Tag: Auroville

The Window

On By Donny Lee DukeIn applied nonduality, ego activism, scientific materialismLeave a comment
photo by the author

I live in an undisclosed location in the area of the international city of human unity, Auroville, and I keep repeating that, and so it could get disclosed if I’m not careful, but I want to draw attention to the fact that I live where what I’m talking about is the center of the world. I’m an ex Green Beret, expat American, ex Classical Greek scholar, in India 20 years now. I traveled the world a penniless vagabond for 10 years before I settled here, but with my skill set I sometimes got nice work and lived rather well, and sometimes no; I lived outside. I spent a lot of time, months at a time, a hermit somewhere in self-study and inner exploration. Yes, I urged the machine on on a U.S. special forces tactical nuke team and in ’83 parachuted with my team into West Germany with the bomb, not knowing until we landed if it were armed or not. It wasn’t obviously. In ’95 I did a hunger strike in Jerusalem with a Danish guy, Lars, so he’d help me tape poems of mine on holy places around the old city, and I looked at them like tactical nukes. I went on alone to put them on the top of Mt. Sinai and inside and around the Great Pyramid. I’m just talking here, and I repeat these things a lot. In a world where make-believe superhero after superhero save the world, the universe, and the made-up multiverse, where stories bigger than reality make up the big screen, are the top off of entertainment to the mass of us, we get numb to reality, and a real guy with an interesting story just doesn’t stand a chance.

I’ve had some small town fame, a TV spot in Cuzco, Peru, made local news sometimes being a homeless pilgrim, but fame and me are a world apart. The poems on holy places were rather bad. Now I still write poems, post them on the net now, mostly here on my blog, get published some, have a very small readership that seems to be getting smaller not bigger, probably because of the subject material of last post. I can only say the poems are better than the ones I tried to nuke holy places with, poems which were not loaded with the weapons grade plutonium of the muse of poetry. So it was a practice mission too. Am I still on a practice mission? I now have that weapons grade plutonium. The problem will not let you see that.

Anyway, I don’t think you see the problem. It’s not Trump, Modi or any political person or party, although they certainly cause a lot of problems. We all do, some a lot, some not a lot. The problem’s not racists, sex fiends, war or even climate change, although we all see what those things do, if we want to admit it or not. I’ve been on the outside of society enough to discover hidden things, and one of the biggest is that consciousness is not localized inside of us some imagination of a thing we live alone in; we share it among ourselves, the good and the bad. This knowledge alone would revolutionize society. Thoughts and feelings move like waves among us, disguised as or own, and we act upon that in mass, most especially hatred and ill will. A magnet picks it up and tries to kill as many people as they can in one go; a president or PM picks it up and ruins a nation more than it already is, and, let’s face it, not a nation one is not ruined. A blogger picks it up and spreads more misunderstanding and ill will, a poet does and does not revolutionize society.

There is so much more to us than the tip of the iceberg. Just the everyday of dreams will change your mind towards shared meaning, if you learn to interpret them, and I’m sorry, but I bet you really haven’t, and you haven’t because it will knock you down with the knowledge of the future they give, of the hearts of the men, women, and children around you, dogs too, of the world unfolding before everybody’s eyes that you are beginning to see because you can interpret the representation, knock you down enough you keep trying to get up and get the word out, in the stunned manner of somebody with really something to say fumbling all over themselves with that word just seething with the elements of inner discovery. If you have then show me. I’m open to your interpretation.

I’m trying to say we are likened unto cavemen still in regard to being ignorant about very basic knowledge of ourselves because we see out the cave of our lives only open out onto the outer world and not also into the hidden caverns of our deeps, are still little animals vying for feeding space and a place in the sun, have not even become fully human yet, in the sense of being creatures more than animals able to move, live, and have our being in the good society nowhere yet created on Earth, but we can at the very least understand we are still becoming and open more to that than the disappointment and fear the times give us, have always given us since we began to speak and build fires huddled together in ancient times afraid more of each other than bears, lions, and wolves. What does this mean to you? I imagine it won’t mean anything more than a curiosity, but I thought I might post this anyway.

My blog gets maybe 10 views a post, and when I have gotten off onto another blog or, recently, onto a literary and art magazine, my content gets the average views/likes the blog does or the magazine, and that’s that. I just can’t say the ‘problem’ right, in poetry or prose, but I want to try again, but you’ll wonder at the digression I make in doing so. It’s the problem with knowledge of anything: you have to explain the whole world to enter any house of ideas within it. You’ve got to start at the beginning, which, I might add, just keeps trailing off into infinity.

The revolution in thought that led to us seeing Earth as a planet rotating in space with a host of ‘dead’ planets around a star in a galaxy one of no one knows how many in a universe that seems like some finite infinity, as opposed to the religious views, which put Earth front and center, not only in Europe but the ‘civilized’ world over, took too many ruined lives and deaths, many, many years to establish as the reality we all take for granted except for some who would doubt that the toilet bowl they sit on is round they are so big-headed, holdouts to themselves on the throne and not the group mind, now so divided we risk the death of us.

Now no one need blast off in space or study the views in a telescope to convince themselves the Earth is not dead center. It’s established fact, but what long-term, iffy at first, in fits and starts revolution it took to establish it, and we might even say that science had its birth there or at least cut its teeth on that struggle to know and establish. We are faced with the same now in regard to other facts of us equal in enormity to these scientific facts I’m stating now but greater, much greater, to what it means to be human and live and work together on this planet. And now science, holding the position of arbitrator of fact, as religion did of old, blocks the new incoming knowledge, not with imprisonment and death but with ridicule and obscurity, oblivion, and religion too is there with its dogma opposing fact, as always.

The revolution in thought needed now is one that decentralizes ourselves, and I mean the one by one of us, from that dead center space, where each one of us are separate islands unto ourselves the de facto center of the world because our senses put us there and our thought and feeling, where we only know others think and feel as we do because it’s obvious, or should be, not because we experience theirs firsthand, and where it’s the degree we’re able to realize that fact of others, that they are the center too and think and feel every bit as real as we do, which determines our success or failure in being able to uphold our moral principles and our higher ideals, which, if you get right down to it, all have as their basis being good to others.

