These three photo-poems were posted on Mastodon January 21-28, 2024, and I was shadowbanned on the site after posting the first poem. Because I was left with no way to use hashtags or tags, no way to post comments on other people’s posts, and no way anyone could search for me on Mastodon, I left Mastodon. I had gone to Mastodon because I had been shadowbanned on Twitter/X, but on returning to Twitter/X in February, their shadowban had been lifted.
Posted January 21
All photos my own unless otherwise stated.photo by Douglas
(written for the Facebook groups Friends of Auroville, and Auroville, INDIA but only approved and posted by the latter group, after sending a small poem that appears below this one. It must be noted Friends of Auroville removed me from their group and blocked me.)
I like rainbows spoken in the most clear and circular terms. Please, I’d rather have this is gonna turn out. I sit here with my hat in my hands. I’m a big roar on magic. Wanna see my human unity? It’s in your beautiful hands.
The uncompromising villager, the most accounted for where we find human unity, if you’re not on its side, if you wanna freeze it, if it’s not something you can work out because they won’t let it. They just like their tribe.
You can’t get away from Nature’s homegrown, and sometimes you have to swallow them whole. Definitely, that’s our footpath here. That’s our red beer here.
How do I get this off my property? We are not romantic letters. I’m not tryin’ to get yah to buy toothpaste. I don’t have an engineer here doing anything except talking to you. You’re my sweet opening to ride my pages. I don’t fight you. I just stand and sing. We need some heaters to loosen up human unity. I’m not trying to get you to buy land in Florida. I’m going with my function among you as a photographer and a poet to be part of this great experiment.
I’m his poet, the boy we had such a mind to open and facilitate. Did anybody publish? You won’t let a boy and me together in plain sight. You won’t even let him on this page. Human unity bills him to you, that little boy I took care of for so many years. Pay on your buddy my friend.
Where is human unity? I think we have to find our divinity first. It’s like the psychic change can’t be complete until the spiritual transformation. I don’t know what I’m sayin’. The yoga beefs here. We put it in Auroville’s hands. Now that’s a stalk monster. I’m blind to this— the tree hunters. I can’t get it off my chest— the need to see Auroville as human unity. It’s a crash course in nothin’— the battle weary Aurovillian says.
We can’t see it in our feet. We can’t see it on the road. It’s too big for us. It’s a journey inside. I’m sorry most people are not prepared for this. I’m not even close. I’ve been waylaid. An ignorant mother took my child out of spite. You don’t know the dynamics of raising foreign children.
Now I hate that mother and her whole crew, and I had achieved an amalgamated oneness in my mind, realization’s status in mental wears, not in that point of no return. The boy was my apprentice, my give my gifts to, already writing whole poems from the inner voice. He rode samadhi a time or two, approached the Silence, neared the sun. An overhead experience had opened his mind. He talked about the world like it was his brother.
Then he lost it all in one fell swoop. No contact allowed, and the boy’s been sat on for months and abused. I was opening up human unity for him by going inside. I know how to do children, without that stink. My inner consciousness opens theirs.
I can put human unity on a beanpole now that I’m mad at these people and wish them dead. I’m just sayin’. What a drop in flesh. I was showin’ him to you when it happened, when human unity fell from my hands. The irony in being on the other side of child abuse wanting to protect your child.
You have no idea the intricacies of karma on a mountain sink, when you see the world as representation and not as it. I flounder here. I’m mean this world plays for keeps. The vital is in an uproar I’m calming down now. My yoga works. I sit in spiritual vision and confess my soul.
When they’re hurting your child what do you do? When he’s crying and talking of suicide, and he’s only 12? They’ve made him think he’s crazy with all the gaslighting, and do no forget he’s been beat. I can’t find human unity here. Now I understand someone else’s child is dear to you too, and along comes some man who changes their dream, hits them hard with the facts of life.
You’re a bugger aren’t you? No I am now a healed man, feeling what you feel when you look at me. You want them punished. You want the child safe and sound. You want him healed, but the formula for that is not in your hands. I’m a call on that notion. I’ve a vehicle of self-healing’s swirl, and I know how to heal children. I know how to open their consciousness, and I am flabbergasted divine process has ruined me and flattened my child.
This is not fair. It’s not right. My ego blunders. I sit in your stool and say that. I point the finger at other people. I arrange them with my hate, because they’ve killed my child where they hurt him, and they hurt him in his love for God, his trust in the Mother, and they beat him for his love for me, and all the while say they know I was good to him. They’re his parents and they have the right to take and beat that mother told me that in a swaggered brag.
You lift your head up and see me mourning over a child, like I’ve never been healed. That child is still my number one day. Okay what did I do? I made that child’s feelings God. Attracted to him, I gave him God’s eyes. I gave the world a bath when he was little. I tempered him through Dog as a medium for our affection. We loved each other through a Rottweiler’s fur. Healing’s ways visited me like a mountain tribe close to the sun. I was guided. The feelings of God I opened up in me to care for this child.
So many tools I used, so many make it right. Then the Devil comes in and damns it all, and you dance to this tune. Do you know how much power the Hostile Powers have to turn off our lights? It makes you question the divine. It makes you try to blame God. What do I do what do I do?
I come back to myself of course. I peel off this hate from blocking the psychic’s view. I stand and sing. How far you have to go inside yourself to find human unity. I’m afraid most can’t do that. We have to have developed souls, and we have had to have found oneness inside ourselves. How many go that far?
We’re in the stage of adopting belief. Can we understand a multi-generational project? We want the consciousness open, so our children can grow up wise, a human unity bundle, but you have to get it right with children, so they can make the journey if you can’t, the journey inside our yoga talks about.
