versatility to its source. Okay I choir now.
Who inspires me but not the Gods? The runner up open to Supermind. To see this distinction’s life and death for the city. Crucial for the city to go beyond the Gods, the strength of Overmind. I explain to you now. I explain to you how. Lemmie guess, you’re starlight? The advent of Supermind where Overmind opens to it, you know this source, the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, their hills, a few that give us their glad tidings of wide birth. Here we establish things, put them in order. On top of that I show you a weapon master, the rays of the Sun.
Insulated against it, the Auroville that makes its bed, that Auroville that goes international. I have this title goin’ international, The Writing on the Wall Dummy’s Paradise. You don’t know you’re Belushi’d out a poet in Auroville on comic stops. It’s behavioral 9, and it’s comin’ soon to where you can see it in Auroville’s front page. It doesn’t suck they way they’re doin’ it either. This latest poem is his Red Cross, a fix it paper. You know how it ends. They’ve made their decision. Just throw it out but keep the paper. You too much for them, and they Riviera the day. Donny this looks terrible. Thank you.
Finish the job. I want a divine crossword puzzle. You’ve got branches on it. You’ve got the cookies stuff. It’s delicious. What do I do with the title? Tell God to show up a whole little ice cream. We get our pieces together. Larry Seidlitz, empathy? identity? Ah here, declined.
Do you know what spirituality is? To feel right at the zombies zone. Donny draws the neach of us. Speak a following a fluid law and love from your mistakes. It’s Auroville’s paper we need in Auroville’s hands, true points of the consciousness of God. Round house to an extraordinary boat on the sea, we can lift the consciousness of God up to new heights and stay there. Can you count Auroville’s aim here, her mission in words?
You climbed to the top of her mission with children. I know; it’s that background girl. Nithisha not there. He’s missing from action. He reads his own music a sad story, and I’m mentionin’ firecrackers, indo in human hearts. How is the school? You’re gonna help us out then admire how beautiful it is. This is his nanny, Earthen Pull.
Now we met each other in consciousness. I’m about the boy’s height, and I’ve got a poem to show yah, where we live, talkin’ about consciousness one night sharin’ pizza. Open the door. Watch how that decline button does things. You miss the table with that. You miss everything. Can we call you Auroville International, giver of gifts, provider of boons?
You will delete me for this, if I don’t hurry up. I would like to stairway your mind. Why is pretentious the first word that comes to mind? How do you talk about facts you know? Hurry, you gotta see this. I have, saw it with my own eyes in just a seconds’ grab up out the top of my head to that nice familiar form you know Yourself perpetratin’ all these lives without involvement in them, like remains untouched by the whole show.
Anyway I was up there. Let’s go. I am at the period in this poem you hear me, like really bold perfume that talks about the important stuff. Meanwhile on the ground I have reactions and do my duties. I don’t react half as much as I used to. I’m gettin’ round that. Calmness is a commodity that comes in long waves, and then it goes out again. I’m waitin’ for my boy to come home so’s I can see it. He’s safe and sound, and that removes the ants on my consciousness floor. Children come first in the scheme of things, and I’m holdin’ mine to safety. Bear with me here. You don’t know the half of it.
Okay now start your poem. Can you leave me alone? Come here mountain climber. Okay do it, behind the scenes you weren’t lookin’ for in her gala. Where you goin’? The party’s just gettin’ started. Patience man patience. You’re not gonna trip over wires. Alright put your feet on. We’re walkin’ to background love. It’s an emergency. Auroville’s dyin’ all over again. It’s not the first time. God gave her a bulletproof vest. Bet you didn’t know that. It doesn’t work sometimes, as you can see now. Roll a joint and pass the ammunition. There’s a fight goin’ on in Auroville over spiritual aim. No worries, many efforts bless this mess.
And now you think I smoke pot. It’s just a figure of speech to unhand you. It’s a flashpoint in Auroville, and people don’t like it there. The Mother said so inflexibly no. And you got her lists. Not all of them work, and she never got down to business with the master plan. I’ll tiny tiger this in myself, somebody that listens to her quickly in tales of the inner voice. I don’t believe it’s me either, but there you go.
My little boy was complainin’ the heaviness of the knowledge of God, oh for example, did you know daddy the world’s in pain? He calls me grandpa. I’m his spiritual teacher, and he’s woken up to world pain, bein’ yanked so hard by his own. You got to know consciousness as a spiritual aim.
Now let’s go to district 9 and give this poem some perspective of the deepness of the knowledge of God. He calls me master. You know the relationship, and they lesson there. Wow, kangaroos, and he really matures in that pouch. That’s been keeping me here. [heard spoken in Nithish’s voice] Gonna go soon, back to daddy and our spiritual endeavor, the node of our relationship. Where is it? In that field of love.
Now the brass of Auroville don’t stomach these waters. You have to admit a little Reagan post. Carrying a seditious act, no I’m not. You must be mistaken. You must have me confused me with the wrong Donny. The scaffoldin’, it’s too much. Find it on paper, consciousness poem.
Huntin’ to see you again, your big-eyed boy. He lays in bed at night sleepless worry, and he can’t soothe himself. Headaches and dizziness spell his day. This is suffering. Glued to him from the inner consciousness, you manage to hold him and speak into his mind where his heart meets the road. He knows you’re there.
I’m sorry sweetheart this is burnin’. Warn title, will you lie to me? A terrible story that come in the place of him? Another body than pain he had to be aroused, another program: he loves the Mother. She was something down where you lost God.
