I’m sorry, but
no matter what you believe you’re gonna come here.
Before the railroad tracks are finished
people come here
to get all the way to science
and beyond,
to know they’ve come far.
We’re strong views.
We’re rebel.
Look normal.
We haven’t come up with a big movie yet.
It’s impossible.
No one wants to change the world.

Everyone’s got their cliffhangers on.
They’re mean and nasty
to the price of change,
to real change in their hand.
We’re on limits.
You can’t spell change.
Everybody thinks it’s in your diet and food,
or political views,
or in how you diet hang out,
or in how you sex hang out,
or kind of man you have,
I mean the humanity you keep.
Do you follow the rules
of this persuasion?

An opening,
the availability of consciousness,
it’s not in your yard yet,
even if you do study your dreams.
“I’ve been in a dream group for 40 years,”
she told me,
“I see the mundane as everything.”
You can’t lizard
the mundane is all I see;
I don’t see the world in a glass.
You can't say like that
and expect to get out of it
more than it has.

You’re only interested in the world that you see.
Where is your bigger notion?
What are you looking at?
Oh hey,
all the religions are an attempt
to get us across
a bridge that won’t hold our weight
or allow us to cross
if we’re human.
They don’t change your consciousness.
They’re a system of rules and beliefs
and practices.
They’re not the main front.
You are a really good person because of them
or really on their side.
The chances of you stumbling upon enlightenment,
even if your religion reaches that far,
tell me they’re great.

I am the light of the world—
holdin’ consciousness.
It’s bigger than you think.
It’s got sleeves on it.
You can study the world through there.
I’ve opened up a big one,
the inner voice and vision,
what’s you’re listenin’ to right here.
I mean that’s on the radio now.
Shakespeare left out the spiritual bits
you know,
as this is not unknown
poets write.
Do pause it we can
and throw it out our window,
Mr. and Mrs. Public Mind,
the Flintstones.
Let’s sing, shall we?

All in a day’s work,
that’s the Munchkins,
and we proprietor our list
further afield.
There’s also the vehicle of consciousness itself,
direct seeing.
It has modes on it.
You see the world touching itself,
even on your inside.
You see it aware of itself
in your thought throes.
You know you are the larger organism
evolving in man.
Then there’s the sleeve of spiritual vision itself.
You see the world not in it.
These are huge immensity spheres
the world is just a part of.
It’s got Gods in it and Queens
and everything you look at
that’s invisible here on earth,
the spiritual knowledge part
you open your eyes to,
the direct experiences beyond belief.

Okay we’re singing rain.
Things still fall apart.
You lose your loved ones
and die.
You have a bad day.
You get your fingers crossed.
Oh God hallelujah,
you see the end of the world.
Now let’s climb out of this, shall we?
It’s good
to see beyond the world.

Now I can’t get yah up there,
on infinity’s plane,
on the real you,
on the individuality that you are God
that just as startlingly made a world
to descend into,
the whole cup,
in the maturity of its spheres.
I can’t get yah up there but I can try
to get you beyond the world
in your anal sphincter,
in that most bottom place you see the world.
It’s all symbol and wrought.

We live in a game
that none of our games measure.
It’s not a flippant to the wind.
It has purpose and time
and is goin’ somewhere.
It’s bigger than anything you do
or that you can think out of,
is the holder of time
transcendent of it.
It doesn’t bottom out the world.
It’s these glory stakes.
A Power has come down from on high
and smote open the Void.
It happens
nothingness takes on forms
we inhabit.
Buttressed up by the Void,
we’re not gonna have a good time,
or all our good times
will be shadowed by doom.

We are experiments
in world making,
but we are more than that.
We are the spirit in the machine.
We’re not just Void forms.
God inhabits us
like his wears,
and the final Mystery we cannot penetrate
inhabits us and God.
There are more levels than you can shake a stick at,
using words of ours to describe the unknown,
to the All-Immensity Everything
that goes down to our toes
closer to us than us,
fields beyond this Earth.

I’ve taken you that far
in the measure of this poem.
I’ve shown you immensity.
I’m a traveler you see.
I’ve been up there on high
a brief moment,
and I’ve stepped in enlightenment a time or two,
and here I’ve given it to you,
a way out of this mess,
a higher calling,
a way to get your feet on the ground.
It’s an opening in the consciousness you see,
wide open exploration
of this thing called you
in every door inside you can find,
until the world shuts off
its all there is.