I’m a vehicle on that worth, and I’m hamstrung right now for loss of my boy. I am just this landed fish speaking into your microphone. Now I’m supposed to tell yah human unity is a spiritual aim, soul’s quarters.
I believe, I believe, I believe [line heard sung, from It's Too Late To Turn Back Now] don’t bring it through your front door. It comes when you’ve seen the One with its own eyes, a vision in consciousness. You can’t rule it into play. It’s not a textbook model. Can you find spiritual process? Isolate that nigger. This is perfect sin.
The suffering is so explosive. I don’t know how to manage it. I’ve managed art with it, so radiation in purpose, and I die by the public barrier. No one wants to hear this. It’s just spilled upon my paperwork. People would slap me for it instead of help. I just sit here and cry so often. You know I’ve heard from that boy.
The insanity with which his mother has put him, so she can keep him from the slightest contact with a man who raised him, would make you want to put her away if you knew the extent of it. He will tell no one but me, and those around her support her. It’s a living nightmare, and this is what happens when you do right with a child and turn on their lights.
I’m an Auroville side keeper. I’m conducting the experiment in my home. I think you’re too rigid for that in your mainstream rooms. Surely the consciousness will change one day, but you don’t know how. I bring in that formula, and you won’t even look at it. Now it’s been captured by the Hostile Powers, and no community supports me to engage these misguided parents. What do I do?
Stay close to him in inner consciousness and hold him there, wait for him to give me some outer contact, with no satisfaction that will come. You sit there and enjoy this, the child removed from my lair, kept from my clutches. I pity you. You are not the experiment.
I throw you a human unity ball, and I would get into the quick of things, if you let me, in your own rooms, by doing art and making it public so you can see. What are the issues that divide us? The handle of children, I can take you to where we are feet with them, the places that society all sees but gives it permission to be, and I can take you to their God room, and what beauty can come out of a child when their inner doors are open to the God-felt expression of their soul.
A social trigger we do not fathom but persecute, when it’s as deep as this into our children’s honey. When it’s social honey, can you come together on this and extend us your hand? I can give you his song inner hearing wrote. Listen to the boy. You know he’s months away from being taken from his home at the lake and made to feel so alone.
The future folks he’s got in his hands, and he’s blisterin’ himself now with his vision of the future that has failed him now that it’s come to pass. So much spiritual technology he wrote to save himself from a future situation transpiring now. I give you this miracle if you would but look at it. He cannot. He’s not allowed.
The damage is done, and the light’s been put out, and he won’t even save himself but has laid down and died, giving himself up to total dominion, and he’ll lie about it if you ask him, scared of his parents’ wrath.
That’s the hope today, the boy tells you what’s real if you ask him. It’s a hope place to start. It’s a country road. It’s the place we land our feet and give this boy his chance.
The menu, it’s got Gods all over it, and it tells what happened when the boy told his father he wanted to go home, live with the velacara in a permanent song, but that was Sri Aurobindo’s house. The future is in his voice. It’s the future in your hands, if you’ve never seen it before. He gives a prevision of the future his soul wrote.
You’ve not seen nothin’ like it. It’s captured on the journey home to the lake. In one fell swoop, that boy tells you how the cow ate the cabbage, and you’ll just have to sit up and take notice the boy heard this line by line spoken into his inner ear complete and unabridged. We used my voice recorder. Other than that no help given. Now tell me this boy should be shot.
This is a cooperative journey. We can’t leave Nithish there. He’s a prototype of a brand new kid, and boy does he have baggage. What was meant to be: we are consciousness bundles, and by our poetry you see that we can bring you vehicles in consciousness headed for our high change. Eat that in the Menu of the Gods. Can we find Auroville? I’m drivin’ you home.
From Nithish’s YouTube channel
On August 19th, I sent the following small poem to both Facebook group’s admins with a link to the poem here on my blog, asking again that they post the poem, and in my stats I saw that two people in India came here from Facebook, and it’s reasonable to assume that was admin from one or both of those groups. Within a couple of days, Auroville, INDIA posted not only it but also two more posts I had pending, all at once. One can only say thank you when that happens.
Do somethin’ more than just an operator’s opinion. It puts human unity in your lap, and I’m the border they cross. Don’t kill it again. It’s costly. You’re destroyin’ human unity. Can you get a handle on it? Censorship is for what’s wrong and makes us bleed. Is it really for what makes us right? Answer the question, and that’s the ordinary. Let’s cup in our hands the extraordinary. I give you a ride there in this poem.
A different kind of story. I’ll write it across the sky:
I am a poet of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo. I’m a 12-year-old poet. I am an original poet. I’m a muse poet, no help given to the writing of this poem.
We have as little as possible to do with bounds. Everything, if you think of something divine, it lights up. Grape juice, what’s the price? To get this boy’s poem published? Use the excellent hunter witchcraft. This is by far the best boat.
We have an epiphany of being. It lasts. It shoulders reality. It doesn’t go away. It will be there when we get back. That’s an ankle torn, lavishly spent on nature. I think we disappear awhile into our compellings. This could be a shade of grey, or the self-righteous crowd.
We hang there. We brood there. We don’t know what it means. I think Earth has taken us by the hand to stumble some. Are we workin’ things out? We’re an operation reality. So many meanings made clear where we go wrong. Can you see this?
It reaches us right there where we’re at. There is no perfection slave point. We arrive there, post-stumblings. It’s as certain as Earth. This is all in a car now. We hump it some.
I can’t show you the Earth. There are no fields there perfection’s sum, the arrived at. I can only show you time in her suspended miracle. Each failing of Earth gathers us. It fixes us where we find wounds. I think the urge there is to heal, in humanity, and in ourselves.
What have we done to the Earth? And you think this is out of step with nature’s plan? Of course we rob/ruin it. [words heard spoken simultaneously] No other animal would do otherwise in the glory of its day. So how do we naturally put on? Give the Earth time to heal its man-plan. This is far away from us? You’ve got it in your hand.
