If you are reading this poem on a phone, note that the integrity of the lines, a major feature of poetry, is not displayed properly. Many if not most get cut short because of the small screen.
Under Fire Lake with the hatred that rules society. I’m on a mountain. Each new tap on the shoulder crosses worlds Snoopy rides, but I’m into the fire large out on the floor from all the spiritual dawns. You hear the spiritual advice at the Roxie? Knock it off. I’m a tourist information booth.
Everybody has left the United States. We are beached on a poem. There’s nowhere to turn. I’ve fucked up. I’ve called poetry in on its job. I can’t even show you the poem. You’d fight me for it. Guaranteed I’d lose my job, and I’d be homeless again.
What’s these great stakes? Snowball, we’d watch it rise downhill, until my boss heard about it, our not allow four dogs landlord. Can I call them on it? I can describe their preferences that would reach the limit at this poem. How much help they’ve given me would end there.
What I am sayin’? I’ve got a poem to knock your socks off, but you don’t want to read it if you’re a normal American fanfare, if you reach deep in your pocketbooks to exploit people, if you make hell the end of the game for non-Jesus people.
Can I get away with murder? I have to be careful what I say. I can’t open my mouth in poetry. I wanna see my dogs, and I wanna live again. Can you blame me for self-censorship? This isn’t fair. I suffer.
I do not understand capitalism. It won’t accept another way of life that makes sacrifice a way of life, sacrifice for your brother and sister in life, sacrifice to the better in you. We’re beached on whale, and even communism beaches there and our church’s regard.
Come on Sacrifice Capitalism, the laissez faire don’t believe in, can we change the world there? I have a hunch. Before profits we ask need, what’s best for the community, and can we have humanity please considered too? Can we grand the whole world in business decisions so that animals matter and the breath of our life trees, what about for our island Fort Myers Beach?
Sacrifice Capitalism ladies and gentlemen. Work out the details school children in role play, every business leader. The profits take a backseat to need. Can we get there?
Not even to a poem I cannot show you because you would not let me do it, be a poet on live, talk about the weather, and political Christians control the weather that bursts apart in our minds, and money rules the show.
I can’t spit out the juice. I’m not exactly at fault. Do you believe in poetry? It’s just somethin’ to report to your superiors? Now I need everybody to take a deep breath. Is this paper weight? A ninny of a poem, a filler for time shares. Wanna see the real thing? Wanna see it? You do? Do you thirst for it?
I’m on a bank of the Lord deliverin’ the paper. A big decision, and I’m not safe. Ask you another question. Glory did somethin’? Whoa my poem just went in the air. It’s gonna take some doin’ I rush this right through. I’m 33-years-old, givin’ out a lot of free material. They killed him. Damn, you got your hands on me. Do you get me my poetry constituents?
Fire in the yard, I’m gonna put some poetry someplace else, a whole nuther anthem from here. I don’t trust you. You’ll kick me out for poetry. You won’t even give me a chance to bring my dogs to town my poetry has made you so mad.
This is the price you pay for poetry. They take from you what you love. They make you know you must comply in the bowels of the truth and keep your poem from the public mind that would change minds.
“Faiths Are Only a Doubt”, or whatever title it bears, the poem I’m waiting for to set the record straight, is blowin’ in the wind. Can you capitalism that? Can capitalism show that?
We have that place where, yep, you need to turn on that character light. I would say he does not deserve the title respect call him. Thank you sadhak. Nat started a story. It was obscenity of being, the crazy what’s up nails trauma a bunch of us go through. Are we on your calendar?
You’re nice and pretty. Does that mean you’re good in the sense of good to all of us? We’ve got a world here in a tin can. It hurts everybody. You would not like a story that makes you mean. Is that transformative?
Watch movies that’s all you see, a blight of entertainment “televised from the gulfs of Night” [from Savitri, an epic poem by Sri Aurobindo] that tells stories to pit you against one another, to make your blood boil, to let the demons in.
There isn’t a place on the planet it’s not on your local TV. This is what we’ve gotta get out of, get back to our dream maker as the one we watch and write. Is that a perverted slam?
You would boil at the inner consciousness because it pits you against your morality papers: don’t say cuss words; don’t mention sex; don’t talk about getting your dick sucked when you were five by your mother. What have I just done?
I let the inner consciousness in in language that grabs you and moves you, that has the day on it, that gives you a porn whereabouts so many faces are into these days. It hits you where you’re at if you can’t tell right from wrong, if you’re lost in all this sleaze. We’re tryin’ to reach people not preach to them.