You know what I mean: you were born in my commitment. Now I need yah to look up and sound off the important test, a poem in your stadium write that helps us all to be feet to the Mystery who cares, balancin’ time on a rainbow, the supramental transformation in children, what is on your tops, I kid you not, waiting for Hollywood to get with the lesson plan and surpass Disney there’s a child in need of imagination. Get it ate at the light of the new world you’re figurin’ in the verse you’ve already written. Hold on I’m comin’, my sweet, beautiful boy.
Town’s end, and miracle show up, wonderful ridin’ spiritual love. Honestly, this is brand new eyes on God.
The above poem too was declined by the admin of the private Facebook group Auroville International. My muse wrote a short poem in response, suggesting what picture of go with it, “A picture of a rainbow,” before I even found that out, which I posted on their page and which will, no doubt, also be declined. Postscript: it was declined.
In Sudden Splendor Facin' Rainbows
No one has ever done this before. I'm a threat to everybody's system of order. I want a new world see, and I want it to work, and I want it to plan. You delete that in Auroville, too ordinary to let the world happen there, oh you bunch of men and women blocking the Sun. I'll tell everybody. [a link I left to this post]
Auroville International
Auroville International (AVI) is a worldwide network aiming at the support of the development of Auroville in all its aspects. Founded in 1983 it is legally registered in the Netherlands, with a representation in 34 countries around the world – nine national centres, which are registered associations in their respective countries, and twenty-five liaisons, which may be smaller groups or single individuals.
It must be said that the Facebook group Auroville INDIA approved and posted this poem, as they have several others everyone else has declined.
Come check your bag out through his porch. A porch explore us, the name of the explicit program, miles above the current thought, miles above the existing program. Sit by the door. You went there. I offer you holy ground. Insert I mean the new superman, a new way to Supermind.
My goodness you’ve gone over the top. We got a new thing goin’. You’ve got a brand new pair of shoes. He’s all mad at yah, Sonny— I’m not sure all the time. Who else? I’m not sure about Nithish. Lookin’ at yah. Can we get better at ‘im? Door to shopping opens in a little while. He’s your prime target. A dark smear settles keeps him in a corner. I gotta do everything to get him out of vice. These are my papers, and that’s what I’m workin’ on.
A kid gets killed, and we’re in the front lines normalizin’ it. I don’t think we understand the history of science. Our very lives show this to us, but we can’t see it: the whole society ruins children. It’s a combat zone: fuck you do your homework. We lay them in bed a manage them to sleep: oh I’m eager to get out of there you clingin’ thing. Or you test them in their underwear with your dick fingers, rubbin’ butts. Either way, you can’t get the story straight: you believe with them there’s so much more than dresser drawers in the room. Angels glow all along the edges of their minds, monsters dwell. They can see them in the corner, hear them in the closet. You think their imagination wild. You don’t know what’s goin’ on. If you did you’d run out of the room screamin’. Your sanity couldn’t take it.
But let’s get back to business, shall we? Kids glow. They have otherworldliness to them we’ve forgotten about. They live there. We see the form, forget the consciousness inside. They’re lust to us or dreadful things we have to manage, and in-between those two poles most lie. Have I hit yah yet?
My boy is in a livin’ emergency, and nobody cares. I’ve shown this to the room. I’ve shown this to Town Hall: he suffers still. We think there’s monsters there in the love of this foreigner for this boy, or we just want ‘im with his own kind. Can you count that?
We don’t know children are kings and queens of livin’ life, and they need more than us. They need a breath of God on their tops, and they need the substance of their souls to be their playmate in time. They need to get away from the Darkness in the world and not give their little boy’s livelihood to the darkness in the corner goin’ bad in a hand basket. We can’t see Hell edgin’ up upon their life. Another soul down, so many millions left to go They say.
My boy’s there turnin’ inta vice, furious at his parents and the world for making that child obey and renounce his own freedom and tear off of his lips and eyes any mention of that foreigner, who is me, and they beat ‘im until he complied. Can I guess here? I’ve seen it with my own eyes, this tremblin’ little figure afraid of his own shadow, and I can do nothing to stop him from being afraid, his fear of the world, late at night, his fear of death. I envelope him with my consciousness, but that’s not enough. That boy needs held.
You won’t let me do that, satisfied he’s in his parents’ hands for good or ill. Oh the woes of parental not by blood, but yah been there since he was born. You only like adoption papers to make that real. Can we be a kid again? Can we see the emergency that we have known with children all through human history but have never seen? Stop child abuse! oh you stupid thing. Stop you from hurting kids by burying them in the world and sealing that coffin with school and other blind things that have no reason why kids be. You just wanna make them grow up or be a football to play with. You’re not inta their things, their larger than life’s, their Woodstock imagination, and it didn’t rain.
I gave Nithish that glow, what he wears himself in his distance from time. I let ‘em have it, the freedom to take his kids’ reins and mount the world with ‘em. He loved it there— no rules, no spankings, just guidance. I yelled loudly I’m sorry in moments I regret now. He was just bein’ a kid, testin’ limits and naughty. Even the preacher cuss.
What do we do with children? We let them have their head in safety tips, and we don’t vacuum their room with a pain in the ass, and we let them be stars of our attention, and punishment only makes them meaner or more rebellious when we’re not lookin’, when they get out. A submissive child is a dead child, and they’ll bring dictators into the room when they’re older. See the world now? Populist hell.