We open Earth with it, one story at a time, stories big enough to see us, because they’ve hit us in the quick of ourselves, in what it means to be human. We lavish such stories in exaggerated can. There are all humans to meet, who spiritualize themselves and bring out of them soul.
You can’t see this plan. The story has made us discover ourselves in an avoidance of Mars, the tribe of our taboos, that can make you vomit if you find it close, that can heal your scars when you find it redemption.
What do we do with this? He’s a pedophile throw him away. You nincompoop, this blesses us, if we know it arrives at noon, if we can call it our own, sit with it and not react.
I can’t spy this in for you. You’ve got to see it yourself. You’ve got to be there with the Earth where she most needs. You’ve got to be open to chance, and from bad things can come good things, if we arrive there. The Earth is a joy shout out. It means somethin’.
Every separate thing loosened from its coils came from her divinity’s roll out. Some have become perverted in the mask of space. They have a divine element. They come back to themselves, over and over again, if we can find that purpose put.
And the pedophile becomes a purpose maker in the intensity of small children. Instead of sex he gives them stars. Your disbelief is operating now. It blights this page, and I’m stuck with it, have to sit with it and stare at time. You won’t release me.
And we’re crowdin’ in on time. My boy has submitted his first poem to a literary showcase here in India. There will be others. He’s 12, and comes upon us another snag: did he write this?
You maniac, you are horrible disbelief. You would destroy the world if you could, rather than read his poetry lie down. I’m making it visible now, Nithish’s hotspot, where he finds muse. This is in our certain poetry together in the soliloquy of love.
A shapeshifter, I’ve morphed into my true form: hello there boy, I’m intensity of consciousness open up to intensity of purpose, hanging your own star. Watch that glow. Good God that’s purpose, smellin’ salts.
Stories that make you puke, stories that rhyme with the Earth, calculate us and make us see. They involve with us to every hand’s on healing. Do tell, and here I am in that yard. Wrap me around the world, will yah? I’m certain. Watch it, a fuller opera, a zero point ignition, reaches Earth.
Martin Luther King Jr. at the Controls by Donny Lee Duke
The three best ways to keep a lovin’ song down:
keep it under wraps;
tear it apart;
or get it morally censored.
What will happen to this song?
Change the world
in person.
Chronos’ fuckin’ with ‘im.
What do we do with inner process?
Figure it out?
It’s discrepancy,
and I’m tired of it.
I can’t see anything straight.
What do I do?
Move off campus.
You mean not listen to You?
Don’t dwell on thought.
Don’t just sit there and think.
Try something different.
Image real to yourself.
Play with your thoughts as reality in front of your face.
You’re lookin’ at the world
you’re lookin’ at your thought.
Try this at home.
Image reality to yourself
where people really get your goat
they know you so well.
Try not to open the door with thought.
Be a blank mind.
Stretch this
to infinity.
Don’t stop tryin’.
Your effort is your sadhana.
This is not success or fail.
This is do.
You savvy sweetheart?
I wil try.
As I was sayin’:
I don’t trust inner process
to tell me what to do
in that moment in life.
Otherwise make it happen
to change the world,
and you know it can.
Why resist?
That little boy,
this goes deep,
the relationship I’m having with him.
It’s complicated in poetry.
Our lives are in sync.
We share thoughts and boundaries.
Our inner lives are in sync.
We temple together.
There’s a line of his muse
in my poetry
when he didn’t see it in my poetry.
I hear this and celebrate
close ties,
eyes that join
in inner vision.
Is this too much for him?
He’s just a kid.
I’m glad you asked.
You’re the engineer.
The little boy spills all in front of you.
You teach him how to handle himself,
play poetry,
what his nature house.
I never gave him the thought.
It just occurred
when the Mother,
the Mother and Sri Aurobindo,
they took that boy by the hand.
He became Their disciple.
Would you believe a bolt of lightning hit him in the chest
standing before Their last darshan couch
Supermental Day last?
That’s how it started.
The opening came then.
I was there to facilitate it,
to open him to God.
I am his sadhana master,
and that’s the basis of our relationship.
There’s no monkeys in the house.
I don’t cancel him down.
She’s had the dog
in her parents' room,
when they abuse
where the line are.
When it’s my turn
to be his parental figure,
I’m very careful with those lines.
I know he’s angry
about getting slapped and beat,
threatened with death.
Ice cream
I buy for him every day
in my care.
We talked about that.
We called it moral-minded.
I thought you understood
you don’t raise a kid with rules.
You can,
if you want a kid bound by rules.
I’m the horse guy look at me.
Put it right in your phone,
desire coming up.
Don’t put a hold on it.
Be free and easy with it.
Don’t stay there.
What’ll I do with it?
Put it in the iTunes Store,
avoid that button.
Just sit with it clear and easy.
Don’t let it push you.
Don’t give in to it.
Don’t even tickle your fancy with it.
We don’t beat it.
We sit it out,
wait it out.
It’s not wrong it’s just there.
It’s a smelling salts for reality.
It’s unique to you,
why would you say that?
Everybody has to deal with this.
We regulate it
with a host of laws and penalties
as if they work.
We do not let it be an excuse
for behavior.
Freewill comes into play
we are told.
We disclose it to each other.
We are ashamed by it.
We have children,
we block this sight from our own view.
We don’t see it
in our hands as we wash them,
in our eyes
as we see them so fabulously naked.
It’s there,
and time will show it to you,
if you look.
We run with this?
We don’t eat kids.
They’re special.
They are in the room
when we see it
in ourselves,
when desire comes up.
Desire comes and goes.
It’s in everybody’s life.
It has to be handled.