Compassion, peace, unselfishness, and so on are each a higher ideal, and as that only a few of us are able to grasp a higher ideal with our hands and have it guide our lives, such is the overriding strength of the infra-rational in us, and even those few fail quite often. I know I do, but what makes me continually pick it up and try again, indeed forces me to, is the knowledge that I have gained, know as intimately as I know my own penis and body parts, whereby we, all of humanity, including all other animals and every plant, even the denying stone and refuting earth, share our awareness of being with one another, notwithstanding the stone and earth’s denial of such, share identity, share the field of consciousness, which means that we communicate with one another via dream and vision every single night and day, as I’ve said, flinging contradiction to the four winds, hate into every heart, such is the node-gas of the human field filled with so many of us the Earth can’t contain us. We need the higher ideal written upon our hearts and minds so that they are the very stuff of our mouths, hands and feet. That is the revolution we need, an inner revolution.

We are still in the very beginning, early stages of grounding the knowledge among us that starts the inner revolution I’m speaking of that comes from knowing we share a field of consciousness among ourselves and the practical implications of that in terms of human behavior, and that we share also identity with other human beings and also with all beings and things, and the knowledge of higher being that comes from the deep discovery of a shared identity.

That revolution I am still undergoing in my own life, but the lifetime I have spent to gain the knowledge and experience that is giving rise to that inner revolution is not possible for the mass. Only very few can afford it, and I’m not talking about how much money it costs; I’m talking about how concern with money, and all the survival implications of it, cannot be of any capital importance, and who can live like that? And that’s not to mention how many among that number have the capacity to open the inner doors to begin with. Which leads to the second obstacle in establishing such knowledge upon the Earth, which no doubt was one when science was trying to get out of the vice grip of religion and float the Earth in infinite space where it belongs and not at the center of all of creation: there are so very many voices saying, “It’s here the knowledge of world and being; I have it; to me men and women, to me!” It’s impossible to find the needle in the haystack that has the goods, or to put it more concretely, the needle that is pin-pointed in reality and not speculation, conjecture, belief, and superstition.

Before science became science, with its method and set procedure that others could see the results of and judge whether or not so and so fulfilled that, because they could test the results themselves given the right setup, a lot of voices rose in the mix. How were the true scientists discovered? By their testable results that set them apart from other voices. What else can I do but show you my results? You can employ the same setup and get the same results, but you need a master key, not a leap of faith but one of intelligence, what might be called representative intelligence, something that approaches the supra-rational, so to interpret the data that comes in, which is the same data coming in to dream laboratory after dream laboratory, only, because the data is representational on a level science does not yet consider, whereby it’s not outer events being symbolized but the inner reality giving rise to the outer event, its essence showing itself in an act of creation, the creation of the outer world, either possibilities showing themselves or an actuality manifesting, science cannot crack the dream code. It does not give reality to the inner field, much less a power that is creating our lives. You must pardon my indulgence of conjecture and speculation, but I cannot resist the temptation to ask where our dreams and visions take place within us if not on a very tiny level, perhaps subatomic, creating movies we momentarily live in that are moving worlds that cannot possibly fit inside us, if you get the picture.

My partner in the investigation of inner experience, Douglas, and I have cracked the dream code, and we have data-driven and evidenced-based results in the form of a podcast, The Dream Company, which shows how to interpret dreams and see that shared field of consciousness, demonstrated in the daily life of a dream group together many years, but you have to listen to more episodes than your patience and your like button would allow because it takes many, many examples for that field to come clearly into view, and when the creators of such content are unknown and with no real credentials, on an electronic communication field that doubts its own validity, you don’t have the group okay it takes to take that time.

You’d find my poetry and prose on the net if you looked, returning to me personally, although Douglas has had a lot to do with my writings, providing financial and emotional support and the discussion of ideas. It’s particularly when the writing relates my own personal experience as an adventurer in the inner and outer world that you see the inner revolution in progress and the cathartic events that led up to it and continue to lead it on, but that all-negating word anecdotal will crop up, a way science has shielded itself from new knowledge of ourselves in terms of consciousness, intentionally or not, and I’ll be laughed into the barn.

But you know, America was discovered long before it was discovered, and it wasn’t discovered by the scientific method. You couldn’t repeat the results of finding it in all these other labs. You had to go there yourself or trust the anecdotal experience of those who had, and when enough had, America became a factual location on this Earth to the people who didn’t know that before. When we are speaking of events or locations in consciousness, not in terms of the brain but of consciousness itself, such as the discovery of the shared field of consciousness, or even the interpretation of dream for that matter, and I will only mention here but not really include the shared identity, which takes so much more to discover than merely reviewing dream and vision, you have to have as your source material the anecdotal experience of everyday people because you can’t reproduce those things in a lab, the same dream and inner things I mean, but you can approach those things with a set method open to being as flexible as the wind so it can establish the inner facts of us, shared symbols of the inner field, shared locations in the inner consciousness, so that we can begin the inner revolution that leads to that shared us.

Okay, do you see the problem?

Here’s looking at yah.

Look to the mountain humanity.

I sell garments there.

I’m a piece of the Earth
put a Mac in space.

You Don’t Have Any Choice

On By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment
photo by Douglas
That kid sees daddy
God’s will.
That kid never sees daddy again.
His parents are evil saying that.
Evil and horny,
they market this child for themselves.
This is bad business.
They stomp on him every day.
They can’t help themselves.
It’s gleeful.
They like making this boy suffer.
The power surrounds them.
They feel like Gods in his presence.
They get off on his pain.
They know he loves daddy,
and they punish him for it,
every single day.

They are beside themselves with hate—
their child wants to be with daddy,
and they know that.
The terror they put through him
to force him to keep his mouth shut,
or to force him to lie,
is what you do to your child when you’re monsters.
He is so scared of them
he has thoughts they will kill him,
smother him in his sleep
I’ve already told you in another poem.
Can you imagine doing that to your child,
being the terror of his life?

They revel in this,
will not let him up,
and the power they have over God,
it’s where they find themselves stupid.
God does not honor them
or what they do.
How God allows evil
to take us for a ride,
is everywhere apparent.
You saw how long the Nazis rule,
how long Islamic State cut people to pieces.
Then God comes in,
and evil forces are destroyed,
like the Earth itself does it.
You see it happen every day.
Evil gets reckoned with.

Evil gets changed,
can we show you the gist of this story?
Nithish is not here to suffer
so his parents can be punished for it.
They will know what they did,
and their love for their child will show them,
what has been there a measure on the situation,
keeping the beatings to a minimum,
keeping the abuse from killing him.
You know he thought of suicide.
What this boy has done
is shown what child abuse is
when it’s not recognized as abuse,
here in India where you can beat children
and totally and absolutely control their lives,
bend them to your will,
even expect they worship you,
and even adulthood
does not find freedom.