A dream comes out from someone who suffered this in the language that it felt like, and the elect can’t take it because they don’t know how to deal with it. They’re into quotes of Sri Aurobindo and pictures of deity. They look at spirituality as the cure and not addressin’ what’s wrong in the language that needs to.
Everybody just be nice. Make your concentration daily and let no wrong movements in. Be cheerful and happy. There’s no end to the advice in spiritual seeking. Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty of life. Let’s use those quotes to solve problems. The Mother and Sri Aurobindo are a wealth of that, applied in ways you haven’t imagined yet, because you’re religious and one-sided.
We need to heal, so many of us. You can’t imagine what it’s like where hell has opened in humanity. This is all over the globe, terrible stories that’ll make you cry if you had your empathy on.
We need to heal the world first, then spiritualize it, and spirituality will be healing, because that’s what it’s made for, if it’s the soul involved. You don’t know this. Soul healing’s to you a preacher wrote. It’s not test the limits of humanity in making healing the order of the day. This soul is wide and free. You don’t know that either.
You look at the Gods of Overmind, the lowest rung. They’re moral and straight. They have seen God in passing one time maybe. They are closest to us in the ways of deity. They make rules and regulations, put experiments on vice and get rid if it not heal it. Our whole world is taken by Them. It’s what we need to change and bring a new order upon the Earth, soul healing in the dynamics of Supermind.
You don’t know how wide God is, when it comes to the personal growth process of wholeness and healing. / That’s been my path all along, and it’s gotten acute where I show it to you, all Sri Aurobindo’d. What else can I do? I’m his disciple and a seer of his wisdom, and I’ve been told to talk to you.
I’ve spent 25 years learin’ my craft, a lifetime before that as a poet. You can’t fault me in preparation, all prepared for yah. Grab me by the balls will yah and throw me to policemen, or at least try to shut me up? God’s will be done.
One editorial board member, Dr. Alok Pandey, who is listed as a “Member, Research Advisory Council, Sri Aurobindo Society,” replied to my emails, three times, the first: “May Her Grace be with you,” her meaning the Mother, the second: “What is tormenting your soul so much dear child?” and the third: “You are quite right. You seem to be an angry and arrogant brash revolting angel. I don’t find your poetry tasteful or even poetry. It is a blurting out of things stirring in your subconscious, not mind nor higher, but inframental forces. That’s my view about your poetry. By the way I am not part of any organization nor have any access to publishing poetries so you could perhaps try some other place or person. Good luck. May the Grace be with you.” No one else on the board or in that organization has replied.
That’s why what I can get on the television is behind your imagination,/ you’re too fat. What’s that? It’s a soft glow. You’re wrapped around the axle of society eating everything you can get your hands on, entertainment spook outs, song after song after song, the news minute, and bubbles and bubbles of internet stuff, and books that make you mean.
You can’t get away from society in your newspaper. What’s that supposed to mean? You suck society’s dick a porn hub. I’ve just offended half the nation. The other half’s asleep. Why can’t I suck dick on television?
I’m using figures of speech to show our involvement with society. I just got censored out of society, but can I employ you in your mule, weave together a story using pockets of molten lava? I’m tryin’ to get yah riled up. I want to show you you’re pasted by society.
Would Sri Aurobindo say that? I think he would allow inspiration to come and not worry about sensibilities. He would not future poetry to make it stand a language model that forgets our garbage stuff. He would future poetry.
I want you offended. I want to show you what you’re made of. That’s not squeaky clean. It’s all over the place. If I took you into the Silence, you would want to come back. You do not know the spiritual consciousness. You think it’s a morality speaker, a set of rules you follow to get there.
A whole other world arrives when spirituality arrives. I don’t think you saw that yet. You’re a radical revolutionary if you’ve taken off ego a moment. I have never been there permanently, so I can’t say there. Did you think Sri Aurobindo was like your local priest?
I want you to examine yourself in the light of society. It’s mean it sucks, and it will throw you to the wolves if you just can’t make it fit right, your will with what society says no. Say you molest children— I’m going to marry a millionaire. Oh my God you’ve processed God, and you no longer molest children.
You can love a child now like it’s God lookin’ at yah, and you love that child. The formula’s in the Bhagavad Gita; you just don’t hear it, or you think it can’t be done. Fuck a child, and society will never let you in again. I’m boilin’ your paper right now. I wanna show you how small you are when it comes to the big stuff. You just morally react.
You don’t know how to do it, heal a person from society’s ways. It’s society that fucks children; I guarantee it. What’s the softball today? We learn to love each other, even those you hate. If I can’t accomplish love, I can at least accomplish understanding. That mother beats my child, and she’s raped him from me. I could take a stick and beat her myself, but that would just make her meaner. I understand her jealousy and her lack of control. I just sit with it.