It has to be seen,
seen real.
We don’t play with it
around our children,
if we can help it.
That leads to dead ends,
and children get spanked and smacked on
and get molested.
You know this is true.
Don’t let it entertain your monkey.
I’ve given other examples
the right way sex can be with kids
in “The Use of Animal Freedom”.
Hear that one,
where sex and kids meet wrong today.
To Rumble’s house
farther to go.
Tamil Nadu,
a door of a red handle,
punch out man.
Tamil Nadu,
stay away from the red door.
Don’t beat your children,
slap them,
punch them around.
They’re precious to you.
Do you hear them scream?
I think this is written all over your paper.
Children don’t have it easy with you.
They suffer.
You don’t know this.
You can’t see your own hands
Mr. and Mrs. Abuse Children.
I call this up from the deeps.
It was that way with me
when I was little.
Now my kid has made me mad,
done something wrong,
or just bothered me.
Then it all comes up again,
my unhappy kid-dom,
and I operate on program.
I don’t care the position he’s in.
I just start slappin’.
I don’t know this hurts him
in his developmental function.
I have that right.
I’m his parent.
Thank you God.
What’s happening here?
Desire has found its home
in a socially approved response mechanism.
It’s condemned on TV.
The presenters themselves
wack their kids
off camera.
I can compare this to touching a vagina
in a little girl’s life,
but you don’t know this is more harmful,
hitting them in the head.
I’m sorry I’ve made you mad.
You don’t know the power of violence over children’s lives.
You don’t know the power of sex over children’s lives.
Both harm.
One gets out the shotgun.
A sexual cannon no.
Mr. and Mrs. Abuse-Their-Kids,
pay attention please.
Where thoughts occur,
it’s not a bright and shiny place,
is laced with uncertainty.
It’s all on holdin’ the world wrong.
You see this you look.
The Whole looks at us.
The fragment looks back.
We are separate beings in time,
an erroneous vision.
Whatta we say about thought?
It arises.
It comes.
It’s there.
And a tenebrous unknown
has the thinker’s brow.
What gulfs lit the night
when we looked at the world for the first time
in the handicap of thought.
It pressurizes time.
It makes of us mincemeat.
It will not stop even for death,
what narrow bridge that is.
You seen it?
How special thought is
to make sense of the world,
to help us help or slay one another,
to give us more feeding room,
to come up with plans,
to turn around and change the world.
It hammers nails
on the fence of time,
held apart in yummy synchronicity,
modes of thought,
and get some answers—
quite the hero.
Do you get me?
I get yah dog.
Put your blue down it doesn’t stink.
It just sits in the powder.
These are the conditions.
You’re talkin’ about that boy, ain’t yah?
Don’t worry,
I have the edification.
I’m gonna spell it out to you.
We have a different choice.
You’re not gonna bust us up.
You’re not gonna hurt him
or me.
You’re not gonna regulate our relationship.
You’re gonna leave us alone.
Humanity needs this vision.
We play the game.
We don’t commode.
We be convenient.
We are open to you.
Two seers in time
startle vision.
We're not gonna compromise vision.
We’re going to remain loyal and true
to our seership.
That boy,
a man he will become.
Housed under my roof?
And in line with his truth.
You can use another poet
who can bring down Earth
on the stars of Heaven,
let them know our plight
and our road beyond them.
Here we’re playin’
some Krishna tune.
We are a bright and shiny love in the wells of time.
We do not make you stink.
We are Heaven and Earth together,
and we are seers of the Sun of Truth.
Throw all that over here,
everything we need to survive,
a protected house
and a place for our dogs.
We need your help.
Without your protection
we get violated
Auroville Media Ashram.
You know we’re your entity,
and we see the master plan as one future Auroville.
It’s up to you.
It’s your movie.
We are the inner you were built on,
5th army,
and we’re here to see the Sun.
There’s no stopping us,
unless you throw away reason
and pin us to the ground.
We’re your seers Auroville,
he and I,
the little boy and me.
Stick with the plan:
Auroville becomes divinized,
and the Yoga works.
Great the visions lay, huh?
Hey, you give thirsty a drink,
and you feed us with your vision.
Okay poets,
do your thing.
It will be misunderstood.
Can a kid change parents if they’re not happy?
What would address the soul need?
Would the parents have a right to say no
if his soul wanted him to leave,
if that were God’s will,
if that’s what the Mother wanted?
I ask you that.
How do you tell that?
First we establish that art,
and art alone,
will show that child’s soul
and the divine will operating in his life,
that art inspired by inner voice and vision.
Can I show it to you?
My grandson wants to live with me.
My little student wants to be near his master.
A seer-poet in training
wants to learn the inner craft.
This is soul arranged,
and I’ll prove it
with poetry written from the inner voice,
the boy’s poetry,
set in a video the boy filmed
just being a kid.
You will see inner process
amazingly match the outside world.
The two are in sync.
I have other prizes to show you,
but this one is the crown achievement today:
“Menu of the Gods”.
Now go
and see this video.
[hover over the last three lines and click]
The New Atheists,
I remember them.
Forget it,
they’re history.
They’re rotten fruit,
and they are bad for your health.
Lies though—
there’s no answer
to life’s great mysteries.
They don’t know where to go from there.
We went up to the front.
We just had to break it,
their insistence on no God.
You can be kind to Him.
We have military wares
to bring God round to your table,
if you care to look,
if you care to find out,
or you can keep your hole in the sand,
forever trying to keep it from caving in.
You don’t doubt the world,
and it is seen to come from afar,
some storybook laid on atom’s ways,
something that arises from the deeps
from some unimaginable One science is playing with now.
Aren’t you startled?
The world is a cheat and hue upon your senses.
What do you make of this?
It’s real isn’t it?
