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

the Mother at 5, Sri Aurobido, 7

The Top of the Head Show

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Pupil and His Divine, a Harmony in Five Measures – 3

Bathroom Control

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


We look out bathroom street
a window to go higher.
I promise daddy I’m hungry.
Well eat the other one.
You must clean your plate.
Bathrooms error the truth.
They guide us to the wrong door.
We can’t help but play there.

Can I give you a bath this towel said.
You might want room.
I pressure you with cleanliness.
If I unfasten your belt,
Will I unfasten mine?
You’re in freedom’s uniform.
I look towards the bottom window
choosing to ignore freedom.
We put a special emphases there,
the point will get across:
I love your toilet
washing daddy said.
It wasn’t clean.

I image your hand.
It only wants exposure.
We open your sanctuary.
You feel a slight tease.
It’s a slow hand,
rubbing ground.
I’m afraid you’re finished.
The thought can be carried back
for future reference.

Can we get out here?
It’s a necessity arrangement.
Clean a child must be.
Rude we do not wash him.
Your pants you remove.
I’d pull down your life.
I’m all soap and lather.
You’re not into this are you?
You just wait up with a smile.

I showered my hand.
Give me that washcloth.
We go over your genitals.
They’re into themselves.
I just image poetry.
I may wash them I said.

Here’s the hard part:
just his genitals and you.
An image will show here
if you’re not on line –
the red hand buttering wood.
It’s old,
and you don’t think about it no more,
the emotions get away with it.

How I balance your ship:
I sink it in the neighborhood.
Can you say aggrandize it?
You can count your dream.
Army staples award.
We soldier here
the concept of war.
I habitat your thinking.

You want a real significance there,
the one that shoulders attention
on individuality.
I know what you’re saying:
give this guy his flag,
he’ll be his own nation.
There’s a private lesson there.

I’m waiting for your attention to change ground.
We hold onto his plate,
he won’t aim his life.
I’ll go to execute Galgatha.
I’ll go to my house.
I will pay payments you understand,
the leftovers.
Daddy sleep with me
right here.

Least I know I can talk to you.
That one’s the arrangement.
Alright you did it,
your friend the apple pie.
Daddy white collar
I expected among.

I only told him,
you hear deaf music.
It’s not about this time.
It’s about castle keep,
a personal defend line.
We are his defenders
of that little ship.
We keep the world from on it.
He can’t do that yet.

I am throwing the dust toy
a hidden view.
Now get drink you gotta eat.
The other bike is not working.
Wha what? Where?
I don’t want.
Now come here.
I’m serious now.
You don’t even wash them unless you got to.
That type of behavior
robs your castle.
I made a mistake.
Robs his also.
He needs to learn
to do it himself.

A host of programs.
I want to go to school.
Teach them with your free hand,
no hidden icons in its toolbar.
I’ll be back
if you’ve touched them that way.
We have a cross in the I.

Listen,
you draw the lights,
plan on there being
a stairwell.
My school I take it.
You teach me good,
okay you teach me
like this:
no hidden
motivation
I’m disappear.

He’s just a show up before, come on.
One of the very inquiries,
we dried it for itself,
dried it off,
a mountain view,
a safe program.
Hold your poets in there.
He’s a dynamically used vehicle
if you read him right.

Where is mother in the bathroom?
I believe ape ate the answer.
Dad okay you get in here.
Come to microphone.
Hey we’ve got to go
as long as it must.
In that grow folder
another year of right,
naturally.

Our area is clean.
We’ve looked beyond program,
what we’ve put down.
The body’s a bulletin board.
We pin touches on it.
She’s not a delivery system.
No you can’t.
You wouldn’t be able to.
They’ll be there.
I told you.
It just served its purpose,
their room.

Did you read the ten dollars?
Like everything else,
he’s on our list too loud.
We examine him.
You do not mind like this
to make the adjustment.
You see,
I’m sleeping beside my daughter.
We’ll cut your allowance.
I’ll give anyway.
In fact, I really hoped
to release this window by giving its dead.
A girl, minimize this window.
Stab here,
and it shakes the entire race.

In fact,
I did it for me
they have in clean.
She’ll demand the moon.
If I don’t give it to her
she’ll pitch a fit,
a daily TV.

A line of bad company that you’ve Illinoised,
that you’ve allowed,
will escape
and talk to people.
Who knows,
maybe it’s
gonna put you outta your house.

I’m sitting in the front.
That’s where they’ve got their attention,
the front of the movie.
They don’t reason out
what’s behind them.
Frame up here
on a mountain
and feel good.
This is the price of the program:
no behavior
that robs pleasure.

This is a mountain view.
I give you inside wrong
half an hour,
there’s the shower.
My birthday is coming daddy.
The top
I’ll pick up again.
What will we be reading?
Holistic medicine.

You might wanna take that peace.
I put him on the bus.
I play him,
I get moved.

The Pupil and His Divine, a Harmony in Five Measures – 2

Sleeping Arrangements

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


Mark my words,
a behavioral challenge
amplification wrong.
We poetry in our notebook
understand the behavior.
Get all listened out.
I do believe you’re excited about this.
There’s no place in our notebook
to gather wrong afield
so that we can see it better
and amplify its heal.
Are you with me Houston?
Ground Control to Major Tom,
put your seat belts on.

We have a reason.
Wrong could come break the relationship.
Finish thought:
you need control.
Wrong’s measuring basket:
to drink or drink more?
It’s a field show.
It’s a lessons study.
No ‘what daddy’
my son’s been imaged right.

Your measuring stick,
your wrong.
Do the exercises,
as long as you take the right one
above the window:
good history.
Did you see this?
That’s your heart song.

What happened?
Said to me.
I don’t want him going in there.
I act, we put there.
This is the first page:
yes you can sleep in your daddy’s room.
Sometimes we fail to see a better arrangement.
Sometimes we fail to see the solution at all.
Can get serious:
family court.

May we have your attention?
Please hold onto the exits.
A blue door
a thousand rupees,
that’s a spiritual way out.
Daddy I want to kiss you.
He’s green labeled that.
Whatta we do?
A different time,
a different thing.
Important that you don’t involve matter.
No swimming on the ground.
All need will read
God’s book.