Nithish has gone through this
so you can see this.
They’re not expecting art.
They weren’t expecting mine.
His parents aroused a poet
to defend his boy,
to help his boy,
to save his boy,
the likes of which you’ve never seen, have you?
A power of poetry
that gives God reign,
that let’s Him do His business,
you hear it now.

But we find another poet here,
tender in years,
his parents have tried to murder
because they associate it with me.
I opened up poet in him,
and you’ve heard him sing.
He has the future in his hands,
a poet of prophecy,
and he prophesied this abuse
and his waylay in it.
Read his poetry
this can’t be denied.

Can we come to terms with Nithish?
His future poetry writes
a verse that will finally free children
from being someone’s property,
from having the status of slaves,
not to buy and sell and trade,
but to make them obey
with no say in the matter,
and to make them do their parents’ will
regardless of the cost to the child,
to make it as though the child was born for them,
for the parents’ pleasure,
for the parents’ rule,
to obliterate the fact that a soul came down
on this adventure Earth
to work out its purposes in time.
This slavery we need to see,
and these slaves we need to free.

To abruptly stop his childhood in the slam shut of school,
when he has a learning disability they do not address,
they know but will not admit,
will scar him for the rest of his life.
It’s their thang with him,
and they love it there.
You’re meant to be crisscrossed.
You’ve stolen the boy’s life,
but you cannot see you’re wrong for the trees,
the stupid people who back you up,
the negligent police,
the blatantly ignorant Child Welfare Committee,
and a school that is so backward in education
they let parents abuse their child
and don’t even know what a learning disability is.
They are ridiculously called New Modern
Vidhya Mandir Higher Secondary School,
and they’re not going to stop me
from showing them to the public when all this is over.
They need held accountable for this.
I will see to that.

Interstellar from national backgrounds,
I will show where Earth is wrong in school,
school responsible for the shape we’re in,
and school we need to change.
Academics take a backseat to being human
you colonial legacies
fillin’ the Industrial Revolution’s need.
Antiquated,
outdated,
and on steroids,
it’s destroying our world.
Beavis and Butt-Head
are to help us through kids
to their appointment in time,
to their children now adults later,
to the sting of childhood
making us examine ourselves
in roles as parents and teachers
crammin’ adulthood down their throat,
and they are yet but children.
You very ignorant
and narrow-minded,
corncob stuck up your ass,
uptight bunch of people,
did you hear that?

Good, I’m weighin’ on yah now.
Just wait till that boy regains his pen
you stop shoving school down his throat

and let his poet speak,
his purpose on this God’s green earth
you won’t allow cause you’re dim in the head
and give his parents absolute rights.
Just wait till he gets that pen again.
Just wait.
Nithish will give us the right ideas
to parent children,
and that is his future fate.
That poet is among us now
silenced,
gagged.
You think so?
Let’s wait and see.

Look at Pearls on the Mountaintop

On By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment 
I’m a bleeding article from your last test,
a hyper-hypotenuse.
I say the line.
It’s a dynamic field.
We don’t get there soon.
We don’t even see it for awhile.
I hate to be the seeding can.
I’m not celebrated in the streets.
I can’t get my name across to change the world,
but I tell you where God’s made,
Mr. and Mrs. People.

God grows distant here.
I am so tired of institutions.
The institutions of marriage and family break our social fabric
in adhesive bonds.
We can’t get away from them.
They test our social fabric
with what can’t be named,
a guttural possessiveness that puts us all in hordes.
We tarry there
eating each other alive.
It’s needed for our ship,
a family of parents that brings kids into the world.
It’s not what we need to survive.
It’s what we need to get rid of
as the managing arm of society,
as our social fabric dies.

We can’t raise kids that way:
listen to me or die.
My life you have made whole by your coming,
and I will rub your nose in it all life long.
You can’t be free from me
where you go against my purpose for your life,
my need you for my own ends.
Society balks at this:
give that child freedom
to manage freedom.
Why must he live his parents’ life?
Why must she be the daughter of their destiny?

Why do we have to do this all the time:
uphold the parents’ rights
to determine the will of their child?
Can you count this
in terms of freedom?
Step back parent
and let your child play outside
no rulers present,
no supervisor gag models.
Alarming this is
on humanity’s plate:
Big Brother rules the child
just in everyday parenting.

The fear of outside unsupervised doors,
sex resides there, doesn’t it?
Your fear of sex rules the show.
Your fear of sex rules everything.
They get scared
of their own front teeth
we put sex trafficking models on them,
a child molester behind every bush.
They don’t know what it means to be normal
with the fear the news media raises.
Add that to their own possessive accounts,
the parent that raise them,
to guard that child at all costs
from perceiving another parent in someone else,
and you just explode at the seams
with a child that can’t reckon itself,
and they will grow up unable to handle society.

A new institution will make the new man.
A small group of people family size
will orchestrate the new human being.
They still visit their families
every damn week,
maintain those close ties,
but any kid that can relate a dream,
old enough to,
becomes part of a dream group
their dream calls them to.
This is a sadhana watch ladies and gentlemen,
and a handful of people call its name.
They are near the child’s home
forming all the time.

It’s what society does now,
spiritual growth.
No clogs in the machine,
children will grow up to change the world.
A spiritualized society
comes about from its own accord.

It rises from the soul in things,
and we almost see glimpses of it now.
No government can put this in place,
nobody that makes steps the criteria to get there,
and no organization makin’ people do it.

I’m a sadhana watch ladies and gentlemen
speaking its piece,
and we’ve lost our youngest member
to parental overreach,
Nithish,
a prototype of the new human being.
His stuff is on the web for you to watch.
His tale is told
in these crawl spaces of his life.
Jealous of the songs he was makin’,
jealous of the music,
his parents made a big mistake.
They tried to take out his soul
in great abusive waves
that tore down his life.
No reason for this
except jealousy.

It’s heartrending.
Their cruelty destroyed him,
and he was left a nervous wreck
scared they would smother him in his sleep.
In such an environment he turned off the new human being.
Betrayed by God,
whom he adored,
he stood helpless facing time
a growing rage against the machine.
Parental rights determined all,
why I’m fighting for his life.
You hear me now, don’t you?

I can’t do it anymore,
just stand by and write poems.
I’m a half today.
The other half is his,
and we make a whole of action.
Finally, inevitably,
we come together on freedom.
Hear us Lord?
It’s Your horse we ride
the day we certainly dare,
the day we certainly keep.