I let Nithish glow with his own feelings. didn’t rob them, and that was a school for me. I gave him candy. I took ‘im to the movies in the middle of the night, when he liked to go. On the way home we played monster chasing us or zombies in the middle of the road reachin’ out for us. I put reality there by parkin’ my bike and runnin’ off yellin’ eat the kid not me! He would squeal with delight and belly laugh, after his imagination let go of him, the monster had returned to his lair, the zombie apocalypse had ended. I know how to manage a kid with their own imagination. It is prime time for them.
What is my purpose with him? Oh I want that little boy happy with himself now. The adult can wait. I want him to feel the breeze of his own freshness and what makes him so special in a world where everybody’s the One. I want him to love himself, not be afraid of time, but more than anything else he has his own destiny I want him to live for, why his soul can down on Planet Earth. That had nothing to do with small business. I’m the upholder of his destiny, and I like it there.
I’m his keeper, because he’s still a child. Why would jealousy pull him away from me and you let them? I’ll be back the daddy he calls daddy in just a little bit of room, not much time as the crow flies. Come on let’s go, gimmie your will so this can come. Do you hear me stars and all ye people you? Bring the child.
The world is paper thin really. Monsters glare. Angels sing. The world behind the world is bigger than the world. You don’t see this? Your kids do. No let’s go over time. It laughs to be alive full metal jacket. Children’s class, there’s immediately a hole in the water. It bites. Writin’ kid once in you, how far did that go? You’re with Nithish.
Quite a ballgame. I hope that’s my intestines tellin’ me I’m rush. It was one on one flavor. With no little boy here to share it with, it was foreign. Do you know the hole the world makes when you’ve lost your child? It’s like infinity in the room. You can’t understand its price. It sucks. I have to live there. What do I do to get out of it? I can’t do nothin’, my child can. In the blackness of his state, he has to get better.
He’s 12 goin’ on nine, and there’s a football in the room. He’s discovered pornography I hear and sits there with his friends, all hellions, and has them corrupt him to land’s end. He goes there to escape the wild, a single room home where he’s stifled and crushed, the invasion of his privacy a misdemeanor the boy can’t afford, the rule of his mother a felony that makes him question his sanity. She will not shut up. She will not let him breathe. The fear is he will see me, and she took him for her vice not mine, after a lifetime together his end. Insanely jealous, she watches his every mood. Is he thinking of me? Has he called me on the phone? These things are forbidden and when she sees me on his face she whips him for it. His father’s a killer who only comes on the weekends, and he’s plotting another murder I kid you not.
These are the parents you chose him be with. These are the parents you admire. Can you get any worse? I can’t handle this. Protecting children I thought was your right and mood. Turns out you only care if you touch their penis. All else is permissible done to a child. All else is warranted. All else fails to get your attention in any meaningful way that helps. I live this, your hypocrisy. I only get your likes, and damn few of those, but let’s be patient here. There is a poet I know in Israel that cares, and not every reader is a penis-monger. Some genuinely feel this, but I’m courting people right now, in the bowels of the situation, who have the power to confront the parents and at least end the blockade of no outer contact with the child I raised since he was a wee little boy. They’re Tamil and live here in positions that can help. Who says they do? No, that’s online. I am a foreign man and they are not. They don’t give me the legitimacy of parenthood, because how can I? I’m not even Tamil, and I cannot prove my worth with my tears and broken heart and concern for my child. I look like some guilt monster wanting to steal theirs, so identify they do with Tamil people.
I can’t get around that. You’d tell me to be quiet, or end the attachment, like it’s a perverted cross. You should see his song he wrote for me: "all the bad voices are saying bye; all the good voices are saying hi." They say that loudly. His whole life is on hold waiting to see me again. I’m daddy.
Can you gauge love in a boy’s heart. Unexpressed it doesn’t die. Ordered to kill it he don’t. It grows beyond the mountaintops and plays there with the Gods. They have him arm and arm with total control to keep me out of his eyes and ears and me off his lips, because they are jealous of me there, and in all this blackness more blackness comes. In the absence of me he races too see friends they’ve gave him permission to be with, who are the signposts to gangs, boys already addicted to vice, who are the real danger for him to be with. His parents are oblivious to the boy’s plight. They’re just controlling him from me.
This is bastardly sucks. Let’s do away with it. Let’s return this boy home where his heart is. Let’s give him the freedom to do that. Okay crowd, let’s have some high rollin’ here and get that boy off the table and back to his house, the American me. It’s not fun. Hey you two pass my way. I’m not bein’ sarcastic. I’m talkin’ to the two Tamils who can help. See them there? A will collective move on their will and speed this process up. They have the power. They really do. Come on people let’s ride.
I’m countin’ on Syria to kick out Islamic State. Can we get there? I go over the mountain. All I know, judging from your path, I think you’re right. You keep raising your voice. You’re grasping at straws to get him back. You let me know anywhere loaded on ‘im, some trapdoor to sex. My sympathies then, and I’ll call child welfare there in India and get him taken care of.
Okay choir, would you settle for ruinin’ his life? Oh my God chop me to pieces. You’re comprised by sex in Texas. Do you know where the dropbox is? You’re wonderful, and another one’s kicked off the Earth, no tongue. Someone sent me a message. I’m just gonna read part of it. You take unborn babies and make them king, but kids themselves you beat, and punishing them is your right. You want the submissive child.