What we’ve got here is a behavioral animal.
It has sharp teeth.
Stay in front.
If he pulls his gun out,
leave it blank.
I’m sorry I’m dividing.
We’ve got to arrange things
so that the muscle
get anybody complicated,
change house.

This is clear music.
You’ll sleep together in peace.
Watch those corner edges.
They rub a body mean.
I’m a happy song
you sing to your children
when she’s not in the house,
a line Molly.

Why did Molly come?
I’ve seen only skin much,okay?
Place the truth in your hands.
You know it won’t control them.
And it’s just like it was now,
trying to figure what was going on.
I’m just telling you something before you react:
I’m bringing you change.
That’s the technique.

The rude imperious surge,
that didn’t get you.
Do you want promise?
The Dallas runway.
You see some good
in this arrangement.
Don’t blow me away.
Keep the tickling hand free of charge
and the alphabet.
Study it please.

Doing things together
don’t let paper weigh you down.
What you want is a free, easy, spontaneous
gift hand.
You take this
you show it to them.
Must be nice to not have any fetters.
Just remember why you’re here.
It’s not to aggrandize the show.
A growth going on,
and the body carries its charge.
Sleeping arrangements made easy,
I go to sleep.

What Tamil movie?
We image sleep,
make it our breakfast song.
It’s the dream image that we care for.
That is molding the show.
You don’t know how sensitive the hand is
in the area of dream.
It is like another house,
another house owner.
It can fasten itself
to the waking movement,
and wrong behavior,
convinced of itself,
plays the hand.
But not when it comes
awake.
That’s the prime time TV.

Your hand has license there.
It meets them in dream.
They seem arranged for the movement,
probably asleep.
You have to go to clean.
You can’t.
A deaf movement.
Which one is that?
The life hand
has no will in it
to move.
Your head
and all its arrangement
is sleeping in the bed.

What you do?
There’s a program to put on.
It’s called make the body safe.
Call on divinity to help you,
some divine name.
Open to them,
and close the hand.
Hercules had no stronger task.
You see,
we can mess up;
we can come abuse
so early.

There is a physical culture.
The body has its own field.
Your body
wrapped around another body
ignites imagery in sleep.
I dreamed that I was in here by him,
next to him in bed.
Doubled doors are open.
Hot red hold me wrong.
Hot red you see,
hot red.

Hidden desire
can play.
These are occurrences in sleep
that hold us down in life.
They can arrange things,
pass this on to another child.
The waking world is full of such traps.
And we don’t even remember our dream,
even though our lightened load
is acting its ground.
This is a double pleasure.
Our child wakes up from his sleep
and waits for a buddy to fulfill it.
Physical culture I’m mad at you.
Though you are mad at me,
you like it
in the dream.
It’s a body arrangement.

What will put peace here is your spiritual test.
Who do you sleep with at night?
Your own dream?
Who it is you are open to
will single out your sleep,
open in the sense
that’s where you move.

You see my connection.
It’s a high note.
A practice song this is.
A night is drama to cross.
Put a pillow under it.
Only names
are personal enough
to put it together.
The name should rhyme with God.

There was something else.
The child in bed with you
isn’t even there.
They represent God’s feelings,
an image in the night
made in both areas:
I have walk in
and close the door.
We move to God’s nature
the sleeping child.

Have you fastened everything?
I can arrange it some.
You didn’t contact me,
subscriber.
A pulled image,
give me a dime to see.
We keep our images and our heads together
or they lose reality.
Bases cover this program,
the high note
we put our money on.

Yeah you hear:
hold your child a little.
Keeps safe with him.
We do not encourage sleeping with children.
No,
it’s just not a big deal.
You wouldn’t be able to
hand out body bags.

You’re not gonna get clearer than that for fifteen minutes,
the poetry of another song
even closer.
I sound your sleep.
Hear a whistle?
You’re an area dude.
You carry your first one folks.

Please dog go.
I gave you one rupee.
He’ll have a warm spot in his freezer.
He’ll want to put something there.
It feels warm to him,
and that’s all that’s interesting.
It’s nine or something no?
I don’t want your answer.
Tell me.
He can’t ride you like that
if you’re going to heal his movie.
He has grass ready.
You just need to cut on it.
We feel good.
That’s the problem.

His sleep knows this distance.
He’s practicing in dream.
You have to arrange it to watch his tower.
You hold the boy with your sleeping arm.
This is a measure of sleep.
No leave the stuff there.
All that we need is what you’re bringing to school on Monday,
okay?

Hey Donny,
his sleep you can’t ride,
but I can.
Go on, get some paperwork.
If you can just move for a minute,
that penis clouded,
you hit the note
that images safety.
You felt a strong glow,
Him.
The divine
had muscle.
He’s favored in sleep.
The urge is there,
but nobody eats.
You’re walking him out of this program:
exclamation point
in his area down there.

Though I’m sure it won’t be understood,
he gets dressed every day.
You must learn to read the music,
siren songs,
then move accordingly.
This is your fifth gear.
Man, speed up.
Do you know what ten miles serve?
Hey man I pass everything.
I’ll see you later.
Life being predictable,
same cost.

What is this?
The harmony of attention.
If I were you
I’d probably prefer to be
part of the program:
let me love you what I do,
but let’s get this story straight.
Touch those together.

The Killer Find

The Killer Find

In whatever comes our way.
After eighteen seasons it’s so funny though.
I bet you
I responded.
Leave the characters alone.
We’re windows,
pure margin.
We’ve a back part.
Halfway finished you want to throw me away.
Who me?
It was hard gave him a lawyer.
This is a transcendent poem.

Wait a minute,
is my life short?
Barely here.
It seems you don’t want to think for the psychopath.
You tell me.
His therapists are his words:

I don’t come down easy.
I’m a middle man.
I like killing.
You can see it in their eyes when you shoot them:
life has meaning.
I’m instructed to go.
Good girl.

Limitation’s my ink.
I can’t express the dying word.
My favorite is the surprise face.
They look at me so dumbly.
Maybe it would sound better if you play with it.
Who?

I’m laughing in front of their house.
I will take whatever I want.
You give it to me.
I’m not drowning.
I’m a full on power.
Your life gives me whatever I need.
Your life is my answer to life’s boredom.

Man, I’ve had to please,
grovel up to the paycheck.
Man I’m big.
They don’t know what power has come their way.
The person I kill sees my importance.
That’s the way the Gods speak to you sister.
With me have some understanding.
No, I haven’t found Them.
But I will put on after.