You grow in consciousness
to encompass the world,
spiritualize everything you see…
Hold on,
this is not a play God worship triangle.
You realize the larger You
beyond spheres,
and you rest in that notion,
and you take that car
to enlightenment and beyond,
and you get there
sooner or later.
Death cannot stop you,
and the next life can’t impede.
You are so window
the life in front of you.

Can you see beyond time?
Your origins speak to your gulfs
you are bigger than time,
and your gulfs can feel that,
even in the midst of misery,
and I’m tellin’ yah how
to lift yourself out of it.
You see the truth of things.
You see their representative nature.
You know you are a hero
in some goddamn movie
where the movie making art
has reached the skies,
a film with bad junction,
confusing the shit out of us
here and there,
but it’s home itself
under the wood,
in its crossbeams
enlightenment
sticks its face in.
It’s another place entirely
the bended world that you see.
Am I gettin’ my point across?
Do you see it?
Do you know it’s there,
the
way out of trouble?

And we’re goin’ beyond science now,
with its clipped outlook on things.
Forever know
in matter’s field
matter is all there is,
or the building blocks of matter
all put in a row.
They can’t see the larger field.
Science is blind to immensities.
Universal laughs
count its sums.
How diamond is that,
science has not reached its zenith yet?

Pale immensities blind its urge.
The starry star field space
and cosmic uncertainties
sheriff its notions,
and even atoms ride this dance,
the subatomic swirl.
I cannot count to you science’s sums,
but it’s not looking for meaning
in this grand design.
Pallid parts,
a working whole,
dumbly do their duty.
It has no imagination afar,
and it doesn’t care to look.

Consciousness is to it a vague table
it does not know the meaning of,
matter designs,
spits out,
and the ghost in the machine cannot be found.
Matter is a bridge to cross
they do not wire consciousness in.
This baffles them.
All the firings are there,
all the many sounds,
but consciousness is not a thing to behold.
The experience of self
eludes their grasp.
A sudden actor upon the scene,
or does self and being go way back?

Consciousness is the ghost in the machine,
and we would find it there,
our meaning,
in great explorations of consciousness
that find common ground.
Study those,
enlightenment’s sphere,
as a vehicle of consciousness,
not a who-done-it,
and all can find the well of soul,
falling down the chute of consciousness
all through dream to it.
You’ve been there before,
in dreamless sleep,
all your lives.
It’s a good night’s sleep,
the trudge on children
in waking them up,
if you want to know the truth.
They’ve been down there you see.

There’s no way to go down there for memory.
You will never think there before
you consciously enter the chute and go there,
and there’s the hells of our long road,
and the other side,
the city of the dead who are living
a different kind of life,
slow, as the sun
that cooks our Earth,
is not there,
and who can make it to the other side
of life and death and enter Heaven?
And I have not counted all,
the common locations to us all
in the realms of consciousness,
only what I myself have experienced
and know is there
the whole of humanity join me
in its stories and lore.

There are common locations to us all
science can seize
by a collective looking
not bound by science.
Imagination’s down there
and our own fantasy realms
and the inner experience we have,
but we can break some ground, you know,
in identifying locations.
I have been a rocket ship
on a moment’s par
and lifted my head out of the universe
in impossible sun,
into the larger field we are,
into the glory ride.

What can I tell you about it?
You hear all these poems.
I can’t get science there
in its studying arm,
its microscope,
its larger then field share,
and it won’t give me credit for my see,
but truth follows truth,
and we will arrive beyond the universe one day
with our science lens,
and we will discover purpose in time
and the microscope looking at us
in great giros of love
we identity share.

Is this the danger it keeps,
oh my God, that’s us,
microscopic entities
Gods eat,
or horrible beings ride?
Did you listen to a word I said?
We’re not computer simulations.
We can’t make universes lock, stock, and barrel.
Ours is a pitiful notion
confined to a computer.
We can’t make whole universes
the experiment in time.
We can’t unlock the Void
from its secrets.
We can’t unlock nothingness.
We are scientists and engineers
trapped in a universe
simulating ourselves to no end,
and we cannot create out of it.
Do you have your head on you see?
Are you there?

No, no, no, no,
I’m not the teardrop.
I wonder how much that costs,
to great words beyond themselves
and fashion reality with them?
To fashion realty,
hey come here and see the goat
a poem’s to pick you with.
That poet to your face,
it’s no wonder
I’m not gonna rush from my job and see ‘im.
Alright hero,
lighten up.
You suffer
from everyday world,
and I can get there you see:
billy goat,
from man to human that’s me.