You’re lookin’ beyond graves, if we can, beyond that boy has a penis but thinks he’s a girl. You’re gonna take it seriously kids need to be protected from abuse. Now “The Use of Animal Freedom” really identifies with kids, what’s about to turn on in Nithish full force. the fact that he has a dick and wants to use it. I can’t get you to see this in a children almost teen. What do you do with their puberty, make them wear church, make them put a sock on it? And if she’s a girl? Is that the one you need most to no button down there? Why of course ring maker. Kids go to perdition so easily when they’re buddin’.
Kill it, kill it inside them, their natural born feelin’. Transgender wars hell, you’re workin’ to make a warehouse of kids to not even look down there to check out what they got, and you are so worried about them in the womb. You’re so cross fingers with them in the womb, but you pull their pants down and spank them just for bein’ a kid. Texas you’re the vice I’m talkin’ to. Hey Texas leave those kids alone! All they are is another brick in the wall?
I liked the sound better with a mouse. That’s great. That’s not acceptin’. Gotta get some lunch bags too. Outgoin’ calls, the hammer is no. I’ll let you feel safe. You’ve lost your mind. You give kids no sexual expression at all, and you think this rides their freeways. It rides their hidden vice. It used to be in your desk, overcoming desires. Did I hand it to yah? Come on, what do you needed to do it? Looking at come here Bruno, come here! (vision of Bruno, our Doberman, running away from me to the front of the house, and I’ve just let him out the back door) Get your pumpkin right. Self-control, self-measure you teach them.
Fit there she goes to sleep. You don’t give her any room to breathe on her own paper. You deny reality and with it the child. You’re underage a God looking in on Himself. You put conservatives in the White House, governor of the state, with your kid’s vote, and you stand around and watch children die. Here he comes. You’re too big to get the world to see my child. You know how it goes. We murder children in their sleep so they are zombies all life long.
A lot of this good agency, what I’m giving you now. Follow their lead. Even playing with themselves they’re bringing in a better world, when it’s not porn-play or adult hand in there. Even thought about kicking themselves up, they’re watching themselves up. When we allow them to get dressed in personal animal freedom, the cops come, depending upon who you are, and ban everything. Oh Texas and my world, you need Freedom School. [a school in the movie Billy Jack] Hello napkin, I wondered why I was burnin’ down there. Such large members, such a tiny space we fit them into, such a large package. Oh my God world see this.
We go hand in hand with proper sexual expression, and that’s not with an adult, and it’s not only with their own hand. I just stepped off the world and into a better science, as I’ve just entered your living room, and I must be polite and leave. What the hell do you want?! Thy peacemaker. Give the kids their genitals, how they are when not one’s lookin’. Let child know they can control themselves how they are around dog: napkin, grab that fucking napkin! And you’ve situated one of the building blocks to peace on Earth.
I’m fresh and alive, aren’t I? I study reality, but I do not rank there. So be it, but I’ve just written into the ether a better way of doing things, a better Nithish brought home. I’m on a rollercoaster can you feel it? And I’m not there to make you scream. I want the end of the world that puts kids in prison boxes and sends them to school, that puts chains around their necks and sends them to school, that pits them against their own bodies. Why do you wanna cut your dick off? Don’t you see reality? Talkin’ to a transgender kid, made there not by gender diaspora, by no one accepting his genitals growing up and givin’ them release. When you slice your dick off, sew up you’re vagina, you’re not expressing need; you’re all wrapped up in society’s handlin’ of your food, and the table’s sexuality. Did I just ruin my poem? No, I just ended it.
You better run, run, run, run, run, talkin’ ‘bout a revolution. [two above lines heard sung by Tracy Chapman, “Revolution”] Move through ideas the city of human unity, why did you do that? What did you just do? What did I just do? I gave you a whole nuther head on children. I gave you a whole nuther head on sex. Read this thing so you can copy it fast. I met too many here Guests and Newcomers. [social divisions in Auroville, India] You think the divine is divine labor on which you source, rules and how to get there. It’s not that honey it’s more. Rollin’ in agony upon the hills you end up later. Hey picked Asiya and the house is comin’ down. You’re Indian. What right do I have to speak? I’ve been asking my fat emotional body this. I know the score between children and their parents, what you do with a divine in the room. I’ve got expert topics, and I’m not afraid to use them.
This is all prewash. If you’re candy was Disneyland, what was I? They would tell you if they’re at. They would threaten. I talked to ‘im. It was on his computer. He’s a down and under hope dispenser. He makes virtue and art Hitler’s birthday. Down at that office, we’re gandin’ from abandoned puppy too. You don’t know how to lift up the race, but we don’t lead you astray. You lift up the biggest name in evil too, not to condone them, to rectify them. We’ve lots of him. I don’t see him anymore. I got my check balanced. I’m rose in the room, and it just took me away.
What Intelligence writes your stuff? The one that makes the flower, the one that sees Earth a testing ground for souls. I’m supramentalizing. There’s a harmony in my pen, not law and order or we make rules, but I talk about the important stuff and reel you in with it. My God this is not enjoyable. I gotta put rings around mountains: man is, you have to do it man. Now my little boy’s gone. I would almost boycott poetry but that’s not the flavor of this writing: hey Luna, come to yourself any discussion. [Luna Rottweiler] I’m tryin’ to show you somethin: we are not on Mars. That was a habitable island destroyed in such a long, orbiting time ago. We’ll see how it goes with Earth. We help you.