Prayin’ for the Hour of God

On By Donny Lee DukeIn applied nonduality, ego activism, Poetry4 Comments

This poem was posted on the private Facebook group Auroville International. If you have been following recent posts on this blog, I’ve chronicled how they’ve declined everything I’ve tried to post on that Facebook group, totaling nine posts. Now, do I erase all I’ve chronicled? No, I think this might be valuable to show what it means to be heard.

Many a short to a poem.
They won’t do definition.
They get Auroville
working
in its nitty-gritty.
I’m a mountain boat.
We’ve gotta come up with a freeway
to blanket taxes.
Are you on the hate side of reason?
Does anybody get your goat?
Would you like to see them punished?

I’m a round about can.
You’re supposed to do this in your underwear.
I’ll let them know
they have my vote today,
and I will drop all punishment lists
and let them be there,
on the star of human unity,
and I will include them in the new human being.
How can I ensure all this happens?
I don’t require of them anything.
I am just kind to them,
whatever they’ve done,
whoever they are.

If it’s really close to home,
some dirt they’ve done,
my gee that hurt
I will tell them,
but I’m not going to hate you in this conversation.
I’m going to battle you with love.
It’s my duty as an Aurovillian.
Can’t you see the problem?
Human unity cannot hate.
It cannot exclude anyone
from its acceptance speech,
meaning you ignore no one,
and all get your goodwill.
Are we right on that?

That’s the holistic speaker.
That’s how we bring human unity into the room
and not just talk about it.
You with me kids?
I didn’t think so.
I’m just teachin’ yah how to be human,
and you refuse me.
Are you still a mountain to my molehill?

Unconscious everybody
take the city apart.
It can’t stand from within.
A foreign body of law
then comes in
and lords it over all of yah.
Let’s get the goats out of the shed.
She’s not gonna happen
you have no more scapegoats.
That’s a big horse you’re ridin’ Auroville,
and you’ve achieved human unity.

What else is it but including everyone
in the worth you give human being?
You don’t have to take them to lunch.
You don’t have to tie their shoe.
You give them the time of day
like you mean it.
There’s nobody that gets excluded from this.
Alright Aurovillian,
measure up.

Now look behind you.
I’m on your report card.
I open to you
a scientific altar ego,
the scapegoat of the day
where sexual sin meets the railroad tracks.
Nailed on the Cross to suffer with Jesus I said
this isn’t working.
I can’t author you along.
I can’t show you art.
I can’t startle you with spiritual experience.
World experience doesn’t impress you
or the quality of my education
Classical Greek and all that.
Even that I’m a kind human being
that cleans his own house
and makes buttered bread for yah
doesn’t move your feet.
Tada!
It’s a miracle
my boy back this evenin’,
and it wasn’t supposed to happen in a million years.
That made me human to you.

Okay let’s go.
We got so many who just need good faith
to add to their humanity to make it work,
or at least put try on the table.
Come on let’s go brother,
and let’s get goin’ sister.
Made you human enough to look
center stage,
and that’s where we need to be blessed,
oh people of Auroville.

That was an impossibility
you threw away my opportunity
that boy’s comin’ home.
We’re going to do some work
in other children’s bedrooms,
and I’m just going one, one, one.
Silly boys, eight girls,
this tie your shoe.
In the nominal,
in the history of God,
where will we hunch those things?
I want you to lay down,
and we’re gonna move through dream to spiritual experience.
That’s my forte with kids,
and I know how to do it,
and I love it there.
Not the shoes.
A little open-minded—
if I don’t touch a worry root,
okay?
Now let’s get God manifested on this Earth.

photos by the author

I Put Money in That Stupid Phone

On By Donny Lee DukeIn applied nonduality, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment

I don’t think it was specifically because of this poem, but Auroville International posted a poem of mine in their private Facebook group some days after I posted this poem to Facebook and here. I think it had to do with the quality of the poem they did post, maybe not in terms of poetic merit, but in terms of being sincere to the goal of Auroville International, which they seem to be. That poem is called “Prayin’ for the Hour of God” posted on this blog a few days after I posted this one.

photo by Nithish
Not one star
Auroville International.
These are the streets
humanity is lost.
Wow,
could you say the Mother’s will is here?
Fuck this assistant,
is that what you say?
I give my critique to the Sun.
A poet’s basin it hears,
and that’s how I write this poem.
I’m a rose for my little boy,
and I’m fighting for him here,
S. Nithish.
We make music together.
Hear it?

Stop quivering old D,
your fingers will look like the attention,
and they are.
Alright rebel,
steal the show.
I have my own blog to put it on,
to make sure I can be heard.
I guess you don’t have anything to worry about,
and I’ve just processed you with the snake.
Auroville International,
here I leave my calling card
you hateful organization hellbent on revenge,
and that’s where we find your attention.

We’re all completely naked.
All of you
need to get off your thin horses and see this:
that boy needs Donny.
I feel like a fundamental character.
I feel like a plot.
These are ice to snow more shoes.
We’re both realizing we’re here.
Our mastermind
sets people free.
That’s the long and short of it.
Now terrible channels go home.
I’m about to go on the other side of the wall.
You will see me there promptly.
Then you can count grab ass and green cards,
you holier than thou bunch of people,
you people Auroville don’t need.

Just look at the character you endow with.
You come upon the scene with the hatred of the machine,
and you throw people away.
Self-sacrifice to help your brother,
go out on a limb to speak to him,
you can’t find that in yah,
because you’ve agreed among yourselves to hate
and rob people of their right to exist
and banish them from the land,
and not even eternity
can redeem them,
oh you Christian bunch of people
where your bones meet the land.

Stark naked I am
in front of your mow me down,
and I ride vulnerable and sweet
to your execution
where you ban art.
I ride healing
in the midst of your hate,
and I’m here to stay.
Are you gonna shoot me?
There is no love in your ice machine,
and that is pitiful and strange
because you are the consideration of a city
that seeks to grow new men and women
who want to radically change the Earth
into a paradise of brotherly love and hope
that dares bring God into our human flesh
and divinize the land.

You are that change,
oh you normal people
putting hate where God grows.
Old system be gone,
old ways,
that punishes you
an infantry of hate and ill will
that has no means to grow
the integration of society
in healing’s ways.
You destroy that
too selfish and a pain
to the officer of love.

See this and change
or lose your raison d’être with us,
the people on the groundwork of human unity,
harvesting it into the hands of the city
to realize this on Earth.
Now take my sin and look at it again
in light of the art I’ve given you.
It’s the end of harm isn’t it?
Paid for by penance
and long years of learning
the pain that I have caused.
Can you grasp that?
Goodbye.
Auroville International will you answer your position?