It’s gonna be tough
To get him outta there.
There’s the joy of the free ride.
Oh I’m sorry,
The police found your tracks.
I come distinct from them.
You are their calling card.
Some of them,
your attitude they share,
though on a different path.
You kill to fulfill delight.
They do under the guise of duty.
It’s a humiliation law code.
They don’t actually need to kill.
Yeah you know it.

Released from crime,
whose letter’s not interesting or significant,
the psychopath sits in jail and thinks:
contact with other people,
is this the word Kim’s back?
You know all shades of restaurant, right?
I’m glad because you’re going to marry me.
Kim is his split personality.
Kim is slightly easier to get along with.
Kim has a plan in his head:
he can play the game
whilst he’s in prison.

The environment,
the basest emotions are given free reign.
He just erupts on Ginger Ale.
Meanwhile he has a little house
beyond the reason
unfolding in his soul story.
This house beauty knows the price of.
It is beauty’s tool.
Beauty can find this arm.
This is mastery’s circle.
Those in care of him
did we want there?

Let’s not open our mouth wide.
We can keep him right here.
We can do our level best to control him.
No one is pushing us otherwise.
Why isn’t the government doing something for him?
Oh my God I just had the weirdest look.
You batted my elbow.

Let’s call in the hotshots.
Go out searching homes I’m already home.
And what’s this crime carrier do?
He acts as a closing agent.
He solidifies the type.
It’s his mercy in prison.
I’m mean this guy has feelings.
They’re all sharpened up.
You wouldn’t believe how mercy he is.
Oh I know;
I can’t seem to find mine.
You kill that fish.

Gold is one of the most dangerous places.
My wife distributes many mountain climbers.
But you won’t let him see the mountain
nor marry my wife,
a river whose flow is words.
Come in,
No one wants to play babe I’m sorry,
no one wants to play.

That refused my song.
I couldn’t bend in the knees.
This is not to your bureaucrat.
This is to that reach in you
that answers prayer.
Anybody can bow to reach a God.
I’m calling on your special stuff.

What’s the time?
Nine thirty-two.
What’s this I want?
Process change.
You forgive me
the hands call
words you don’t like.
That would mean a different arrangement for his answer.

His body you’ve kept in buffalo tape.
The body is getting just to ten.
With the body move on ahead.
Alright time’s up.
Maybe it was too complicated.
I’m trying to tell you
that there’s a river in that man,
a natural born therapist,
that will take him outside the jail house
a lover of humanity.

It looks better with Me inside the point.
I am divinity in Man.
I am his first answer.
The soul is not a piece of plastic.
It has a divine outgrowth.
It calls My name in secret.
It is My pages heal your story.
I know the ways of the world,
am master of existence.
The universe I hold in the palm of my hand.
Its every movement My gaze understands.
The Sun measures My name,
is a symbol for its splendor.

I sit atop this man and await your law to give way.
He will not find Me on his own.
He cannot cargo that answer.
Necessity will not hold his hand.
Handsome him with love,
make beauty his living room,
surround him with those who know their land,
and from behind the heart My representative will sing to him
all the measures of his life
put into harmony’s window.

Hearing this high speech
the Gods will rainbow their messages.
He will be an open vessel for universal lore.
Healing streams of light will come to him from the stars.
The moon will glow in his notebook.
The darkness inside him will not know where to hide.
It will be vanquished with the coming dawn.
This I can do in him
if you let him see his own worth.

I enter the country late
because this man is a monster to you,
and you will not see him home.
Now use lovelier powers
to bend his knees,
ones that call from the house of love.
You have grappled him down in hate.
What a wooden start.

Kid, you murdered a family.
This is who we kill.
All wrapped up in mourning
the family lies slain.
Existence has been robbed of its joy.
That loved one’s face stole the sun.
Madness crawls on their hours threatening touch.

What’s the matter?
My temple is gone.
Here is life’s sweetheart.
We bridge reality with this,
a smile that passes by?

Our loved ones are borrowed customers.
They are characters in a plot.
They sooth our need awhile and move on.
We think them a reality’s ship.
One little curtain closed can undo our lives.

What management is this?
What fools we are prey to death.
The heart has deeper need
than its animal holdings.

We pause here on the brink of life’s meaning.
Wisdom,
it’s applicable;
it’s up to you.

Matter fills every corner.
We cannot surround its view with anything else.
God even is of this make made.
Our understanding of Him is material.
He is a material agent not a spiritual cause
in our view of God acting.
He acts; He moves; He speaks
a material outlook.
God can be otherwise,
but we would have to brush name aside,
see past its formula,
the useful path,
to something larger than name.

There’s a family in these woods.
We can bridge the gap to God.
God can wear their face.
Then we begin to be circled by love,
when God wears every face in the crowd.
The loved one is just a familiar particular,
an intimacy we can hold
clasping Him.
Death only rearranges His face.
But God is deeper still.

God has a beckoning plan.
Here, some side paragraphs you should know.
This is deep today.
What are we supposed to do?
Grief, you will have problems there.
Eyes trapped.
Let them know where to stand.
A senseless killing is a teacher still.
Deep it will hold you open to reality.
There is your existence swim:
you can see beyond time.

Life has more fields of study.
We receive again our loved one.
This face in death God wears.
God is a surrounding look.
God is our surrounding cause.
The meaning of life is a parable
these eyes unfold.

My foot’s out.
I can’t keep score.
This poet has found bankrupt as his last measure.
I cannot keep God’s vision in my sight.
These eyes are the toughest to hold.
The Unseen all around us,
the very issue of our existence,
and the world looms larger still.
Our daily bread becomes the story-line,
or a major left in sin.

I had come to speak a word of Silence.
Chaos has erupted in my song.
The killer knows these waters.
He can see no large eye of God.
The world presses in on him
its sideshow of the blind alley scene.
He cannot see out of its dim tale.
Nowhere has he found knowledge close.

All run to a savage dawn.
Man has no larger purpose than this:
there’s a world out there;
take it.
Do it now reads the signs
along the roadsides of his life’s little spurts.
All seek the same need,
a vague point lost in advertising.
War rumors his world.
The daily news is a glowing red
convincing you the world’s on fire,
convincing you of your need to fear.
He can read the papers:
every man for himself.