One of your favorite, one of your favorite teams, I’ve tried to photograph me close relationship to understand principles and stars, to go beyond them. I’m divine heavy in your room. I’m tryin’ to lift you up to see the sky beyond Mind. I don’t get to go until you do. We are a connected lot, but I been up there before. To say it’s the writing on the bathroom door, it’s not; it’s just there. I’m a field take, and I’m tryin’ to get you out there to play a roaring game of baseball so we can sees each other, put our guns down, stop shooting people.
You don’t know the price in the room for hating anybody, even those who hate you, and I’m workin’ with Nithish’s parents, who refuse to even speak to me. You’re the judgmental party. For Nithish’s parents, the hatred just comes out of the woodwork, suddenly picked. You’re almost there: understand their stupidity and don’t hate them for it. Gwen, okay? An almost businessman came up. She hates me I’m her brother. She may even read this poem, someday.
I’ve been hurt by hate too. I have this social stigma, and I’m the most hated man in the crowd. This stigma’s hated; people don’t know me. I’m wish I’m done with speaking through alleyways in your hole, but I do feel better doin’ divine will. No one reads me yet, or damn few. The audience and his poet, do you have to have one to have the other?
I did ninety pushups and sit-ups each day. I’m exercising wholeness and healing. Will you give me a hand? We gotta see the wholes, and it’s a together report card. I really need help with my boy, get him out of trouble and onto victory lane. All this dramatic poetry, this is a bank. I’m writin’ poetry for my boy so he can sees himself an inner poet. I pass this onto him in the inner consciousness. He gets it.
The help of Robin, it can help when David, who puts landscapes together, afforded my report. Will they put you in jail? Not your question among you. You just unload this poet on a public conveyor belt. Anyway I got room to grow and so does he. He’s a contact Earth named poetry. Accessible he would make me. I love your fine wine.
Okay let’s borrow mine and get down to Earth poetry. Believe your death you must navigate. I was making a significant Boomer’s salad when I made this for you, when I bear this for you. Let’s see how fast he gets here, once your will’s a ridin’ him home. Yes, yes, it takes a long time just to roll up your sleeve. Gotten Aidia’s attention, hopefully in wheelbarrows.
That’s a great poem. Why thank you, a fresh fish in a factory. It’s got labels on it this time. Great vehicles on Earth the poets are. The print out, it’ll be cave free. We’ll do it in the mornin’. It’s the head of the whole thing. How many wheels does a truck driver have? A collection of poems published in India in a book see. I hope you see there. Can you say large collection?
Even a little bit apart, he’s been us with the whole time. Is what facilities you may use. Him coming home, and he gets not that shit from me, a bad policeman. Three times as big key presenter, I asked the cinema to work it out in peace number 9. I wanna hold your hand. [line heard sung by the Beatles, line song title] I’m expressing need. You need to see this. It don’t feel like something we just said Auroville Press made real— I’ve encountered basically the tune of the ages. I suppose you lookin’ at ‘im, the whole prophet of Auroville, nine inch skin. I am constantly created. Only in summary is he wet behind the ears. On Old Galveston Road he went into the nature of Supermind.
Your heart in your ears, your ears in your heart, oh there you are. (vision of Nithish sitting on the floor one knee up, he running his hand through the bangs in his hair like he’s a bit frustrated) He’s comin’ home soon. I gave preference to The Silmarillion. Gonna detail now the Samadhi. [holds the bodies of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo] The Samadhi— hey how’s it goin’? Tryin’ to watch he’ll come be here soon. I love you, my beloved teacher and master in time. Trapped his voice on this recorder as he measures time Sri Aurobindo and thank you Mother. I’m an anomaly. I look at my boy and smile and look at God later, and that’s where I put God’s eyes, on my little boy lookin’ at me. It’s so we kosher together and have fun. That’s how you manage time.
Let’s go down this road. Look, there’s the really afraid. You do not boy blue darkness, step over him, in how you hold God. You hold God in that boy. He’s not your image of God. I look into your little eyes, speak the account God has with me. Did I say that correctly? We’re on Earth, and we’re here to stay. God on Earth, and we are Supermind, the supramental manifestation managing its creation.
Did I blasphemy? I gave you a measure of God in the balance of His show. God is always bigger than any robe He wears, any riding car, bigger than those little boy’s eyes, and we’ve arrived at the end of the poem. He’ll be home soon, and thank you God, down lower, gettin’ inta those eyes.
We have that place where, yep, you need to turn on that character light. I would say he does not deserve the title respect call him. Thank you sadhak. Nat started a story. It was obscenity of being, the crazy what’s up nails trauma a bunch of us go through. Are we on your calendar?
You’re nice and pretty. Does that mean you’re good in the sense of good to all of us? We’ve got a world here in a tin can. It hurts everybody. You would not like a story that makes you mean. Is that transformative?
Watch movies that’s all you see, a blight of entertainment “televised from the gulfs of Night” [from Savitri, an epic poem by Sri Aurobindo] that tells stories to pit you against one another, to make your blood boil, to let the demons in.
There isn’t a place on the planet it’s not on your local TV. This is what we’ve gotta get out of, get back to our dream maker as the one we watch and write. Is that a perverted slam?
You would boil at the inner consciousness because it pits you against your morality papers: don’t say cuss words; don’t mention sex; don’t talk about getting your dick sucked when you were five by your mother. What have I just done?
I let the inner consciousness in in language that grabs you and moves you, that has the day on it, that gives you a porn whereabouts so many faces are into these days. It hits you where you’re at if you can’t tell right from wrong, if you’re lost in all this sleaze. We’re tryin’ to reach people not preach to them.