I’m rescuin’ my boy. You hear it done special in our media. I’m gonna see him safe, and I’m gonna bring him back to papa. That’s my name on his lips. He calls me daddy. We have a room for him in a whole new place. This is spiritual journey, in the air of spiritual journey, where that boy’s no longer in Pondicherry, so that boy’s ocean will work. Grab you guys in a manner of minutes, and anyway, I’m makin’ sure the roads are prepared for him.
I was gonna give this poem to who would’ve thought it, but for now let it sit on this Facebook page. Those of us who would change society have to live under its auspices. Society would rather kill than change. It’s acquired a life of its own apart from the individual. It’s got great steed on it, but we’ve reached the end of its present rope with us. The world will be destroyed before society changes; I mean it’s bragged about that, if you can hear the writing on the wall.
How do I know all this? I’ve been from one end of society to the other, from the mountain to the monster, and I’ve grown bigger than society makin’ that monster climb to the mountaintop and seein’ God from there. The monster changes his panties and grabs society by the horns so that society can see itself for the monster that it is. I’m no more monster.
Can you ride with me? I have some beef to show you. Holy cow, let somebody eat beef, if they’re just tired of the same old fare, what doesn’t take you rocket launch, what keeps you in the bounds of society, what goes no deeper than a three dimensional world bound to love its aunties and the open vigilante.
Am I chargin’ wool? Hey man, are you mediocracy? I sucked the wrong dick. You are basically a big person. A big person, you are God unawares; you are the look of the Lord when He forgets Himself. Let’s all dance to this tune: hey God, wake up.
See yah on Sunday, on Saturday, in your religious house of worship. It just kills the kids doesn’t it? They know there’s more to God than that. They know there’s Everlasting, but you’ll just slap them around if you find out this thing has to do with naked and not with their school books.
I’ve been the danger a kid faces at midnight, and my God watch it grow, their Shazam. They know there’s more than little TV, and I’m not talkin’ about the sex stuff. They know they can get beyond this movie, that God is bigger than Her lists, and don’t just stand there; do somethin’.
It’s put up here hangover on that third eye. You’re just gonna have to get your shit together. I’m compound joy. There is actually a petting session over here. Nithish called. Everything’s fine. I will see my little boy soon.
We’re all at a movie. It’s packed. Saw the hall were you there? Every divine minute the time it took to free me. No, you were there willingly and cooperatively, and you woke up with a bang; it hurt too much, just like the Buddha said. We just don’t put illusion on everything, because God’s there the hunt.
Wanna see? See past your nose blockade. Make you feel the situation, make you feel the heartbeat, make you get out of yourself, river find out the apocalypse, if you don’t hum the right tune. That’s in our field today.
See that little boy? He’s weathered the storm. I’m not just gonna leave ‘im there. I’m gonna bring ‘im home. I’m gonna open up where God dwells. Wanna see me do it? I know how.
Alright people, listen up. The Earth song, do you just cram society? These are open bars. Come on Grace, let’s go pee pee. We can’t send her out alone. That little Beagle’s still a puppy. I gave ‘er more than the rat race. Come on let’s go to your human, darling, and I took myself to divinity. You comin’?
Society rose, what’s the historia? It’s wide open, every means to God to get there, even through the snake. You just stop biting people, even through the murderer and rapist. Now that I can put this in literal terms, so can your doctor. I be doc.
Listen up, let’s start from the beginning. Dicks out. No, you don’t go out. The boy’s offended by the balls. That boy’s offended by the power of some certain dirty thing even mentioned in a poem. Take it off the neck. No, I don’t wanna get yah to do it. Can’t heal it ‘less you hear it, and that’s in the meat grinder, a poem so everybody can get off, a poem so everybody heals from this disaster we propagate as society.
That boy got offended, that readership. I won’t say fuck you God no. I’ll see yah when you’re open again, after death, or this poem will. It’s got strings on it that pull you along where this poet meets the world.
There’s a response. There’s a regular response. Can you feel it? It’s on the way home. You’re bigger than mountains, and you don’t have to be bothered by anyone or what they say. This is a test of your truth speaker. Can you get past this test? All we are saying is give peace a chance. [above line heard sung by Plastic Ono Band] Truth can be known that doesn’t betray yah. Get back in there tenderfoot. I think my muse is talking to me. Goddamn, there’s just no end to the beginning.