The good that men call society,
he’d seen its vision’s sweep.
Huddled in a little courtroom called monster
he was its prey.
It hung debasement around his neck.
This was where social disease
spread out into the land.
He banked on this loan.
He hoped no greater glory
than to be the system’s plague.
Society would find death in him.

We can vision out this story.
Its huge eyes cry sight.
Where in this is God’s encircling sun?
In the moment you laid eyes on Him.
Can you top this vision?
No measure knows its score.
Error cannot blind its sight.
Error defines it more.
I mean to put reality above God
it results I cry in my own mess.
God shines through his shiny overcoat.
He can wear a mistake too.
Here in harmony’s reach I can clean it up.
A killer’s no less a man.

One key feature is that sometimes you make a mistake life for.
You’ll have to turn yourself save me.
Another orgy from that.
Okay, alright?
You would threaten?
Up here, alone, encouraged, and again we encounter God.

Wildlife management,
I am a listening shelf.
The soul is not a sword.
It holds us together.
It is our flight suit.
We pull the answer
from behind,
all along our heart’s show.
This is our bank card:
the promise of a better land.

The heart is the particular keeper.
It waits on a pull from the outside
to respond to its purpose.
This is not its better arrangement.
When we close off life’s customers,
when we come together on our own land,
alone in life’s cell,
we can manage its whereabouts,
we can find divinity’s room.

This is our soul keeper,
what banks in us on divine gold.
It makes no commerce with life’s heart.
It cherishes only divine holdings.
Our divine outreach,
where we find divinity’s wings,
is a cavern deep and wide,
a long fall to the reach of it.
The flame that you find there
will be the wonder that you seek.

This is the divine representative in Man,
the soul-flame.
It evolves with our common start.
It waits for union with the soul above,
the divinity we are
high above ourselves.

It is this link,
this psychic fire
literary,
that is our spokesman for healing change.
It sings to us that endeavor.
We know no outer managing overview.
This is our directing circle
we write ourselves.

Help me organize this arrangement
happily furnish the need
a teacher
from divinity’s schoolbook,
a divine name to give you lesson.
It is the soul makes this choice.
Though they seem the Sun itself,
they are not the goal only its keepers.
In time your own Sun will shine through.

I’ve given you direction.
Here you go to process change.
Bring this soul round to the front.
Make the psychic leader of the life.

I don’t know if you understand me but
I’ve shown you where healing can be found.
No, you don’t have to do that,
be under the guidance of a supervising counselor,
attend meetings,
undergo any type of special training.
We receive this change alone.
Those on the outside awaiting results,
they do not deliver the baby.
They are support vehicles.
They help manage our affairs.

You will see the soul is particular.
It does not make the same wardrobe for all,
not exactly,
but it does use
a similar vocabulary of symbols
when it talks to us.
Someone who has passed this bridge
of word-wise
– thank you ma’am –
can give us meanings clear.
You don’t want them to stand around.
A little bit different
than a guide,
they keep their noses out of it.
Their sentence help we need with words and phrases.
The whole we do not give to them.

Now look,
okay I’ve spent
years listening
processing this change.
Keep going.

My sight here seemed to call over completely retractable ideas.
That camera,
comic that look?
Yeah, where is it?
A demon’s laugh is graphic.
Discernment
will be your growth rate.
A divine smile
has a heartbeat.

Listen,
you have a top priority,
a process change.
Lore has not this freshness.
Watch the road here.
It’s wide open.

Come to the river half dry
and you won’t be parched enough to hear it sing.
Dry off before you go in there.
Emotionally wet from the world,
we will hear desire’s holdings
if the ears can find the speech at all.

You know where I stand?
Behind your thought.
It is a trance vision
in the proximity of sleep.
You are awake to hear its call.
Inside the bell tolls.
There is no thought to the arrangement.
Thinking disrupts the process.

I’m sorry if listening stills.
We must accustom ourselves to its strain.
You come to it by degrees.
Your life must quiet to its measure.
The field of your difficulties is the better answer
than the retreat getaway.
You want to hear your problems.
This becomes the greater challenge
and the special key:
you quiet your life in the noise of life,
and you process your change in its tromp and strife.

Mastery has its brand here.
I’m a letter on healing nearing its sum.
The listening smile,
calm it brightens its world.

A summit answer,
we cannot process its plenitude.
There’s something wrong.
We can’t get over our outrage.
Debasement lies squealing.
Our basest reactions hold us here.
The psychopath is only a measure of his world.

Society knows no sitting station.
It has no examining review board.
The pack mentality governs its field book.
Disguised as law and due process,
they wreck havoc on human justice.
If it has become more sensitive,
it is because it is more aware of itself,
but revenge is still our answer to crime.
Our ethics have not evolved beyond this.

I sing to you its appointment,
the beginnings of a nobler race.
This has been a longing since the day we were born.
It has smiled upon us from afar
even when we’re at war.
We know this future ours,
however many disclaimers the times show.

I’m telling you it’s cold out there
in this waiting room of today.
Wait until you see society’s sharp teeth.
Then you understand.

Every once in awhile we’ll get a call from them,
the seekers after goodwill
as the governing agent of society.
They have each given formula –
medicine.
This medicine watch it,
it’s not applicable in time.
Its feet do not touch the hours.
It relies too heavily on outer stress.

We capitulate to the call
of that greater need within,
our hearts calling in stillness
to the reach above,
a medicine we long for.

Being a moment on change,
wonderful that outlook.
Human divinity,
it’s applicable.
Each holds this in store.
The time will bring it home to all of us.
Here, it is within reach.

How can you cry without salt?
What a grim life thou hast gotten a hold of.
They left building a city aside.
They arranged for killing room.
They can’t habit this gown.
Prison has them standing still,
a monster without a head to eat.

We review your killing.
It got menopause.
You deny our circle of trust.
I am the divine buoy in your harbor.
You are rich with sea salt,
carry the load of your number of kills.