A dream comes out from someone who suffered this in the language that it felt like, and the elect can’t take it because they don’t know how to deal with it. They’re into quotes of Sri Aurobindo and pictures of deity. They look at spirituality as the cure and not addressin’ what’s wrong in the language that needs to.
Everybody just be nice. Make your concentration daily and let no wrong movements in. Be cheerful and happy. There’s no end to the advice in spiritual seeking. Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty of life. Let’s use those quotes to solve problems. The Mother and Sri Aurobindo are a wealth of that, applied in ways you haven’t imagined yet, because you’re religious and one-sided.
We need to heal, so many of us. You can’t imagine what it’s like where hell has opened in humanity. This is all over the globe, terrible stories that’ll make you cry if you had your empathy on.
We need to heal the world first, then spiritualize it, and spirituality will be healing, because that’s what it’s made for, if it’s the soul involved. You don’t know this. Soul healing’s to you a preacher wrote. It’s not test the limits of humanity in making healing the order of the day. This soul is wide and free. You don’t know that either.
You look at the Gods of Overmind, the lowest rung. They’re moral and straight. They have seen God in passing one time maybe. They are closest to us in the ways of deity. They make rules and regulations, put experiments on vice and get rid if it not heal it. Our whole world is taken by Them. It’s what we need to change and bring a new order upon the Earth, soul healing in the dynamics of Supermind.
You don’t know how wide God is, when it comes to the personal growth process of wholeness and healing. / That’s been my path all along, and it’s gotten acute where I show it to you, all Sri Aurobindo’d. What else can I do? I’m his disciple and a seer of his wisdom, and I’ve been told to talk to you.
I’ve spent 25 years learin’ my craft, a lifetime before that as a poet. You can’t fault me in preparation, all prepared for yah. Grab me by the balls will yah and throw me to policemen, or at least try to shut me up? God’s will be done.
One editorial board member, Dr. Alok Pandey, who is listed as a “Member, Research Advisory Council, Sri Aurobindo Society,” replied to my emails, three times, the first: “May Her Grace be with you,” her meaning the Mother, the second: “What is tormenting your soul so much dear child?” and the third: “You are quite right. You seem to be an angry and arrogant brash revolting angel. I don’t find your poetry tasteful or even poetry. It is a blurting out of things stirring in your subconscious, not mind nor higher, but inframental forces. That’s my view about your poetry. By the way I am not part of any organization nor have any access to publishing poetries so you could perhaps try some other place or person. Good luck. May the Grace be with you.” No one else on the board or in that organization has replied.
Insert card and procedure. Remove the chance that we had, visiting. Are you English? I don’t understand. I didn’t red one second in that girl. Stay high and close. There’s a ballpark you’re gonna play on. It’s just a matter of minutes. Come on get happy. Ecstasy at the apex. Ride your family. There’s more than family values. Okay A camp, there’s Donny.
I’m gonna realize you in the stack. The stone of my words will remove them from any look on themselves innocent. Arrow on his sight, and Auroville is under the dominion of these wares. Well that’s in Pondy. The hand butter or you are called potentials, the rest of your life. Don’t feel scared there. You’re not wet cross.
Why would the child cry?— excellent. For some attention. These phrases stopped your evolution. You didn’t touch that child. You were so good to him he cried when you left. David Wayne was it? Your cousin’s boy, David King. They accused you of molesting him because he cried when you left. What a child and jury, these were your cousins you’d known all your life. They just accused you, without even knowin’ why.
“Must’ve stuck your hand down his pants, when we weren’t lookin’.” That was your uncle Jerry, whom you’d loved all your life. Jerry Duke and his wife Sherry Duke, they were monsters to you. Karen and Eddie, their children, were the posse. I think they saw the kid cry and made out you did it. You saw each one of them born and grow up. They were Jerry Lloyd’s brother and sister, your first best friend, the love of your life until you were five. You were like twins, daily in your playfields together. You kept that love, growin’ up. He didn’t.
Now wasn’t it David King had you stroke his penis when were a little boy and he a teen, and didn’t he tell you he raped Karen when she was 11, he 18? Wow you, Eddie and Jerry Lloyd, a lot of sex play when you were little, penises all in each other’s mouths, especially you and Jerry Lloyd. This continued growin’ up. All the cousins did it, James Duke too, and you’ve always remembered that horse Jerry Lloyd and them fucked when you were teenagers. Did I see you get on it too? Steve fucked yours, do you remember? You were 10, he 14. Now they’re gonna go and accuse you of child molestation. It ain’t right.
Jewett, they all lived in Jewett, Texas, on Old Durant Road. Some of ‘em still there. Mean people, they just got rid of you when you were in college, and they were not. Wow you had been a Green Beret, and they hadn’t been anything. They are jealous, vile, people, and your love for them was never returned. The suffering of that false accusation, it changed your life. You wailed in dream. You couldn’t believe it, and they never spoke to you again.
How’s that for family? They’re all born again Christians, and they act like it. They don’t love their brother. They don’t even know he’s there, still hurtin’ from their murder of his love. He cried for years in the solace of dream. This hurt. What did it do to his ramrod? False accusations sting. They waylay you. They change your behavior. Why even try? You do it then.