How do you reconcile this with your atheism?
Wow, how big it all is,
how much beyond us.
Science is grappling with now
the funds of the universe,
from whence they came.
Absolute atheism denies this:
there is a greater reality beyond ours.
You’ve many-worlded your ego out there,
a good many of you,
in the speculation of alternative universes.
No cap for the whole?
You like your ego.
I’m learning to manage mine
towards a larger reality
it acquiesces in.
You don’t know the purpose of life.
It’s purposeless, gaugeless,
as you look at your stars.
I’m managing this
in Protonmail,
count the universe in my grandson’s safety,
to fulfill his purpose in time.
We all measure this:
to get ourselves in time
on the right boat,
believe it or not.
I gauge you there.
All your books and shows point this out:
you have something to say
to stand there and call us purpose—
you nincompoops,
God is not your purpose
I am;
I win the battle with time,
or so I believe.
Alright boys and girls I’ve mimicked you I’m sorry,
but I have to get a load across.
You are not exactly the wrong sort of people.
You just hum wrong.
You can’t stand melody outside of time.
You just want us to be right with ourselves,
in a wrong sort of way.
All your anger and spite flushes
your nobilities down the toilet.
Can’t you be nicer to us?
There is a lot in our harbor.
It gets stuck there—
no public viewing.
You can’t be counted on to change.
You’re not there
on the brink of change,
and you stay away from there.
It’s not your cup of tea.
Brain in matter’s lair,
you’ve sectioned off consciousness.
It doesn’t breathe.
It doesn’t even think,
to hear you tell it.
A consciousness larger than the body,
a consciousness that encompasses all bodies,
a Consciousness the ground of things,
has you looking on ice.
This is larger than your thought.
The consciousness of thought
can’t grow that big.
You’re rained in
by outer phenomena.
You don’t test your thoughts
in the lucid room of dreams.
How many of you even go there?
Where does consciousness connect to other bodies?
Every damn place on earth,
everywhere you look.
Your science can see this
if it would investigate that far,
if it would get there.
It just wants to prove matter reigns,
or some unconscious substratum field.
It blows up in agnosticism.
It couldn’t even admit a puppy had consciousness
just a few short years ago,
or a blackboard.
It’s not for edited materials.
Do not ever translate.
This is the divine word in a barn,
off-the-cuff.
It’s not that great, exalted word
you hear in Savitri.
It’s precisely written,
no need to change stories.
You’ll get it out of context
if you destroy its idioms.
This word occurs to me,
presents itself,
and I write it down.
I wait for spoken inevitability
so the next line matches
its counterpart.
I don’t write channeled writing.
I’m not a channel speaker.
This is divine inspiration
bottled up in heart
and served to you in poems.
A poem is a snowball
aimed to reconcile you with peace
hit in the head with peace.
I’m starting over
to take this ball to reality.
Man the sky smarts,
and the sea looks like a dream,
and I’m here on the land
a gopher dashing in and out of holes.
I champion reality,
but it’s too big to see.
Dancing in and out of holes,
where will you find me
a reality keeper?
A change of consciousness ahead,
from ego consciousness to another state.
I won’t be little anymore.
I will hold infinity,
and you’re there too
in the gift of tomorrow.
These are school days
for us,
and enlightenment is a graduation angle.
We all get there
in one lifetime or another.
That’s the field show,
where infinity replaces our I.
Now,
we are ready to put on our destiny.
We get bigger than time.
Our Godself who sits above
leans down
and grasps it embodiment here.
That is the temple mount.
That divinizes Earth.
You there,
yeah you,
come with me.
You’re a kid,
and I’m gonna open this up in you
a little portion at a time,
my little grandson Nitish.
What a pedophile can do with a child besides molest one
(one who doesn't molest children),
but you would filter this out too,
if you had the arms.
It’s God arranged.
Our souls meet.
You can only grumble.
You can’t break us apart.
If you actually tornado,
enter a magnetic field
your tornado cannot impede.
It’s God given.
The divine word,
it manifests in him.
I climb on this every day
and teach him meaning
to say his lines.
What do you teach your children,
to pass exams?
What more could you ask for?
You didn’t actually prevent me.
I’m the voice of America,
and I speak for India too.
I’m fuller than your lists,
and I’m here to stay.
Can I congratulate the future now,
on its job well done?
I had a hand in that.
I’m reading a timetable.
I been dead and gone
so far back you know we were underwater.
Hello reader,
am I lively today?
Am I in the compartment
that opened the door to infinity?
You know you’re reading me now.
I’ve layered explained this,
and back at Heaven’s gate,
my own time,
we thought we were giants.
You laugh at us now,
feel sorry for us.
We are so little man.
Turn around,
lose your friend now.
You can’t believe they are censoring him,
and people know what’s in the book.
They don’t even want to look at it,
They just want some better man to bring it,
preferably a lesbian seagull.
I’ve got your romance.
It’s with dawn,
and I’m a better man today
than I was yesterday.
I see tears.
She’s not happy with your father if he turned around and did it.
We have formidable papers to contend with.
There’s so much to climate change.
It’s Book 1.
We have so much unkindness to wear.
We can go all the way to a nuclear bomb.
We’ve got a tough living ahead,
not extinction,
not annihilation,
but a bed of nails upon our road.
There’s just so much to think about,
so much to do.
Let’s get over this:
we censor the wrong individual;
we blacklist the man that helps.
We do it dangerously.
Right.
There’s this field:
we are not free on this planet.
I’ll open it and see what’s deleted.
I’m a fence.
He hears you about kill people,
and the East are now humanity’s law center.
Okay listen.
I don’t really think
you’ll have super duper prices
to drag you down,
intolerable living conditions,
but it will be expensive.
Work,
I am working
to liberate this planet.