This poem was written for the Facebook page Teachings of Mother and Sri Aurobindo – Discussion forum, but I’ve tried to post it twice, and each time it’s been deleted automatically upon posting, and so I submitted it to a member of that group called Renaissance, an arm of the Sri Aurobindo Society that is doing a feature on the purpose of art. In their series, there’s an essay by Nolini Kanta Gupta, arguably Sri Aurobino’s main disciple. Ignore the introduction by the Renaissance team and just skip to the essay: “The Obscene and the Ugly – Form and Essence“. It will add flavor and standing to my poem in the light of the the Integral Yoga.
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.
This is Nitish’s new video for his YouTube Channel
Nitish wrote this song himself, while in school. Sitting in class, the core of the song and its basic melody came to him via the inner voice in the space of several minutes. He heard the lines sung to him on the inside, and he copied them down one by one, a process he’s watch me do since he was very small in the writing of poetry. Then, over the course of the next two weeks, as I put the song to the guitar, both he and I heard lines of the song sung to us on the inside, my muse giving the last 2 lines of the 3rd verse and the last 5 lines of the song, the repeats not included.
You may not grasp the significance of an 11-year-old having this kind of ability and talent, or that of his inner self speaking its truth. Heretofore he’s only written lines of poetry via the inner voice, and this is his first song. And, despite him not being able to carry a tune to save his life, it’s a song so you might listen to him this time, this video, as it seems you only really like music videos.
This minor miracle is a soul rescue. The boy was once again on the verge of tears at school, because he’s unable to keep up academically because of undiagnosed dyslexia, but at least at this school he’s not being beaten for it, as has happened in the past, trauma that surfaces very easily. His soul is not telling him he’s a victim, however. It’s letting him tell how he feels, but, it’s telling him not to run from his challenges. It’s interesting that it’s not telling him to do good in school but to shine in his room, your room in dream and vision a symbol for your own personal room in the house of humanity, your individuality, your personal consciousness, the body included, distinct from others but an integral part of the whole. We need parents, teachers, religions, organizations, big business, and governments to respect the sanctity of our room.
You might understand that the sudden attention to the song and the making of this video concentrated him on a difficult task, not to mention the awesomeness of having your inner self sing you such a song and all the faith in the divine that brings—like God really cares—drawing his attention away from his suffering and his ‘woe is me’ attitude, and it’s also helped him to cope at school, and now he’s doing a little better academically, but he wants me to home school him, something I very much want to do because it’s my job with him to teach him the craft of the poet-seer, my craft, and tell me the Tamil people and the world does not need another poet of that force and stature. Here are some recent lines of his inner poetry:
ஒலைய வெட்றது மட்டும் தான் நம்ப வேல, ஒலைய கட்டுறது கடவுலோடய வேல. [Translation: Don’t believe just the sound. Building a sound is a divine task.]
I wasn’t born to be my parent’s child. I was born to be the universe’s child. You will express trauma.
Sometimes you can bend life.
God’s gift.
He’s wearing a ghost costume and a makeshift burka as a means of protest. It’s an artistic representation of the social position of children. Their voice is not respected or even heard, and they are not looked at as real people but only as someone to indulge, protect, and care for. Adults speak for them and tell them what they should think and how they should feel. They have no right to be an individual. They must obey the adults in their life, and they must go to school. If they protest, they’re threatened with punishment. It’s as though they themself, their personhood, is a ghost because it’s not seen or recognized.
The costume is also a creative symbol of the attitude in society of restricting the images of children in the public sphere of the internet, speaking of images that are not pornographic in nature. It’s as though we’re putting burkas on them in our attitude and, increasingly, in our policies. Specifically, we are protesting YouTube recently taking down a video, “Nitish 9 to 10”, a video that features photos and videos of him around the house and outside. In some of the indoor shots he’s in his underwear. There are no nude shots, no shots to suggest anything sexual. No strike was given for the video. As time goes on, YouTube is restricting content more and more, and what was okay before suddenly isn’t now. We would like YouTube to reinstate the video or at least give it back, as we don’t have a copy of it, and it’s an important record of his childhood.
To the naturalist meeting in New York,
and that’s a wonderful paper.
Find divisions among us,
I think that’s everybody’s see the world.
You’re not gunna believe this,
but I’m the right wingman
to have us all see each other one.
Who else do you hate more?
Who’s at the bottom of the totem pole?
Who would you subhuman all the time?
Who do you crave to be with?
Certainly not the pedophile.
You are just so into guns
where you meet the world.
You just see and shoot
the aggravations gun.
How am I doin’?
You have a perfect score.
You did everybody in
that got under your skin somehow.
You just shot everybody with your mind.
Now we come apart.
You can’t take shooting sprees.
What happened?