There in the sudden door you find him.
It was in a back alley wasn’t it?
He had barbecued his drink.
Death stained his blood.
He said such stupid things.
He was black water.
You burned his ease.
It was a hollow kill.
He wasn’t straight on.
That laughed in your notebook.
We wasted your hour.
You cannot feel what you have done.
Pity you should remember him.
This felt not your power.
Pity you understand.
Well I…

Let’s leftover this man.
He was not in harmony’s circle.
He thought that you had won.
Death took him by the hand.
He understood at once the reason for beers.
The light brought him out of it.
He’d paid his green card.
There he lay still.
It was a meditative dawn.
His glory is your surprise.
Can you see past dawn?
You thought you’d murdered hope.

We journey to rivers.
This man will see his private hell.
Burdened with this autopsy
hope could lay its hands on him.
Such is the river’s run.
And there we pass out his trust.
On the inside we work a slow outer change.
The epiphany will one day see the Sun.

Put their sleep to school.
I listen.
Only after they come up with
the only answer to life:
grow.

Who am I going to come back to?
Not oven.
Meditative answers are coming.
I give you a lot to think about.
What are we looking for?
You’re in the bigger place.
You want to learn how to study bottom answers,
have a heart in the darkest part,
in feeling catch on.
I take a photo album with me,
those I operated upon.

Find the big change.
It’s in your river bed.
I leave it in your notebook.
You can fieldwork this change,
make it come out.
Guidance your river brings.

This is a crawl hole,
your insistent hostility.
Understand it as other then you.
Understand it as an attitude.
You can pencil it out.
This you have to hold at bay.
It will lessen by degrees.
When we indulge it,
operation,
the killing room,
or you just wait for the next victim.

This has us all bottled up inside.
A river can wash it down.
Hey look, come here.
I’m not going to get you for this.
If I ask you
throw it out,
can you do that?
A river answers why
hostility you answer.

Shrimps are eating politics.
That was your father years ago.
Hey children is disturbing.
Can’t live in the greenhouse.
I’ve got a lower angle.
I get physical.
Grab you by the neck I can.
Murder I wrote in the air around you.
You seemed to slip by love.
You had no comforting arm.
Life was a bare blade
to your infant heart.

We meet selfishness from even mother’s hands.
Can you hit the ball?
Some many things to watch.
What so many things?
Your environmental scorecard and your world review,
the inside does what in their presence?
The meaning lay behind the words.
Jump to its scaffold.
How many visions see red?
I can climb down in importance.
Place the notebook in sky hands.
Climb it to the top of the equation.

Believe me,
that’s what it’s coming to,
that high place.
And remember,
You are a spirit.
God is the value of it.

You almost put me to sleep.
I must be bigger than that.
To the thing that owns me
I do,
I throw it out.
A sharp division here.
This man makes a path.
He has risen above his danger issue,
but he is in need of trust.
He could slide back.
If you was justice you would hold my hand.
There his answer waits.

It’s just hard to tell the difference.
If it doesn’t tell deep
it has not understand.
I opened his house on change.
There’s an understanding castle
near sleep he builds.
We come together all along world lines.
We would not want to harm its view.

What’s left to do here?
How finish we gotta go?
You haven’t filled out the map yet.
Where is your food bar?
Cooking for the meat last time.
Now you’ve changed to a diet of soft sand,
what’s this the world’s about.
That has your hat in oil.
It doesn’t leave you peace clean.
You need to be clean.
Of all the knowledge
I gave you
you haven’t come out of the pool yet.
Everything like a boy,
everywhere.

An interchange,
I went ahead and added it.
Get that space off your face.
A remote control
it’s pretty obvious.
You just succumb to influences.

We move towards a deeper circle.
Spirituality issues its day.
Have a plan to remember.
Drink this all day long
crash point to zero.
I would’ve held you all night.
He ran off before I was sleeping.
You should take this point home:
have a hand on desire
no reach there for Me.

To settle fell, interesting of a company member.
Some things are just powerful
and can even overshadow the divine rally.
You want to learn to hold your bread.
Move in the daytime as if I’m beside you.
Sleep as if I’m in your arms.
You choose a way
To put Me in your driving car
so that your thought lights up your process
in terms I am laid down
magnetism.

You have to believe.
My floor not has you sleeping.
Matter is your waking tool.
In this prison you see My consistency.
In My reach you are.

I would certainly want it so.
I’d like to be here.
I’d like to have.
You’ve heard it.
Now you must bring what you hear into your living room.
Focus on the heart.
We bring the soul around to the front.
As a soul you meet the higher stations.
I have given you in peace.
Now it is your work to bona fie its real.

Why didn’t he answer?
He went into the shop.
So I won’t hear what’s up there?
A heart sound
shinning through.
You want to know you’re sorry.
You have a map.
You want to find anything you just
begin to look for it.
Your need will determine here.

Like I said,
The more concentrated,
the more you are put together,
the more you are given room.

Don’t worry,
I know voice.
I will teach you how to find it.
Now give to Me
your managing equation,
what you snap to in your night of light,
your own accord.
The divine embodied in human everywhere
has given Me a name,
the divine in Man,
a good news.

Have a singing mixture.
Use a strategy.
You get the Overframe:
the knowledge
a divine beauty
sitting in his own
divine station
will give you.
Your soul chooses this answer.

A foul use here,
demons.
You need to study
and know the difference between a wake song
and a diabolical need.
One smells funny.
It has not the genuine concern.
A quiet demeanor
will be your living tool.

Normally I get off this tape,
this chariot wheel,
and become to you a living frame of deity
your day revolves around.
I am not your frame of worship.
There are two frames here.
God can be your encompassing reality,
your special program of worship.
Name has an order here.
He will grow larger,
eventually,
as understanding beckons.

Bona fide results of the first ticket:
you find God.
The second no one knows.
The One is this storybook,
a code no idea can crack.
We hear Him a personality in the hours,
that which sustains us,
a half-light nonetheless.

A mystery bigger than creation,
it is God’s tabernacle,
his field of worship.
Even consciousness cannot account for its sum.
There is no greater field of play.
The One is your absolving window.
Your wrong can find reason there.
In its totality quarter
it is the basis of all deed.

Don’t condemn your process to their hands:
we’ll make you pay for this.
They have nothing original to say.
Solution does not open its schoolbook to them.
The payment for your crime
you will dole out in your effort for change.
Such is the master code.
Your will to change is your effective tool and special look.
Regard the world with its purpose.
Come to the garden without this
and you will not enter the gate.