I think I’m one in a multitude,
but how many see the light ahead?
How many see we get through this?
That leaves only a few of us
who tell it like it’s gonna happen.
I’m sorry, you wanted a better arm than me.
You know how the divine is,
sends you the outcast,
sends you murderers and thieves.
I ask you ready?
Let’s not let the world slip through our fingers.
Stand tall now,
if you can.
We’ve been too long on the internet bashing people’s heads in.
On the phone
we look for better change.
You know we look for generations.
You know where generations is?
You take the cord and release it.
I left my parents.
I’m not bound to think their way,
act their way.
The lunar module
was our friendship module.
The moon landing lit the world
with our common humanity.
No other vanguard but this,
that the future holds,
will ensure our survival.
We share a common humanity.
That has to override every nationality,
every religion,
every people,
everything that divides us.
Nothing else works.
This is base 1.
From there we can calculate God and soul.
From there we can survive.
Will you please join me my friend?
Need to go back and dig to the community.
It’s buried under mountains of ill will.
This is destroying us,
the hatred on the inside of us.
What do you have to say?
You mind if I ask you this?
Ladies and gentlemen for Asiya talking to you right now,
and that smarts.
The voice I sing,
you can poke it you can prod it,
but it will still bear fruit.
I’m in the ditch about yesterday.
I habitat this sing.
I twelve it.
This keeps me going.
I love God and I love Sri Aurobindo.
Doesn’t let me falter in life.
This lets me abide.
I am a weathering rock.
I staple you.
I feel better now.
I’ve let the voices gleam
and pursue my life force.
The world is too deep to understand.
It smarts.
It’s a rollercoaster.
I ride it an adept.
How many of you know this mountain?
So and so for good measure looked at me today
half field of measure.
Give what type of brass pick him up.
Oh stand,
steady on full,
and 19 and motorbike.
That means it will get its due,
and we will heal with it.
It’s a stadium piece,
and it shows
you will see.
Meanwhile,
first magnified rock in about 20 minutes.
You’re not just gonna scour at him.
He’s gonna rock your boat.
In the midst of the trial,
he’ll go beyond your anger.
Name our library.
Library
and I’m not interested
in being the man of the hour.
At first just in diffusion
all this word,
then it fulfills.
Self-fulfilled,
is it what I really should be learning the forms of things?
I step over the forms of things.
I step over your stars.
I am your poet now.
The word was an action to take
to breathe upon the world its holy flesh.
The truth went into people’s homes,
stayed there.
Vilifying that like he deserves to be shot.
Wait, wait, wait,
you’re officially allowed to speak.
He took me to pizza, I played the flute.
He was now.
Divine values fill my room.
I’m a nut
etched deep into the ground of being.
You won’t find me in stores.
I’m all there is.
I mean there’s only one of me.
I sudden.
I hold mops and brooms.
I clean myself first.
I have everybody to think of.
Do you know that?
It’s hard.
Everybody’s away from you.
There you are,
and I’m gone.
You’re everybody’s baby except those who find you not. [heard sung in the voice of Joni Mitchell to tune of “Carey”, the lyrics “Oh you’re a mean ole daddy but I like you”]
“The Bell Spirituality” has kicked off the game,
with your husband.
I am
very different,
a radical revolutionary.
To be honest with yah,
I want the halls of justice to come tumbling down,
schools to close.
Do it now
in my ear.
American justice,
that’s branded in shame.
It’s not like we own up to it.
Do you know what shame does to a car?
It humiliates it,
and we have no car
that gives us a good run.
They’re seething with social justice,
and we rape them
in the halls of the system.
That’s good?
Now let’s go behind bars.
You mean men,
terrible women.
Social equality here.
Can we manage them?
I think we just snake/choke them. [words spoken simultaneously]
They’re made to feel sheep.
They’re piled on one another.
We’re pressing them into the ground.
We want them to have bad feelings.
It’s a social club.
They’re down and dirty to each other.
Nowhere you can run.
You’re limited in your freedom
to a jail cell.
How’s that for size?
They sting.
They put you in touch with yourself
so you want to kill people,
rob society.
How many get out and do that?
They’re horrible places to eat.
Their food is mixed in blood.
They are encountered in shit.
We can’t get them to eat good life force.
It’s not there.
The guards emit it,
tonnes and loads of ill will.
You’re just treated badly
all along the line.
Now let’s rape and kill shall we?
I don’t think you know what you’re doin’.
It’s ugly.
It’s so stupid.
Yet you wish this on people,
either that or kill them.
You think justice is done.
You’ve just hamstrung society.
I don’t event think you see us as a society.
We’re just individuals going our own way.
You pilot them
with a gun.
Law and order
means violence.
Great you say it works.
Like it’s falling apart.
It’s never worked,
but we don’t see that.
Justice is done.
The victims feel better,
like they’re avenged,
and we tell them
they have closure,
don’t we press?
Well what does that mean?
We’ve done all the wrong things to get better.
We’ve crucified someone for their sins,
I mean to the upmost extent of the law,
and we hate them doing it.
You’re supposed to feel that way;
it’s the law.
Now let’s go to gun.
Who has it now?
And you shoot and shoot and shoot.
These are healing measures?
They took my son.
They did this to me!
Your pain is undeniable.
You must be cared for,
taken care of,
but we’d need to remind you of your humanity.
We can’t have you acting like an animal too.
You got me here?
What am I sayin’?
It’s not society we change it’s you.
Your attitudes of justice suck.
You think it’s right
to kill people
or get rid of them,
for doin’ wrong.
Of course, they’ve sinned.
Even if it makes it worse.
Even if it doesn’t work.
All the laws say so.
They’re just there to break.
You don’t change human nature with law.
You have to go to school for that.
In Saigon,
good morning.