Mastodon Photo-Poems, Volume 1

On By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activism, photopoetryLeave a comment

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

Posted January 23

Posted January 28

photo by Douglas

The Gravities of Thin Earth

On By Donny Lee DukeIn ego activism, Poetry1 Comment
photo by the author

This poem has been published by Edge of Humanity Magazine: https://edgeofhumanity.com/2024/11/11/the-gravities-of-thin-earth/, and it’s been reblogged on The Skeptic’s Kaddish https://skepticskaddish.com/2025/01/05/reblog-the-gravities-of-thin-earth-by-donny-lee-duke/

I’m on the edge of time.
I stand here and sing.
I’m not about the braggart of time.
I hold my voices down.
I’m all the way down
where you know me
invisible.
I did not carry this to my car.
I banished it.
I operated on you right where it hurt.
I hit you in your social glasses.
I tried to be free.

For all the noise I made a scarlet letter came down
and banished me,
but it’s not there
where I pet my dogs
and clean my house
and cook for my best friend caring for him.
I greet people like they’re the node of the day.
I want them to know they are big in my eyes,
just to help them ease the day
to a better feeling for them.
I hold knowledge in my hand,
but I cannot shake their hand with it.
It’s an alien spaceship,
fairies in the wood.
It’s who they are beyond time,
and it is what I can see ails them.
I turn the page
and spew this out on a page to you,
dear reader,
where audience is as big a mystery as God.
Do you hear me?

I see where the world’s going and how it ends,
edging universes towards yah
how the impossibilities of the one fulfill the other.
Look at our goat today,
but look at our supernal skies.
I’ve painted myself wood
of a lone seer in time.
Silly me I bark too,
and I cry for myself
in moments of abandoned self-love.
I hold in my hand
the wrong sort of type,
the wrong font for you to see reason,
because it is way out your door.
Can you gauge me?

I’m in your toilet bowl.
I’m in your lunch pail,
and I’m around your cookery at night.
I get in bed with your children,
and I’m in the love of your dogs.
I take your glasses off to see society,
and I break you down to see your soul.
I’m a view of the vision of God,
and I’m this little man next door.
Hear me climb to the skies
a poem rider,
a poet mile,
and I’ll get you one day,
to get you to say hello world it’s me,
and I love this poem.
Don’t you see?

This poem also was declined by the private Facebook group Auroville International, and neither their admin nor anyone else from their organization will yet speak to me.

Thought About Rainbows

On By Donny Lee DukeIn ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment
Image from Plate 14 of William Blake’s Jerusalem, 1804–1820 (public domain)
I hate the shoot up of this wad.
If I use sexual imagery you’re bound to buy me.
We are not at our survival,
and there’s not a bear chasing us.
You’re in your kitchen
or master room,
hanging on every word
to get clear reasons to put me in jail
or finally prove I’m wrong
you public think.

Let’s unload this on the public floor.
I don’t know what it is either.
I’m hearing things write down,
a used garbage pail
to most of you cats.
Chop me to pieces will yah?
I’m on Earth today
getting pretty desperate
election time
on that world bar America.
Trump just got elected,
and I’m sorry folks he’s dead.
The vehicle would shoot everybody.
We can’t have him in office,
understand?

What’s gonna happen?
You can’t get America right again.
The Right will take over,
and all the policies that will police yah,
and religion will have a field day
brewin’ public opinion
Christianity stalks.
We can’t even stop it
only aware of our own agenda,
not necessarily nice.
The world will change.
American mean in it.
To grow up in the new country,
to grow up in the United States,
you will see foreigners as twisted sisters
come here and buy all of yah.

What’s the inner being like?
It’s your pick this evening,
to bring that nightmare further:
oh my God America’s change.
It will really throw rights out the window.
You can’t play anymore
puddin’ and spice.
Get fuckin’ outta here!
Who knows
how many crossword puzzles
paid for breakfast,
and they weren’t even supposed to be admitted in the news.
I’ve been here my whole life,
and I study reality.
Never mind,
they were makin’
I need paper towels,
but this won’t happen:
nobody mops up the spilled blood.
They talk about more than fuck out.

I thought maybe you’d
grab a horn
and keep America from gettin’ in office
where Trump runs it.
It’s dire emergency.
Get with the lesson plan:
we need a new world,
the divine human being
getting ready on our tops,
not the Bible said today,
a religion in office.

Spider monkeys,
somebody’s
gonna have to put lead in their bullets,
and do more than just chime,
and vote them suckers down
far out of thirty minutes,
like a rollin’ pin.
You need elections,
this election,
beat her up,
go out there and get milk,
from the Statue of Liberty.
That’s not all she wrote.

My own show,
it is very opening. (vision with the line of scrolling down my blog Harm's End, but the only image showing was one which illustrates a post, a photo of a Black man of about a 100 years ago holding a guitar, obviously an expert on it. The post is about my past life as a Black guitar player who was killed by the KKK, burned alive, for playing in White joints. The vision ended there and the scrolling down)
Poetry as a means to communicate words of action
is nobody’s pick me up.

They suck.
They tell the truth.
I’m out of fields today,
and I don’t know what more expression I can write,
hallelujah, amen.
Keep Trump out of office.

I’m actually a century before.
I don’t know what they had in mind,
the colony
who populates divine word.
Give ‘em an hallucinogen,
the reader I can’t see.
It heightens everything,
even Auroville,
but no I didn’t take one today,
or since I became better at knocking on wood,
years ago.
I can’t stomach your audience.
Is that Auroville?
No I speak to America from,
doggy style.
Don’t get Trump in office.

Is this the Hallelujah Trail?
No it’s not it’s language.
I eat camera’s all the time,
the one I told you about yesterday in your own cabin.
In the history of Trump
I stop wanderin’ around.
These are the votes.
I’m the vote
that let’s you know divine will
in the matter.
Compared to our official engagement,
even Saturday Night Live can’t keep up.
This hole in the ground,
this hole in the wall,
has consequences
I’m gettin’ away.
Grandiose title, ain’t it,
Thought About Rainbows?
Try on Earth some more.
You deserve them.

Another Jacob

On By Donny Lee DukeIn collective consciousness, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment
Jacob Wrestling with the Angel by Leon Bonnat (public domain)
You’re on live.
You’re still switchbacks.
Let’s see if I can find ‘im,
wife beater.
High on our side,
you’re the premium.
You prove the words.
Put you in the dustbin.
Where you think you are buddy?
This is Afghanistan?