A circumstance is just an opportunity for its progress.
We manage defeat this way.
Understand the need for change
and it comes in your courtyard.
Walk it into your house.
I am its gardening arrangement,
the divine in your own smile.
Look to Me your divine rose.

You wondered a long time without an aim.
You got lost.
Society,
I went up to comfort her,
make her feel better.
This is the Principal speaking.

We don’t have the play station;
He has the play station.
You let the killer run lose among us.
I do not arrange his deed.
He is your order run amuck.
This is My witness.
Give change.

Go to talk with your grandmother,
a divine field book.
Don’t bend your knees before a wooden god.
Life is not your throne.
Let’s keep it
this is no ordinary game.
You are founded on ambush
to show you God in the impersonal hours.

Don’t walk again you’re going to fly.
Don’t worry about it.
There’s proof inside
where the heart of the question lay.
You need to come out of your canteen,
your desire’s arrangement.

I had a holding plug missing.
I couldn’t see for the pollution.
They’re calling you for fifty-nine.
That will be fifty-nine up there.
Wake up that number on you.
We arrive on healing number.
Your field of play is material wealth.
You fail your hours
you’ll have your hydrogen peroxide back.

Buddy this is it,
how to put your foot in the door.
You wanna fly folks
– come on –
through a divine opportunity.
This is exactly
the basis of all our arguments.
We don’t wanna promote any specific religion.
Problems result for everybody.

Yes but if you can process change
you can find you can be diversified.
There’s a unified answer.
You have something to read to us.
You tell us what it is you report on.
This is healing.

A healing outcast
is your ticket on change.
You took it,
the things he held dear:
family,
his country,
a place in society,
his hope.
Was to the point that They came,
divine beings,
and showed him how the rivers run.

He processed hope
that We gave him.
It’s like that.
A society,
from its outcast,
social change
will be brought into living picture.
You have a cornerstone here.

So much misunderstanding
when these things hit the streets.
A poem can be disruptive.
I tell them what’s wrong.
This is where I give back.
This is a pedophile’s field book.

I wonder,
all the lights and stuff,
will help the ignorant to see,
or you’ll hate me even more?
Duke,
all American,
I bring home the change,
strands of the common way.

 

Introduction to Soul Power

Me walking the dogs, image credit: Dhina
by Donny Duke

Posting this song around the net takes a great leap of faith. (You can find the link to it at the bottom of this article.) The world has become explosively reactionary, due in large part to the Internet. It’s put a microscope on us, shows us stuff about us that’s always been there but that we just haven’t seen so pronounced and in our face, ugly and dirty things, and, self-righteous and hypocrites that we are, we weren’t ready for the vision. Who can show this to us? If you think about it, there’s no better person than the kind of person most react to, explode upon, once they’ve been unjustly lynched in the net of public opinion and reason comes onto the scene. The person, however, has to show their soul, and that’s just what I aim to do.

The soul is as misunderstood a concept as God, used to mean a variety of things. While it’s been talked about in both religion and the arts for thousands of years, I’d argue true knowledge of it has not yet entered the public mind. We know of enlightenment, but we don’t generally know of the soul change, that our soul not only influences us from within, turns us towards God, more and more as we allow it, but it can also surface and replace the ego once we are in the emptiness of enlightenment liberated from ego. My use of the term comes from my own experience informed by the teachings and inner guidance of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo. Since my aim here is not to introduce the soul but its power, I won’t elaborate on what the soul is, as my teachers and I see it, or its evolution for that matter, though in a future article I may do so, one I’m planning to write about the finding of the soul.

I would imagine the soul’s purpose is more varied than the universe, and as it evolves, or its evolving aspect the psychic being I should say, the dynamic personality of the soul, it wouldn’t necessarily take on some aspect of the world to help set right, some world problem to help solve, but as my psychic being has reached the place of maturity where it’s free to choose its comings and goings[i], it has donned the scapegoat process. I should stress here I’m speaking of my soul and not Donny, and while it would stand to reason that Donny too should be as developed as his soul, soul process is irrational, oftentimes runs contrary to our reason, is free to don a very fucked up outer personality for some purpose the likes of which you see playing out here: Donny coming online, or getting in line with his soul I should say, in order to help with the huge obstacle in our collective evolution, the making and maintaining of scapegoats, and as well help remove an equally huge obstacle, the sexual abuse of children. The song I’m introducing holds this double purpose, sings the removal of both obstacles simultaneously, what can only be done by the seeing of the soul, not by a blind one-sided world power making the pedophile the seemingly foolproof universal scapegoat.

While the word scapegoat and its use is cliché, and today we seem more comfortable with the less defining phrase the ‘other’, the making and persecution of scapegoats is still the big hold up in realizing a viable human unity, what we’d need to achieve if we’re going to make it on this crowded planet. Put simply, a ‘humanity’ scapegoat is a group of people who are what they are by nature, not by choice, not speaking of quirks in the nature, but things fundamental like race or sexuality, whether they like or want to be that or not, speaking of sexuality, people who we don’t have to treat as fellow human beings with the same rights as everyone else, people we can vent on, who it’s generally socially acceptable to bear ill will towards, to hate, people on whom we project human evil so we don’t see it in ourselves, people we blame for the problems in our world so we ourselves can feel free of responsibility for those problems.

Though it may not be readily apparent, the scapegoat is as much a part of life in ego consciousness as the alpha male or female, what can almost be called a need of the ego and its maintenance, a need of the animal we are evolving out of I might say, equating here ego identity with animal identity. The scapegoat’s scope and purpose is quite visibly illustrated in the book and film 1984, and I’d argue 1984 is not only showing a frightening future to try to avoid, but at the same time doing what creative expression often does so closely aligned as it is with dream, albeit largely unconsciously. It’s showing the present social conditions of the writer in an exaggerated and larger than life form. What in 1984 people go to an auditorium to do, vent their penned up hatred and frustration on the scapegoat as he’s flashed across a screen, so they don’t turn that on the system, we do in the auditorium of our hearts and minds. It’s like the book and film is showing us what we do on the inside, using the outer symbol of an auditorium, even if such wasn’t intended by the creators, since, in any genuine creative expression, something of the representative nature of our world comes into play, and we see a little behind things, see much more than the human creator envisioned.