We’re all dead to the computer at the stop.
There seems no way around it,
through the computer,
and we will not solve our problems with it,
not the problem of human love.
We are crashing fast all around us,
and we need some hands on to change.
We are so in hatred with Jeffery Epstein
and anyone that gives a nod to him,
or gave,
in this American moment,
you won’t even look at my hand
and the impossible I’ve done.
I’ve changed the character of man.
I’ve changed my own nature,
right here on Planet Earth
under your nose,
and I’ve done it with these formulas
of greater looking,
and I will touch you there,
if you will get out of your head and smile
at this poet in his underwear,
at this poet at the helm
of the words that change life,
if you would but bear them
where yours touches life,
your meaning,
your purpose in time.
Rub meaning together,
I’m sorry,
I will show you the way.
That
is a field to play.

Do you know what man is?
They are the social strata of society,
who we are in time.
A human being has arrived at life
in everybody shares.
Don’t the movie
as man.
That have cooled stuff,
you’re doin’ better
than man.
You need a tablet.
A new style
of poetry,
poetry on the landmass,
poetry in spiritual circles,
well it brings us
that tablet in hand.

There’s more answers in here than you can shake a stick at.
Are you an important brow?
Can’t bother shrimp,
the poetry?
What are you tellin’ me?
Fixin’ to we honestly believe it or not,
right there in heart’s school.
We gallop there
towards our hidden rider,
the superhuman rider,
the supramental rider.
The internet,
that’s not your bluetooth.

slow, as the sun
that cooks are EarthIt’s not even your mounting station.
This is all inside,
inside
in your latchkey universe.

Hearts are society.
Only yourself?
You’ll do fine.
There’s so many fields
of love,
so many,
in the inner workings of man.
Humanity’s all around you.
You’ve brought your dog
all through your humanity
the Tony Award.
Now open your eyes on the Earth
and see the living things.
Gotcha!
That’s a feelings test
you hold in your arms too,
heart bake,
in the self views of them too.
Wow I’ve spoken home.
You still got the funeral
looking before you.

My dog brings this around
to matter,
oh that sweet Luna.
Her inner Booboo
rumbles around dog notions
the sweetest in her kin.
She’s a safety dog,
the sweetest in the yard.
We find out ways how to handle change
in our everyday life
and make life better for all.
You got a formula.
Now the spiritual consciousness is so rare.
The Supermind is so rare.
Hi silly eyes,
let’s get the toolroom goin’.

Yes what you’ll do,
the sweetest island you’ll surface,
your very soul in your hands
living and breathing on Planet Earth.
Beats me,
that’s great for jump rope.
You are the hero of a stupendous movie,
don’t you get it?
Look I’ve
given you the very keys to the kingdom,
in spoken shares,
in soft I love yous,
left on your doorstep one,
the availability of soul,
and you know it’s there.
You know it.
The liftin’ voice and vision
that tamed this old coot,
I was gonna leave it for empire,
but it’s just around the house, you know?
Now in your bed.
I was gonna sing Kings and Queens
you live your life around,
but don’t bother.
The Gods are your starry roads,
not your kingdom,
your appetizers,
not the main course,
and that God is every name you know.
You hear me Houston?

Now here we are out of the cosmos
in the larger see,
the origin of the universe
and of you and me.
What a Person Trump deported;
thanks for the rule book.
That’s as high as you can go
in witness Houston.
It’s gettin’ to last people
eternity on earth,
your neighbor
the Gods in Heaven.
You haven’t been here
in imagination,
and there sure is fuck no rules to get there
Shenandoah.
We’re all laid out right,
though
of followin’ our own line of development,
hitchin’ on stars
from the eyes of soul.
Oh I forgot it.
No you haven’t Bhoomi,
no you certainly haven’t.
Pace an hour
in your notebook,
it’s the greatest thing on earth.
Just keep pacin’ until you feel like the world
watchin’ itself
in sweet tender shares.
You’ve found soul in your baked bread.
You’ve found soul in your living room.
It’s a temple ground you see,
the whole goddamn Earth,
set your right,
get you all squared away,
and now Mr. and Mrs. Bojoe,
look at me,
as a governin’ sunshine
in my hullabaloo.
You want me to turn out
what helps you?
Just pick up this poem
and read it
to all who cares.
Look I’ll send it to you
here on earth.
Gotcha!

We’re dealin’ okay.
What we’re tryin’ to do
is put you on that crosswalk.
Let me tell yah,
I think you’re up for it.
Techniques binding?
Let’s put it right under your nose.
Well, I been thinking.
Let’s get this started.
They’re here.
I’ll take a look.
In your head
take a looking,
you couldn’t find it.
It’s sweet and natural and pure,
over the rainbow.
You’re in that house.
Dick it with your feelings test.
Charge it with your mind.
Put everything on it.
Imitate its silence.
Wrap your balls with its void.
Don’t let up.
Hone in on your constitution
harrowing on enlightenment.