These are American troops stationed in Vietnam.
These are American school children in their school.
Hello Vietnam!
They just rust there,
learning to oppress people,
kill their chickens,
rape their girls.
We’ll shoot them if they don’t comply,
burn down the village.
I think I saw a rifle there,
or I just wanna get mean.
We oppress and we oppress and we oppress.
I think I learned that in school.
There’s no teaching done there
on the right things in life.
It’s a mind game.
Let’s get our intellectual skills in order,
and we don’t even do that.
My what a waste school,
every single hour every single day.
We put our kids through
deeply - harming - mechanisms,
and we don’t even see it.
We put the recognition on the pedophile.
Can you see that?
Nobody knows the reality of school.
It’s a wham! bam! thank you ma’am!
I’ll open it—
systems of abuse.
No one’s happy there,
despite the location:
we’re socializing kids,
and that should be a happy project.
They have moments of school bliss,
but then a bully gets them,
or they fail a test,
any number of things
that the bliss can’t hide,
that it can’t even do away with.
We make schools like a prison house of rules.
This is a learning experience
they’re robbed of a chance to learn.
You’re not safe there.
You’re put in trouble.
Let’s pound a few heads,
that’s school curriculum
in its
we need the right answer.
Then?
They could care less the devastating effect on children
their laziness counts.
There it's meat.
Can you tell me what the three R’s mean to life
when you don’t even know how to treat people?
Let’s memorize the anatomy of a star,
take our science books and cram them
into our brain holes,
learn the math we’ll never use,
and hear the lesson
of the most intricate fields in life,
and we stand there rivals to one another,
strangers.
We just wanna get out and play.
Now there’s a mode of travel.
It just looks like play to us.
We’re not sure of it’s taco,
but we can learn that way,
innovative, creative
mind-posts
that know how to lesson the heart
and keep that animal under control
the right way.
I’m not tryin’ to take your freedom.
I have some good things for you to eat
in a background
of why don’t you ask
instead of take?
I’m socializin’.
Can we make friends?
Alright corporate manager,
your employees are getting the shaft.
Now Julie you take the role.
I think capitalism knows better
if it’s taught at school,
and climate change can find out,
and there it is.
Alright Mr. Hairy Policeman,
put down the gun.
Alright victim,
now you take the role.
You see what I’m gettin’ at.
Play.
We have a whole field to cover,
all of life’s rooms.
We can get creative,
and you know we can improve school.
Is that all we’re doin’?
I think it’s an extremely localized concept.
So much smaller matters.
We can get down to business
on a street block,
in a farm circle,
and we’re goin’ to school with neighbors, you know?
A very localized concept
would bring it down to science.
We can get our hands on it.
Spaces large enough
for a small classroom,
I think they’re probably preexisting.
You got this big den.
There’s the gym,
any number of places,
modified to fit need that’s all.
Teachers are emissaries.
They know how to spot students.
Okay, you, you and you,
let’s spend some time on algebra
or differential equations.
Can you do calculus?
I think you need the science book
in those holes in your head.
They’re trained to spot individual learners,
and that’s the secret of school.
Your inner abilities are brought out.
Where you’re geared in life,
that’s where you go.
It’s made to fit you
as the group does its thing,
and you’re in it.
You see what I’m tryin’?
This is a much better society.
It works.
It’s around the corner,
if you can put it there.
I’m seein’ it,
and I’m certainly not the only one.
Gotta get it in the zeitgeist,
and there’s a whole lot to overcome.
We have to change human beings,
whole societies of them.
You don’t know what I mean.
They can’t be changed.
It’s impossible.
Well let’s drop some acid and see.
Just kidding,
but you know,
there might be something there.
Anyway how do you change a hungry man,
an abused woman?
That’s the formula stick out.
It’s what we’ve been tryin’ to do all these years,
but we didn’t know where change bring you.
We just wanted better people,
and all our tries make us worse.
Where do we go for change?
Well, a rocket poem can help.
You know of all the arts,
poetry puts your head on.
We can sing too,
or ballet,
get down in every art.
That’s the medium our social change.
It gets the word out there
in creative heartbeats.
It moves you,
and we begin.
The right stuff,
it’s the market today
in a heartfelt poem.
Hello there.
Don’t say it—
he believes it could only be said in India,
anything we say.
What’s the wrong with you?
That’s the horrible speakin’ God.
This is the dosa mavu
that wants to put our crisis on the table.
What’s he doing?
He’s making comment.
This is what control their will,
I mean in a big time:
etched deep into the ground of being,
where we meet each other
on the ground in India,
is a horsefly;
9/11
happened in India.
Stop wearin’ that.
Your minorities don’t threaten your existence,
see some master plan
to unHindu everybody.
The part that I played,
I was tryin’ to get the world to see itself.
Fact cutters,
that came the other day
to throw me outta my room,
and I belong there,
and I’m an American
living in India.
I’m a parent there
outspoken in my room.
You outta see it.
You can’t be
any kind of whistleblower
2022.
One second.
I want all rice.
I want the world to end
it’s regional languages rule the day.
I want to believe in humanity.
You got me dog?
That was the doctor.
Forget something.
Somebody call me a monster—
I’m gonna make you pay;
you process
the abuse of children.
For one thing I wouldn’t hurt them.
No, but I have a plan.
Vietnam,
I wanted to get into the thought good.
A police car is outside. [spoken in the voice of Mithun in a vision where he’s coming in from the balcony saying that, and I’m going to see if one is]
This is dangerous.
Can you respect that?
What’s the point of it?
There you have it,
a poem to change minds.
The sweet graze of the stars,
children enhance this;
children block this.
We don’t know what to do with children.
We crush children,
make school their only occupation,
even if it’s tribes.
They’re not supposed to do that,
hitch school to their star.