You were really good to David Wayne. He was four and don’t remember a thang. He was a cute little guy. The Dukes and the Kings, how are they with kids? They take care of them but don’t give them any attention, the kind that opens them to society kind people. They give them swimsuits and baseballs, but not the focused family time they need. They all watch television together. It’s not raise a kid, and they’re the center of the room, the heart of the attention. They’re not fostered so they grow up nice and sweet. They’re whipped with belts and switches and a lot of anger, and along comes this nice man from know how to do it, because he loves children so, and David Wayne gets the attention he so desperately needs.
Why did he shake his head yes that you touched him? He was four and didn’t know what they mean. This was a holocaust to that family’s sense of love and devotion, to that little boy’s pride. They got away with it, until today. You hear me speak now.
Okay you ready? We got that thang fixed. Okay yeah. Everything watch manners— there’s boats in the car. The problem is with the Silver. Take somethin’. Take this over the top of your head. Can you growl with me at cars? A field of stars show all this morality. I’m in business for good, and that’s how I pull your pants down, get away with it. I’m showin’ the Mother her feelins when she was a little girl, and my eye is ever on what was made illegal in India: offend people in their religion, and they put you in jail.
Can a reformer speak? We wanna change things for the better, and we have to challenge religion to do it. Religious sentiments need to change so we can get past this stumbling block. Alright I’m right there, holdin’ my penis and showin’ flowers. Where did you go? You think I’d said the n-word. Oh, wrong culture, but you can hear America from here, Indian. We put everybody on trial. I bet you don’t wear your genitals properly. My God they’re beastly things, all wrapped up. No one wants to hear them. I’m gifted speech, a seer of divine wisdom that has the sun in his sights.
Oh Supermind, we can’t see a difference from Overmind where our morality’s concerned. Supermind will stay right there by society in where it needs to change to bring harmony in the situation. It isn’t fight with rules. It breaks them, and that’s how we change our lives to get so much bigger than any rule can make us. Alright overmental keepers, listen up. I harmonize.
Well that shirt go to the other side. Look at my fuckin’ numbers you mean. There’s just a second before I change in poetry, and I bring so much literal verse into a symbolized meaning. You hear me cars? Don’t run off. I’m just tryin’ to explain things you don’t wanna talk about. You should’ve seen ‘er. She fought that tongue, but it didn’t bite ‘er. In India— I figured it was you. I hold off more than I can chew. So many open-minded Indians I’m not mentionin’ in this book, but I know you’re there. I’m a seer of divine origin, and I’ve got some thumbnails to put out to the public.
Just wait a minute. How often do you think? It’s been a year I’ve threatened you with green leaves. This is the baseline, where we genital one another, talkin’ about the social consciousness in our arisin’ morality.
Gonna get you there. Does it stink? It’s not a baseline of spirituality, but it’s standard there. We deal with these things as we follow some yoga or put on our sadhana. They can’t be ignored. The genitals are a loud gun. No one deals with them properly. We stuff them away even evil to look at, like they snake. We have put them in marriage vows so they can express themselves without poundin’ the social fabric. That was a temporary measure made a long time ago by the Gods to control us.
It’s tearin’ apart the social fabric. We have genitals when we’re not married. They reach out and bite us if we deny them expression and we are not mature enough for brahmachari, celibate in our wears, especially kids. Do you know the confusion they feel to have these little toys with handles on them, and they get punished with they do, or made to feel so ashamed? They grow up a sexual question mark that puts pleasure in the wrong place: it’s not right. Or they just go balls to the wall as an adult doin’ what was denied.
Let’s put the genitals in the right place: they’re not ugly or mean, but they need to be handled properly. Just say no doesn’t work if you haven’t worked out your sexuality, experimented with its measure, looked at its price. How do we do this and heal from sexual disorder? Would a homosexual say that? I don’t think we’re ready for soul process. It comes on mastery in the ways. It’s not a well of permissiveness, but sometimes that’s the order when all things are arranged.
Can I call upon the difference between soul process and divine process to go under morality and show you this? You’re just put in situations where you work out until you mastery. No, the soul hurts no one, but it’s open to the play, urging you, guiding you, leading you to right relationships between people, and here in the well of eternity that takes lifetimes. We want the soul pressure up front, the psychic being to take its seat as the leader of the life, and all the worlds dig this process where we have evolution at stake, but can I tell yah everybody’ll be brahmachari when the world turns to spirituality as its profit motivation? When you hit maturity for that, like in your early thirties. Some will be called earlier.
We’re headed somewhere. We have a spiritual transformation ahead, the whole damn world. It’s headed towards Supermind, right there in its soul change. The genitals have to be put in place. We have to wear them right, and that’s not always covered up. Can you see this? We have to remove harm from them. That’s not done easily. It’s not done at all by making them taboo. Sri Aurobindo and the Mother put their pencils down here and left us all hangin’.
Oh the glories of the Victorian age they were in. It stuffed sex, and neither one of them liked it. Were they prudes? The perverse habit is so natural to mankind. What do we do with that? Do we call our teachers liars? They’re right there with us now. You can hear them in my words. I’m sorry I said that. I know how that makes you feel. Who am I? I’m a seer of Sri Aurobindo. I’m a poet of the Mother. This bake— I don’t have the clout, and I’m a foreign man.
You don’t like foreigners. You don’t understand. It’s not something you look at. I don’t think the collective sees this. They wouldn’t admit it. It’s such a feature of India when you’re a foreigner living here. You get it all the time, discrimination. I can’t show you this. You’re not a foreigner, but can I show you your attitudes to me? They suck. They’re not right.