Keep this frame going,
that house,
as much as you are able
nonstop.
Sit and rub your head with it
in that’s how you grab your head,
cherrying in on that buzzing sound,
the mentor.
Lock your head on it
the way you hold your head
clapped down on it
not in thought process.
You’ve got location.
Cheerio.

I’m a piece of work let my tell yah,
and so are you.
Yet I believe one morning of walking out of my
100 meter tent
and being enlightened.
Gosh dog bears,
make believe it’s fine for a couple of minutes,
I can’t see anything
than another
hallelujah.
Who’s callin’?
I just got stung again by the world.
That can’t be it;
we’re costumer service.
And a lot of bullshit underneath.
It’s a cute conversation
there won’t be any answer from
until I get my whole hair-house fixed
and nothin’
slings outrageous fortune in front of my face
and makes me gawk at it
like a sea of troubles,
and to be enlightened or not,
hell, to be Gods on earth,
gets put out of the pasture.
And the world has eyes,
bended ego,
Ms Dorthy Mae,
and they’re yours.
I don’t see the yardstick
in graduation
moments,
step in a podium
bigger than on stage,
and that’s the revelation of enlightenment,
what dogs me about goin’:
the absolute necessity of it
is not a conference room,
and I’ve shorn consciousness
away from the world
in every little bitty minute
I’m not countin’ anymore,
so deep
I am its anchor.
You know what I mean?

Here’s some medicine:
snuff a cellphone in there.
Hello how you doin’?
Let’s step on each other, shall we?
I thought I’d invite you in.
We’re musical.
Okay, you’re hikin’ the trail?
You’d do my a favor.
That’s what you need,
a conspiracy theory.
Did you know eight monkeys pulled roots off hilltops?
You don’t need any lore
to believe your own spiritual path.
A direct experience of consciousness gets you there,
and can you know that’s its major feature?
Sitting there,
there has to be
you change consciousness.
It’s not a pile of knowledge.
It’s not even what you eat.
It’s your direct experience of enlightenment, savvy?
And then over the head we go,
but not necessarily in that order,
not at all.
I’ve counted all around you.
You’re not blasted sleeve niggers.
You will take both of them.
You will give them
to a world on fire.
This is dynamite shit.

Joseph!
Mary’s comin’!
And they gave birth to enlightenment—
standin’ in the refrigerator
until this cock-a-dottle-doo.
You really believe in science?
You hear that?
The beating of wings
and a startled cry
as if unlocking of doors,
lift you up effortlessly over your head,
like a fountain in springtime.
How do you know that car?
It takes you beyond enlightenment.
I’m standin’ in the sun,
don’t you see?
And my dog’s diggin’ in the dirt,
coolin’ her place to sit.
Luna I love you,
it’s my concentration on enlightenment
half the time.
Simple wares
the scene in front of you,
and my God you love it there.
Takes you up,
you know?
Takes you all the way into the sky
on a clear day.
There you are.

The simple scene in front of your face,
really, really big,
those simple noises too.
You got that Houston?
I’m a sudden epiphany
of you are the world and me
indeed,
the tall hat to enlightenment,
the bakery to Gods on earth
you and me.
Know it’s coming
in our fruition,
the long and short of it
all around us
everywhere you look
unhanded glass.
The world’s your eyes you see,
gettin’ somewhere.
How do we hold this far?
Every minute counts.

In the frying pan,
into the fire,
you learn to abide both.
Coincidence
I have to work tomorrow
the fireplace of Samata Horn.
It’s a picnic table
accompanied by children.
It will be children
I sit with Luna and read,
and our whole house continues
the station house of enlightenment sees,
and that’s over the heads of children
in the ignorant mundane world,
all spiritual seeking.
Take a child and let them know
there might be somethin’
they can really sink their teeth into,
unmolested, unharmed,
not involved with tech,
that will really turn them on
they have such a capacity for it.
Squirrelly children—
I dreamed I was a winnebago,
lucid and all that;
I had an experience of consciousness
some cake over my head;
I fell silent and still.

In the throes of excitement
no video game can match,
no cartoon can render,
that kid continues.
Smile for a better world,
and just let me do my job,
if we’re good.
Are we good?
Goddamn I’m good.
Now then,
I’m on the mountaintop with you,
if you’ve made it up the trail yet.
See there?