I’m gonna be sayin’
I’m really glad you’re here
in the not too distant future.
Agreed,
don’t let him in.
See you tomorrow.
A new episode,
Aimless By Elvis.
We’re 9:30.
Fresh took from the Mother
they did not realize.

Higher law
would you challenge?
Listen to this bullshit.
I like that medical.
I like that emergency.
Alongside
I don’t wanna bother people.
I don’t want to fucking bother people.
So we pretend we’re okay.
I’m the manager
of a showcase word
that’s totally unacceptable in society.
No one listens to it,
except a few who know what it means,
because they write the stuff,
or it’s in their hands to read.

The city of dawn don’t like it,
won’t even give it the time of day,
who it’s for
where its record keeps.
They don’t listen to it.
They don’t want it.
It’s a waste of time to write it.
I look at the long of it,
and help is on these pages
I can’t get out to the public,
understandings that would bring peace,
revelations enlightenment.

I can heal,
and I can just listen to sins.
I sit here flabbergasted
the world does not want to heal,
and no one wants to face reality,
and I’m reality’s keeper,
the healer of old wounds.
I can’t count this.
I can’t see its shores.
There’’s no end to the proud ignorance we all share.
There’s no listenin’ to our faults.
There is only straight ahead
bullshitting ourselves
we are honest and sincere,
or just say fuck it screw everybody
I want my MTV,
a cultural allusion
to I want whatever pleasure I can get
to get lost in it,
and some say really wanna hurt people
and let that world end.

Where are we today?
We can’t see ourselves.
We are not there,
honest to God trying
to better ourselves,
to make the world clean,
to have a functioning society.
We hate each other,
and sometimes with good reason,
but who thinks hate heals?
It destroys our world.
It’s a poison in your inner life
goading your neighbor to sin,
like pick up a gun and shoot people with it.

And here we are on the airways
putting thoughts in people’s minds
an unconscious contest.
We are not ready for everybody thinks
in the same pool of blood.
We can’t see that,
and it’s not a belief you fit into.
Painstakingly over mountains of years,
this comes up in dream and vision.

You see the inner connection
interpreting dream symbols
and see them manifesting in the outer world.
You have to see it for yourself.
It comes up again and again.
This in itself would revolutionize society,
make us kind to each other
in the wheelbarrow of our try,
make us join together
as one people
that holds humanity at stake.

You can’t see it if you’re a scientist
studying dreams.
Their field won’t allow it—
too many rules,
but take a choir and put it together,
who sing their dreams to one another over many long years,
and you will definitely see it
in the songs that you sing,
and you will change the world.
God no,
you won’t even get it to listen to it,
and I’m comin’ from one choir.
Hear me speak?

I don’t know what I’m lookin’ at.
Check this out,
there’s this guy on the radio
crammin’ religion down our throats,
the nut,
magical thinker pattern picker-outer
where they’re not there,
magical thinking fool.
We can’t get around this
introducing consciousness into the picture
in a world of material thinkers
who bargain for the day.

AI speaks
and everybody listens,
or enough that endanger our world.
Can I crawl this to you,
an innate speaking system
that spiritualizes mankind
in great healing waves
your own inner voice speaks?
How God you have to be to get there,
how many trials.

It heals humanity,
like a rocket test.
It won’t make the news
because it’s individually run,
a healing system on Earth,
where the Earth loads itself
all shame and everything,
where we don’t want to see.
This is the great test of healing’s ways.

You see the rulebook?
I can’t get this across.
So the city laughs at me
you stupid little thing.
Got no time for your poetry.
We are too busy with our not see.
Can I spell this out?
Auroville created for great change,
to create among its selves the new human being,
based on oneness and I do care,
that brings humanity to the mountaintops,
is closed to it when it comes,
laughs the poet off the pier,
just wants him out of town.

Alright listen up.
I’m here,
and I’m not the new human being,
but I got recipes children
that’ll put this in our hands.
There, there now no.
I’m a fire speaker on your shores,
and I continue with it now
you know reluctantly all systems go.

Art in the nature of its see
looks at us through tall glasses.
We think we’re the audience.
We propaganda time.
Art,
when it comes from its source,
makes us move mountains
to see ourselves,
and therein lies its price.

It’s not beauty you’re looking at,
or ugly turned inside out.
You’re lookin’ at yourself in mirrors of our kind,
so we can sit with it awhile
and put the light on our lives.
Can you find art today?

A little bit of Heaven
is the maker’s bill we’ve lost

in how it's made,
inspiration’s golden ring.
Would you throw this away
because it wrestles with sin and vice,
wrestles with the Gods
to bring Auroville here
to bring down God here on Earth
unpunished Prometheus,
ordered by the Gods no?
You tell me.

Another poem declined by the private Facebook group Auroville International but approved and posted by the Facebook group Auroville, INDIA.

In Sudden Splendor Ridin’ Rainbows

On By Donny Lee DukeIn childhood education, ego activism, PoetryLeave a comment
image by the author, photo of the Earth by NASA (public domain)
Upholder of consciousness,
can I call you a name?
You just got laid off,
and you’ll get laid off again,
and there’s nothin’ to get ready for tomorrow.
You’re not a big man on campus yet.
You’re an embarrassing little thing,
and no one will hear you sing.
This is not standin’ in the air.
This is not wide enough silly in the air.
You’ve got tall trees growin’,
and you’ve reached the limit of your room.
Things get bigger.
They envelope in consciousness.

Wow I believed you this time.
I thought somethin’ was gonna happen.
I don’t even worry about the fish,
the fallout from this.
Nobody understands my shores.
Take ‘im away Bob.
The irony in all this,
and I have the light that shines on Earth.
Foiled again
at the book nodes.

Where’s my superman,
my help you with it?
I’m not just a fly on a coffee table.
I’ve actually seen what I saw.
Answer your question:
your art and poetry put out,
look what’s happened.
Nobody wants to see you.
They’re all put out,
and they’re hungry

from guess room again.
How can you say such things you measly little piece of paper?
And we shut you down.
You are not making us mediocre;
we are.

Now let’s ride to the end of this chapter.
You won’t get it,
and I will stand by your work.
You’ve got a major 2 o’clock comin’.
It’s in your show/window now.
[two above words heard spoken simultaneously]
Don’t sit just there read somethin’.