Okay dosa flavor— you’ve got to incorporate mankind, and all the idiosyncrasies of the Indian psyche, the ones that block evolution, have to be fielded and tested and made to change. A foreigner does that in the Yoga of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo— of course. I just hear you praise yourselves and look down on everybody else. You can’t take criticism, not even in the spirit of a sadhak. Can I change? That’s what I’ve done among you, taken a horrible disorder and India’d it. No other place on Earth could do that. The soul of India is wide and free, and it is here Supermind came down, and I’m right there in that cradle.
Now am I makin’ sense? You see me. I gave you the truth of my being. It’s all in order, settled down now, a fit receptacle for the word, and you hear it now. My little boy’s there too, trainin’ mode. I’ll show ‘im to your shortly, when we get ‘im back home.
Seen moved realty, but no one’s lookin’. Can you see guidelines? We’d have to spell out each and every individual situation. That can’t be done, but can we understand our genitals have us in prison? And when body parts get handled, or even measured, and it’s not get up and go that wedding ring, we have a conniption. Put a kid in there, and you make them think they’ve been killed. No this is not permissiveness speaking. I’m just sayin’ don’t react like it’s the end of the world. Don’t hate the genital player and want them dead. Heal them. Put ill will on the situation, and everybody dies. Let the genitals be free from only sexual expression. They can be out in public, if they’re not horny. Don’t be so uptight about them. Give them room to breathe.
Give them room to grow into a true genital opening. That’s beyond touch. It’s an esoteric chakra opening, with no field play. My God they’re good. Are you tall enough for that? It’s wonderful. It’s ecstasy, but it doesn’t touch another person, and you don’t touch yourself. Orgasmic in its intensity, it flowers you there. This is abstinence without denial. It happens to the open vehicle.
You’re too prude for that, adult Indian. Did I just knock your nationality? No I’m countin’ sheep, and not just Indian, but you can’t tell me there’s not prudishness here, all over your rules and regulations and moral reactions involving the least little bit of nudity not on ancient statues or on some naked sadhu, rare though he is today. What exception makes you liberal? Now let’s go to town. We need to start the day.
One see how ugly it is, even if there’s a divine calling rock bottom potential. What’s that supposed to mean? What about that in your own bill? Do you touch the stuff? Spiritual technology shows you how, gives you that medicine ring on your finger. Try to do it without fantasies, glued to no one, no other genital involved, not even lookin’ at another body. You’ve got your mind’s eye in the pleasure of your own hand, like a kid does it not teened yet, remember?
You’ve got a blank white horse, does not incur any wrath, and it’s perfectly natural and clean. That’s the way to do it if you’re horny, and you’ve haven’t achieved mastery yet. Do you hear me Steve, Gwendo? Would you call that sex? Feels good doesn’t it? And that’s what you tell the child you find them doin’ it. It’s not a join hands. You don’t rob them of their pleasure. Okay sweetheart? We’re all innocent here.
See if you could let a poem come, inevitable in its rose. Do you hear me? Pardon my English paper. Language is on the floor. You would write your need. How’s that done? Holdin’ back the thoughts, an arrival comes. It pops in a sudden keeper. You don’t hold it open with your thought. You wait for the next line in blank mind. It comes along the edges of your reason. It surprises you with its intensity and its forward motion.
I could’ve just gone walkin’. I lifted my voice and gave you a song, with intent/purpose in it. [above words heard spoken simultaneously] I could’ve just given you a paper the walls of the motion picture write. You see it glows. It wraps us all around in the society of little business, but you see the form of its arrival from print-wood, where it comes from the inner Void a miraculous light in time. Don’t just stand there, write.
This is a tender box. Well it is, and from that well comes the world all on fire with the mystery you can’t solve: from where does the poem arise, if it’s bigger than your piece of paper, if it’s greater than your pen, something bigger than anything existence owns? You want to touch it. This is beyond consciousness. I block it anywhere I position myself in time Monday through Friday. My little boy will get here a sudden epiphany. Impending arrival— everything now it’s done. Captures the wallpaper of the mystery behind time you never even heard of, the mystery that wears a face, giving this film a package delivery. I wanna see it on the wall. In a little while I’ll have you in my arms, in a little while. [above three lines heard sung] It was a soul wrote.
The attitude was small, featureless in Auroville, a flip cart. It was a place into the opposite half, busy with sex and let the world fall, everybody who had arms in their pants. There were very few celibacies. It gathered there watch the old house where sex was concerned. Abstinence was a penance imposed upon Puritans. Nobody flowered out the top of their head an ascending orgasm, what you waste when you masturbate or cum. You don’t even know it’s there, but let’s look at the spiritual consciousness, Silent Mind in Overmind, a way station along the way that has to be done. Do you know it’s there? I’m sorry it’s not about the cells. Abstinence will show you when it’s not abstinence but integration, and you desire can be right there in bed with you, and you’re holdin’ your desire tight, and you leave the genitals out of it. Can you control mastery? If that’s where you live you go. Finding partners to sleep with to test mastery fails.
We remain in place and be that bigger than ourselves and our surroundings, and when desire no longer has your toes, and you’re not bleedin’ reaction but stayin’ calm, still the mind; in quiet peace comes. You don’t even have to tell anybody. Just do it. Goddamn it feels good. Let’s open ecstasy, shall we? Now you’re in your room, and Auroville can’t bother you anymore, and just a few of you can change it, just by being receptacles of the new wine Auroville waits. It’s a mountain now.
Harm's End 