My psychic being became a conscious soul two lifetimes ago. It had donned the life of a black man in the South (of the U.S.) just before the turn of the 20th century, a person who “could play the guitar just like a-ringing a bell.”[ii] He played with his soul, that is, his soul was involved in his music to the point you could hear its qualities, as it was reaching adulthood. The scapegoat of his day, African-American, he was killed by the KKK, for playing his guitar in white establishments, and because he was on the edge of fame. I re-experienced the last day of his life in one of those dreams that last much longer than the time it takes to dream it and one where it was as though I was here in the world, not in dream, as there was no shifting of either the material in the dream or its field until the very end. It was as though I actually re-experienced the last day of his life. I was lucid but inside him experiencing both myself and he, aware of my thoughts and feelings and his thoughts, feelings, and bodily sensations, except at the very moment of his death, when the flames reached him as his home burned down,  his wife and children screaming as they were burned alive, when I became the fly on the wall observer outside of him. There was no need to feel the whole brunt of that moment a second time.

In my last life I was a Jewish man in Nazi Germany, the scapegoat of his time and place, of historic proportions, as African Americans were in the Old South. Though it was also a dream that showed me this, or the defining moment I saw it was in a dream, a very recent one, I’ve dreamed all my life of having a Jewish identity, inexplicably, since neither my mother nor father are Jewish, as I had dreamed of that black man in various stages of his life throughout this life, and I am neither black nor mulatto, although he wasn’t a guitar picker until that defining dream but someone of great talent or intellect, like an artist, a scientist, a university professor, and so forth. The remembrance of past lives is like that. It comes not as some instant revelation, although the defining moment is pretty revealing and may come as somewhat a surprise, but as an essential piece of your personal puzzle falling into place, fitting essentially into your process.

It’s not details such as names, addresses, and the like you remember, or it hasn’t been with me, and nor is it in the teachings of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo (I can’t tell you the name of the guitar picker or even what state he lived in, despite such a revealing dream about him, as those details disappeared upon awakening), but moments when the soul comes to the surface or very near, like the last day of the guitar picker’s life.[iii] I should also say these two recent lives are the only ones I remember, and my memory of them comes as a necessity of my present life, to do the work my soul has set before me. To truly remember your past lives, “one must become a wholly conscious being, conscious in all its parts, totally united with one’s divine origin.”[iv]

With the Jewish man the defining dream was full of all the shifts and strangeness of dream material, where he was part of a small group of Jews being hidden by farmers in the countryside, the railroad tracks leading to the death camps a central feature of the dream, that threat and utter despair over the whole situation taking him to rock bottom. The dream revolved around a soul moment when he had a momentary experience of liberation from ego, enlightenment. It’s not only sadhana that can take us there; sorrow can too if it hits the right note, a soul note.

In the dream there were a score of others who experienced the same, and I feel that represents an unknown aspect of the holocaust: out of the millions who suffered the horror there were those whose soul was reaching maturity, and they experienced the spiritual liberation or a flash of it. You might imagine some marched into death triumphant. Neither the Nazis nor any hate group has any control over the soul. You might also imagine that, in a representative world, nothing and no one can touch the soul, it being the reality in it and behind it, all else mere symbol and representation, the will-o-wisp of dream really, even Nazis.

Such definitive soul contact did not arise automatically. In this my present life, soon after reaching maturity as man, when I was around 30 years old, I made the inner journey to my center, the well of soul, connecting my surface conscious with it. It’s a lengthy story I won’t relate here other than to say that I’d opened the inner consciousness, was not only lucid in dream very often but also learning to try and remain conscious as I fell asleep and during a full period of sleep, all the way through a night’s dreaming, and it was in dreamless sleep I found my soul, “on a remote extremity of sleep,”[v] but it was a journey in stages, over the course of several days, a journey I made one time, a journey that had me face my greatest fears and overcome my strongest attachments. You might imagine that to find the soul is actually to find it inside you, and that, while a strong belief in it or feeling of it can bring or indicate contact with it, you won’t have the definitive concrete contact until you go to the deepest most remote place inside you and find it.

“Turn Around Soul”, the song I’m introducing, was shown I feel in the dream of the guitar picker, specifically in the dream short that came at the end of the dream, a dream short something that comes often at the end of a powerful dream that’s a basic summation of the dream, a symbolic representation of it, so different from the dream itself as to seem another dream, but there is no interval between it and the dream it’s symbolizing. If this song does get heard by my society then it is what that dream short was showing: being heard. I was watching a man with a guitar on a high ridge overlooking a large valley below. He was both black and white, not mulatto but actually a black man and a white man at the same time, an impossibility dream can do. There were lay lines along the ridge, and he was trying to hook his guitar into one so to be heard in the valley below. He made some unsuccessful attempts until he was finally able to hook into the one closest to  him, which made his acoustic guitar electric, and it was like he was inventing the electric guitar by hooking into that lay line. When he connected, his guitar music resounded throughout the whole valley, and it was more than sound I heard. I heard reality resound, a common feature of powerful dream, it ending with a sound, simply a large ‘crack’ in some cases, that you feel in your very soul.

I doubt most will believe that the soul can do what I show it doing here, write an entire song. While many believe in the soul, few know that it’s capable of healing us, as individuals and as a society. We not only have an immune system to heal our bodies; we have one also to heal our hearts and minds, to set right what’s messed up about us. It’s this innate and largely unknown immune system I want to show with my song, a system of soul more powerful than any world system, what sets worlds right.

The lyrics were sung to me over a period of months, via inner voice and vision. First came the two lines that form the backbone of the song, “Hold on tight. Turn around slowly.” It was sung by a female singing group complete with musical accompaniment and had a pop sound to it. Knowing there was no way I could manifest it into outer reality with my not so great voice and guitar skills, I nonetheless focused on it so that a full song would come, something I’ve learned to do with voice and vision over a period of some 15 years. With this song, unlike my others written from inner vision, I accepted only lyrics that I knew were from my soul, not from anywhere else, not even from the divine. Years of soul contact has enabled me to distinguish its voice from any other, knowing also that it often sings when it does speak to me.

After the initial lines, more came but very slowly, one or two lines a day (and not every day) that not only fit into the song but were also what I needed to hear that day, what I needed to see. Soon I had a skeleton of a song but didn’t even know what it was about. By the time I knew it was about what it’s about it was too late to turn back, and I couldn’t deny I needed to sing it and my society needed to hear it. I must say this is embarrassing for me, or for the ego I should say, and singing so openly about being a pedophile in today’s society is not what I want to do, why no doubt my soul kind of snuck it up on me, knowing I’d not have completed it if I had know what it was about from the first.