He hadn’t looked around.
He was not just a horse in time
courting sincerity.
He grafted you upon the tree of life
where you mattered and held count.
One,
they don’t know
you play ball with God and life and time,
and second,
they don’t know there’s more than what they’ve got.
This played with you,
and it didn’t mean anything
a thing you did,
and you were not big in that boy’s eyes
as you saw him lookin’ at yah.
You were not important to him,
as you saw him glow.
This bothered yah
and really made you think.
Listen to her,
listen to that boy in pain.
You alleviate it and he knows it,
and he can’t wake up to himself yet.
That’ll come soon enough.

Oh wonderful thing
hide in Their character,
hide on Their tongue.
To discover the hidden reasons of the Gods. [vision with the line of my own hand writing this in cursive on a sheet of paper]
To come down on student terms
and find out why They tick.
Why are They a decade ago,
never where man is right now?
They don’t know people like we do,
and They can’t gauge human life
in our exact location.
They are tall and kind,
but They propose to us things we can’t do.

They do not understand the human state.
They punish us for our condition,
and there’s a discrepancy between time and fate
that no amount of mercy can absolve.
We are lone here,
surrounded by Gods.
They know our every thought and deed,
climb your mind
like it’s Their jukebox,
but they don’t know how to understand you in the ways of sin.
They say no.
They don’t heal.
They do not integrate the mountain with the sea.
They meet each other and collide.

They are on our backs all the time
to ever showcase new lore,
to be an instrument for Them,
but they cannot reach us with the love we need
when we need it,
and they will let us go down
doing Their work.
They will take from us our most beloved
just to test us.
They will treat us like human souls not like breathing men.
They can’t be trusted.
They will always put Their work first.
In the quarries of the Gods
we labor under the breath of death,
and we don’t get out of it.
We don’t even see it.

We can’t know it’s there,
all the labor for the God,
least we separate our life from our sanity.
You can’t take a God’s force
bearin’ down on you,
a God’s thoughts.
They are too immortality for us.
They take on airs we cannot breathe.
They give us one commandment:
worship Them in time,
letting Them be the light of your life.
You cannot go astray from Them.
They will hound you in life’s deeps,
and you cannot stand against a God.
You can only pray.

Why am I telling you this?
The liberation from the Gods is our aim
in how we count human.
We don’t need Their scaffold
that stops us in midair,
that bullies us in time.
We don’t burn Their scaffold down.
We understand how inadequate it is.
We accept Their help
but go beyond it.
We go to the back of the plan,
what started all this universe and show,
a whole other order of being
testing limits for itself
where no limits are,
its growth by us
into the unimaginable of its see.

We are bringing this order down now
in the great upheaval of the Gods.
Can you fathom this change?
It’s a whole new way of doing things
that has harmony as its base
for righting wrong
and oneness as its lookout
for all it sees.
It does not shy away from one.
It incorporates all
into its grand plan.
It is the substance of itself
it’s planting into the universe.
It knows its great self by itself,
and it knows itself as all,
is not some cosmic God looking down
on the riddle of creation.

This way of doing things,
this Supermind,
knows by identity
and never strays from that.
It’s a Truth Consciousness.
It’s a vast Truth Consciousness,
the exact truth consciousness
ridin’ everything that is
behind its base.
It does not lie,
knows not error.
This is what we’re bringin’ down.
This is what we are.
It will change the world.
It’s what we need to see today.
It’s comin’.
It’s here,
and that’s the master plan.
It’s the truth of the universe
understandin’ time.

Look at it in the hours,
and you are in transformation,
God’s glow.
I show this to you now
with my head half in it.
I’m movin’ forward now
towards a completeness of my see,
towards supramental change
I see in my Lake,
the figure of Silent Mind
flagging me its approach.
I stumble and fall and can’t keep up,
and it’s an everyday pick me up,
but I can see it HD.

So I sing my songs
early morning vision brings,
so I can look out now
on what needs to be done.
You’re in my field today.
Hello,
are you there?
Auroville,
are you there?

The epicenter
of spiritual change,
modern life Auroville,
it can’t see itself.
It’s bigger than the sky no.
It grapples with human problems.
It grows its children
to grow nature in her room,
to be the normal round of human being.
It has high ideals
that are not in the hands of the city
in daily worth.
Impossible to describe,
the mounting towards a change in consciousness
that’s Auroville’s aim.
Human unity
will not field show.

Where is the city goin’?
Can you see ordinary
where Auroville meets its road?

No amount of spiritual-mongering can put it there,
the spiritual consciousness.
The gap between Auroville and her spiritual aims
throws Auroville out the window
as a city of spiritual change.
It’s a city of proud belief,
yoga tags,
conferences,
spiritual workshops,
sound gardens,
the green munchies.
These move the city along
a false bravado.
No spiritual revolution
seizes its day.

Can somebody tell me what we’re doin’
and why’s not the change?
We’re in plans with yesterday,
not the new planet
in the making now.
I ring this to you now.
Can you ring with me
and not vote me out?
What’s the plan?
It’s not the issues that divide us today.
Are you gonna help?

The drawback
for spiritual change
to say nothing.
We substance
where we change.
We tell you
in the manner befitting our service.
We tell you spiritual change,
how it’s happening
to us,
when we can tell it without spillin’ it,
the purpose of art and poetry
when you’re undergoing spiritual change.
You talk about it
the inner voice,
unprompted
by your decision making process.
You don’t let out a word,
otherwise.
Now it dawns on your community.

Got so many minions,
so black,
speakin’ in the voice of your word.
This is not a mere dictation.
It is a battle of the spiritual word.
Great variety sees that,
honed in
occasions.
We ride versatility to its source.
Okay I choir now.

Who inspires me but not the Gods?
The runner up
open to Supermind.
To see this distinction’s life and death
for the city.
Crucial for the city
to go beyond the Gods,
the strength of Overmind.
I explain to you now.
I explain to you how.
Lemmie guess,
you’re starlight?
The advent of Supermind
where Overmind opens to it,
you know this source,
the Mother and Sri Aurobindo,
their hills,
a few
that give us their glad tidings of wide birth.
Here we establish things,
put them in order.
On top of that
I show you a weapon master,
the rays of the Sun.

Insulated against it,
the Auroville that makes its bed,
that Auroville that goes international.
I have this title goin’ international,

The Writing on the Wall
Dummy’s Paradise.
You don’t know you’re Belushi’d out
a poet in Auroville
on comic stops.
It’s behavioral 9,
and it’s comin’ soon
to where you can see it
in Auroville’s front page.
It doesn’t suck they way they’re doin’ it either.
This latest poem is his Red Cross,
a fix it paper.
You know how it ends.
They’ve made their decision.
Just throw it out but keep the paper.
You too much for them,
and they Riviera the day.
Donny this looks terrible.
Thank you.