It’s mean:
so much force is used to get them to do it.
They’re whipped and beaten,
and you just think them frauds.
You don’t know how they are with you,
look up to you for so much sustenance.
They trust you.
Is that the only way to solve this,
with violence?
You don’t know what that kid’s thinkin’—
“You’re a bad woman Miss.”
Can you see yourself?
Do you even care?
What would you do if I told you
Nitish is a star in his own right?
He has the Mother’s calling.
He’s been initiated by God.
He will grow up to be a poet,
and I’m not kidding you.
Dyslexia has him by the throat.
You can’t seem to believe that.
You don’t even know what it means.
Is that so funny?
Dyslexia’s a large size.
It’s where kids go to school.
They don’t know how to behave themselves.
It’s all a mystery to them:
why can’t they do better in school?
They’re just dyslexic children.
Is that imagination to you?
Why do you hit him?
Is that your way with children?
You can’t do any better?
Why the hostility towards him?
He really tries, you know?
And he really cries.
Can you hear it?
Nitish is ugly now,
like he’s some derelict child.
He can’t do the simplest things
when it comes to letters and time,
numbers and what they do on the page,
school facts and memory power.
This is dyslexia.
It’s not a mean child.
Can you grasp this?
Now let’s look at Nitish
as who he will be when he grows up.
What makes you see failure?
You see his soul?
I’m a grandfather that does.
How do you know he’s going to fail?
He’s bigger than you.
He’s captured a star already.
Just take a mousetrap together and don’t worry about it.
Just take here your punishment.
You’ve got no right to hit him.
You have no right at all.
Now be a proper teacher
and be good to that boy.
You know I love that boy.
Believe me,
you hurt him,
and please stop.
Hand it down,
wean it down,
hand it to yah.
Ask that boy
to come closer.
You see a captain there don’t yah?
Never mind the school.
Please be good to him.
His burden is the world, you know?
A poem walk off with him.
You can history sing it.
You’re gonna see him be the very person children believe they can be.
I too had the world on my knee
and turned it wrong.
I was like you
and thought I did no wrong.
I couldn’t grasp its significance.
I’ve learned my lessons early and late.
I have to power you if I’m going to power me.
It’s something we all do together,
be reality human beings.
I pet my dog and say why.
We need a better world, don’t we?
That’s the story today.
Are you listenin’?
I am here with the Eyes.
See them?
Are you hearin’ me?
It’s the star point of Heaven’s gaze,
if you want to know the truth of the matter.
Now buckle up.
We got a long ride
to see the Sun.
Humbly and without reservation the teacher in question apologized to Nitish after reading this poem, and his teachers are learning about Dyslexia, but we still have a ways to go, and so I am not naming the teacher or the school and don’t want, don’t need, any outrage from you. I think this is the very first result I’ve gotten in an art action, that I know of at least, and it is so very close to home and so very personal, the most appropriate and needed kind of result. Thank you Mother.
Nitish’s new video for his YouTube channel, a challenging poetic odyssey to and at the top Arunachala mountain, Tamil Nadu, India
A Better Shake Himself
Where was that orange beginning?
4:30 at the government.
It’s time to quit school.
I do not think it’s normal.
You think it defines a kid.
What boring lives you must live.
Say hello to the teacher.
Is school good for kids?
Where would Ramana Maharshi bring us?
I don’t think I understand that yet.
I don’t know what it means to be free on the inside.
Imagine not wanting ice cream, or chocolate, or snacks,
and when the world grabs me
I don’t get upset.
Imagine I love everybody the same,
and I love them dearly.
I can imagine these things,
but is that what I want?
But I think I wanna be happy
in any room I’m in.
Wouldn’t you?
That’s it spiritual enlightenment
according to Maharshi.
Do you like shrimps?
Press that.
You run dates?
Don’t get any bigger than that.
Open!
This interviewing for
the Supermind,
The Supermind—
I came home to your paper at Gingee.
Enlightenment opens the door.
Gets all tangled up in enlightenment,
this soul concept I mention.
This sing on little boy,
I lost half of his head
when he went back to school.
I put my hands up.
I throw him away.
Okay what do I do with him?
School finishes him off.
Yeah I know,
gentler society
சின்ன பையன் (cinna paiyan)
We need to get rid
of they lose themselves in school.
Do that,
and reading, writing, and arithmetic will not get in the way of enlightenment.
It’s all on the table,
Mr Soul concept
and the way to enlightenment.
It’ll be a mountain put you there,
one you face alone,
no matter how many climbing partners you have.
You hear the allegory:
you mountain climb the spiritual path.
There’s no other way to get there,
no other way atall.
Can one understand from animals we came?
In that mountain you can.
I gotta study everything.
Mouth of destiny
does not use memorization.
Get out and do.
This is the balance.
Part of it’s red color.
Beyond the rulebook
spiritual enlightenment.
It starts with meditation
the wrong man will get you to believe.
There’s clothes bigger.
How intense is going to be
your progress through life.
Consciousness reals shadows.
The seat of his consciousness
put on there’s more
to reality to see.
Went to the hardest places
in the video game,
their inner spaces.
I need you to put on moral glasses
the preacher will tell you.
No, you are wide open to the sky.
Enlightenment comes through a clear lens.
To all find open to my computer.
Not his trusted hiking partner there beside him,
it’s an enlightened-year-old kid.
That’s his school.
It’s happenin’.
You want that killed dead?You wouldn’t wanna mess that up.
Not the only banjo.
Colynn Hit,
Mr Presscot,
and yours truly Who-Would’ve-Thought-It,
combine their forces with this little boy to meet enlightenment—
climbing partners everyone,
a sadhana circle, dream group, sort of thing.
We’re all comin’ along.
You comin’?
Harm's End 