Then came some months of the song being filled in, one or two lines a day, with many, many corrections to the lyrics, all of which were sung to me, now in my voice and guitar, and in a couple of instances, where I was having a hard time, even my hands were shown playing the guitar in vision so I’d know the right cords and right way to sing it. I still haven’t gotten it all right, very far from it, but this is the best I can do with the talent I have. It would be appropriate to mention here that my family, especially Douglas, my psychic being partner, a life partnership other than romantic/sexual not yet generally known to be possible, had a lot to do with the development of the music. He and my family kept it from getting out of  hand,  making sure it matched my so-so voice and guitar skills, else I would sound like an out of tune hillbilly.

It’s a contemporary folk song, a person and their guitar singing about their society and their between a rock and a hard place position in it. You have to engage with the lyrics to appreciate it, which are largely symbolic, poetic even, and it’s not so much meant to stir the emotions as much as it’s meant to stir the soul. No doubt it’ll make a lot of people mad as hell. That’s not my intention, and if it makes you angry, figure out what it’s saying and then see what you got. It goes from the general to the specific, each verse getting more specific, taking you on a soul journey. So what you’ve got is a soul, and by showing you mine, I hope you hear yours. At the very least, you should be introduced to the soul’s power.

Please click here to hear the song.

Turn Around Soul

1)
I’m sittin’ here on the bottom baby,
hold down tight,
standing all over town.
That would be
on the stairway.
I’m well armed.
I can’t believe he’s out there.
To keep them in line.
It’s huge practice huge practice.
Find it on the news.
Closed weapons by the rest of the world.
What a cost to our humanity.
Run around soul. 2x’s
How high we step there
and turn them in line.
God sent me to my soul, 2x’s
in a straight line.
Make you soul know you go,
hold south you fix.
Oh wave your fingers are you gone?
How should I change? 2x’s
Make a new world. 2x’s 

(Chorus):

Hold on tight,
turn around slowly today.
Inside out,
turn around slowly today.
Hold on tight
turn around slowly
in vision
will today
turn around soul. 2x’s
Hold on today. 2x’s

2)
To be somethin’ different
So keep it from runnin’.
To be somethin’ different
that warrant is for your arrest
on the 7 seas.
Take the best metro back there.
Walk heel in line. 2x’s
And that weakness was no longer
on the 7 seas.
The spirit was to find peace.
Entire soul. 2x’s
I can’t believe he’s out there.
To keep them in line.
One realize.
I promise I promise.
Come and speak,
cause I’m livin’ in a world that’s new,
vision of a world that’s true.
I saw the planet.
I am one another. 2x

 (Chorus)

3)
Find them and expose them
shows no solid arm.
Truth will be an attitude.
You have to live there.
I’ve seen him upside down.
I’ve seen him to my soul.
I am warm and I am cold
like the light of the world.
I’ll grow up
in the wild frame.
You hear Houston
name names.
My hand’s in the system
cause I’m livin’ in a world that’s new,
inner in the world that’s true,
when nature comes together,
from our door 2x’s
open.
What about soul? 2x’s
You can springtime
oh, oh, oh, oh,
above the world,
thunder like we’ll make together.
It’s a surrounding world. 2x’s 

(Chorus)

4)
Con you’re out there
problem in line.
You’ll have to see
how much we step there
over the years.
What in the a dark city?
Hold on out there.
With my hidin’,
with my terrorizin’,
In that flaming member you can’t decide.
The answer,
oh, oh, oh,
words of sound and murder came from his incantation.
What it cost to worlds.
What a cost to our humanity.
Run around soul. 2x’s
Dark science
turn of the century
pedophile. 2x’s 

(Chorus)

5)
Lacking in the system,
in the whole human race.
And there’s another thing
I didn’t question
in America,
when America.
Here’s something under there.
Don’t see my mind
and show of peace. 2x’s
You see what he means.
Allow this arm.
I’m well armed.
This could be real.
That was the most soul
word I ever heard,
a conscious soul. 2x’s
Oh the inner kingdom.
Of I’ve been born.
I’m the nineteen.
I’m your friend.
I’m the only romancing need
goin’ in the wind.
As long as it takes
if you mean work on one’s center.
Callin’ me today.
Please don’t put yourself in harm’s way.
Master and able it’s possible.
To believe. 2x’s
This is the melody.
Pledge the long road,
here in the top
in ‘bove the house. 2x’s 

(Chorus)

(addition to chorus, excluding last line “Hold on today”)
Turn around love,
yield today,
turn around love.
turn around soul,
entire soul.
It could be real,
a conscious soul.
I can have no beginning.
I can be soul.
What about soul,
run around soul? 2x’s this and above line
Turn around soul. 2x’s
It won’t be long. 2x’s

*          *          *          *          *          *          *

[i] “The time [on the other side] depends also on the development and on a certain rhythm of the being – for some there is practically immediate rebirth, for others it takes longer, for some it may take centuries; but here, again, once the psychic being is sufficiently developed, it is free to choose its own rhythm and its own intervals.” Letters On Yoga, Volume 1, page 444, by Sri Aurobindo, Sri Aurobindo Ashram Press.

[ii] Lyrics from the song “Johnny B. Goode” by Chuck Berry.

[iii] “But this memory is not a thing of the mental kind. Those who claim to have been such a baron of the Middle Ages or such a person who lived at such a place and such a time, are fanciful, they are simply victims of their own mental imagination. In fact, what remains of past lives are not beautiful pictures in which you appear as a mighty lord in a castle or a victorious general at the head of an army--that is only romance. What remains is the memory of those instants when the psychic being emerged from the depths of your being and revealed itself to you--that is to say, the memory of those instants when you were wholly conscious. That growth of consciousness is progressively effectuated in the course of evolution, and the memory of past lives is generally limited to the critical moments of evolution, to the decisive turns that marked the progress of your consciousness.” From: The Writings of the Mother, Memory of Past Lives, 1958, Sri Aurobindo Ashram Trust.

[iv] Ibid.

[v] Savitri, Book VII, Canto III, by Sri Aurobindo, Sri Aurobindo Press