Finish the job.
I want a divine crossword puzzle.
You’ve got branches on it.
You’ve got the cookies stuff.
It’s delicious.
What do I do with the title?
Tell God to show up
a whole little ice cream.
We get our pieces together.
Larry Seidlitz,
empathy? identity?
Ah here,
declined.

Do you know what spirituality is?
To feel right at the zombies zone.
Donny draws the neach of us.
Speak a following a fluid law
and love from your mistakes.
It’s Auroville’s paper we need in Auroville’s hands,
true points of the consciousness of God.
Round house to an extraordinary boat on the sea,
we can lift the consciousness of God up to new heights
and stay there.
Can you count Auroville’s aim here,
her mission in words?

You climbed to the top of her mission with children.
I know;
it’s that background girl.
Nithisha not there.
He’s missing from action.
He reads his own music
a sad story,
and I’m mentionin’ firecrackers,
indo in human hearts.
How is the school?
You’re gonna help us out
then admire how beautiful it is.
This is his nanny,
Earthen Pull.

Now we met each other in consciousness.
I’m about the boy’s height,
and I’ve got a poem to show yah,
where we live,
talkin’ about consciousness one night
sharin’ pizza.
Open the door.
Watch how that decline button does things.
You miss the table with that.
You miss everything.
Can we call you Auroville International,
giver of gifts,
provider of boons?

You will delete me for this,
if I don’t hurry up.
I would like to stairway your mind.
Why is pretentious the first word that comes to mind?
How do you talk about facts
you know?
Hurry,
you gotta see this.
I have,
saw it with my own eyes
in just a seconds’ grab
up out the top of my head
to that nice familiar form
you know Yourself
perpetratin’ all these lives
without involvement in them,
like remains untouched
by the whole show.

Anyway I was up there.
Let’s go.
I am at the
period in this poem you hear me,
like really bold perfume
that talks about the important stuff.
Meanwhile on the ground I have reactions
and do my duties.
I don’t react half as much
as I used to.
I’m gettin’ round that.
Calmness is a commodity
that comes in long waves,
and then it goes out again.
I’m waitin’ for my boy to come home
so’s I can see it.
He’s safe and sound,
and that removes the ants
on my consciousness floor.
Children come first
in the scheme of things,
and I’m holdin’ mine
to safety.
Bear with me here.
You don’t know the half of it.

Okay now start your poem.
Can you leave me alone?
Come here mountain climber.
Okay do it,
behind the scenes you weren’t lookin’ for in her gala.
Where you goin’?
The party’s just gettin’ started.
Patience man patience.
You’re not gonna trip over wires.
Alright put your feet on.
We’re walkin’ to background love.
It’s an emergency.
Auroville’s dyin’
all over again.
It’s not the first time.
God gave her a bulletproof vest.
Bet you didn’t know that.
It doesn’t work sometimes,
as you can see now.
Roll a joint and pass the ammunition.
There’s a fight goin’ on in Auroville
over spiritual aim.
No worries,
many efforts
bless this mess.

And now you think I smoke pot.
It’s just a figure of speech
to unhand you.
It’s a flashpoint in Auroville,
and people don’t like it there.
The Mother said so
inflexibly no.
And you got her lists.
Not all of them work,
and she never got down to business
with the master plan.
I’ll tiny tiger this in myself,
somebody that listens to her quickly
in tales of the inner voice.
I don’t believe it’s me either,
but there you go.

My little boy was complainin’
the heaviness of the knowledge of God,
oh for example,
did you know daddy the world’s in pain?
He calls me grandpa.
I’m his spiritual teacher,
and he’s woken up to world pain,
bein’ yanked so hard by his own.
You got to know consciousness
as a spiritual aim.

Now let’s go to district 9
and give this poem some perspective
of the deepness of the knowledge of God.
He calls me master.
You know the relationship,
and they lesson there.
Wow, kangaroos,
and he really matures in that pouch.
That’s been keeping me here. [heard spoken in Nithish’s voice]
Gonna go soon,
back to daddy
and our spiritual endeavor,
the node of our relationship.
Where is it?
In that field of love.

Now the brass of Auroville
don’t stomach these waters.
You have to admit a little Reagan post.
Carrying a seditious act,
no I’m not.
You must be mistaken.
You must have me confused me with the wrong Donny.
The scaffoldin’,
it’s too much.
Find it on paper,
consciousness poem.

Huntin’ to see you again,
your big-eyed boy.
He lays in bed at night
sleepless worry,
and he can’t soothe himself.
Headaches and dizziness spell his day.
This is suffering.
Glued to him from the inner consciousness,
you manage to hold him
and speak into his mind
where his heart meets the road.
He knows you’re there.

I’m sorry sweetheart this is burnin’.
Warn title,
will you lie to me?
A terrible story
that come in the place of him?
Another body
than pain
he had to be aroused,
another program:
he loves the Mother.
She was something down
where you lost God.

You know what I mean:
you were born in my commitment.
Now I need yah to look up
and sound off the important test,
a poem in your stadium write
that helps us all to be feet
to the Mystery who cares,
balancin’ time on a rainbow,
the supramental transformation in children,
what is on your tops,
I kid you not,
waiting for Hollywood
to get with the lesson plan
and surpass Disney
there’s a child
in need of imagination.
Get it ate at the light
of the new world you’re figurin’
in the verse you’ve already written.
Hold on I’m comin’,
my sweet, beautiful boy.

Town’s end,
and miracle show up,
wonderful
ridin’ spiritual love.
Honestly,
this is brand new
eyes on God.

The above poem too was declined by the admin of the private Facebook group Auroville International. My muse wrote a short poem in response, suggesting what picture of go with it, “A picture of a rainbow,” before I even found that out, which I posted on their page and which will, no doubt, also be declined. Postscript: it was declined.

In Sudden Splendor Facin' Rainbows
No one has ever done this before.
I'm a threat to everybody's system of order.
I want a new world see,
and I want it to work,
and I want it to plan.
You delete that in Auroville,
too ordinary
to let the world happen there,
oh you bunch of men and women
blocking the Sun.
I'll tell everybody.
[a link I left to this post]

Auroville International

Auroville International (AVI) is a worldwide network aiming at the support of the development of Auroville in all its aspects. Founded in 1983 it is legally registered in the Netherlands, with a representation in 34 countries around the world – nine national centres, which are registered associations in their respective countries, and twenty-five liaisons, which may be smaller groups or single individuals.

It must be said that the Facebook group Auroville INDIA approved and posted this poem, as they have several others everyone else has declined.