Everybody shot the Lone Ranger.
This is just hippie bullshit.
You just put everybody in peril
when you came across with your gun.
You created division among us
that destroy people.
It’s all in the gun.
That mind is a pointed object
that shoots fire at people.
You don’t believe this.
It’s harmless you say,
making people suffer in your mind.
Does Earth manifest thoughts?
I can’t put this on the chalkboard,
but I can show it to you loud and clear.
Why did World War Two start?
The German people manifested pride,
the Japanese their rising sun.
Now take individuals and shoot them.
This is an execution in town square.
My God the executions there,
and the atom bomb goes off.
Can you make the connection from your room to there?
It’s a lively possibility
add up enough guns.
You see what I’m gettin’ at don’t yah?
We will just blow each other apart
every minute of the day,
and you see the emergency come in,
a check on our behavior
in the throw of our room,
where we meet the world in thought.
We meet them with philosophy
and let religion control our thoughts.
We go so far as to put something else,
something our conscience says no.
Innate in us
is a thought control,
a natural inclination
to be good to people
where mind meets them.
How strong is this?
Oh my God it’s breaking down.
Can you see this?
It’s everywhere.
We need to see this to survive.
You don’t know the power of thought.
You think it’s inside your mind
shut up in your head.
This is erroneous thinking.
We live in a thought field
you and I,
and it’s so immediate there.
We cringe one another.
Can we stop doing that?
It manifests on the field.
We find our hands expressing it in time,
our feet kick up that dirt.
We show the world with it.
We live in a thought field.
It has each one of us at heart.
We prey on one another,
just eat each other alive,
violate one another like there are no boundaries.
You know what I’m talking about.
You do it too,
and my God it’s real.
It’s spins the weapons in that direction
so someone else can use.
It gets the ball going.
It’s everywhere.
Oh no my childhood,
it’s full of holes.
Even my father did that,
once or twice.
Shut the hell up.
How deep this rabbit hole goes.
You don’t want to see it.
Can we come up for air?
Can we stop violating one another
in our thoughts.
It is so control the world that way,
and we don’t know how to control ourselves.
It’s an imagine gun,
and it takes ahold of our flesh and rides it,
so feeling toned, rich hued,
bottomless desire.
It has us by the horns
in those moments.
We bleed with it.
You know I’m drivin’ a point home,
sticky desire.
We come to terms with ourselves that way,
comin’ to terms with it,
seeing it shake us,
watching it win.
Just keep goin’.
Learn to put this out of your mind.
It violates people.
It’s got so much charge on it.
Can we come away from there?
Now you’re alone in your sink.
Your thoughts on other people are confused,
but you’ve stopped
the mind game.
You don’t shoot people anymore.
You just keep goin’.
You’ll come out on the other side soon.
You hear my thoughts?
I’m showin’ ‘em to you.
There’s a higher realm of thought.
I don’t live there all the time,
but you know I mostly do.
Only rarely do I go abroad,
and soon that will stop too.
I am a thinker,
and I spend time in wordless thought.
I go into the quiet in my room.
Great gyros of thinking await us
that will propel us to sky noon.
The layers of reality we peel back
and dimly see the One.
God is our living room.
We see world process in stark living terms.
We glimpse invisible beings at play.
We see the terrible and inane.
We have a glory of angels around our head.
We see the stars.
I think we join the universe.
We have some brooding sense
of who we are on high looking down on us,
feel its comfort wings,
know our lives its shallow dip in time.
Profundities rise
and take us by the hand.
We see all
like it’s a picture show,
and sometimes
the world is so thin,
ultimate reality’s a bare whisper away.
You see what I’m seein’?
You can’t get that look
unless you turn your mind from these surface arguments,
from the world of material things,
from being hooked all the time
on this, that, and the other.
Think large thoughts.
I’ve motioned poetry
to help us with our rooms,
to put us on the right bed,
to clear our thoughts
of all this imagining
that isn’t good to people,
to learn how to handle time.
Are you game?
I’m showin’ yah the way
to enter in relations with one another
that bring us the world together
that brings peace on earth.
Crazy doctor,
he’s always runnin’
a poetry see,
a show you this, show you that.
Will you take him in one day?
I got deleted
from my YouTube channel.
They took a video away.
Officer down!
It fought Islamic State
right in its ideology
in its gruesome videos.
It put the soul there
and the true ways of God.
It shot the soul down,
that censorship.
You wonder why they waited seven years.
Now what’s next,
my whole blog?
The deletion has begun,
and you don’t even know it’s happenin’.
You see the peril I’m in.
It’s available now;
I’ll stack you with
poems to read.
You think they’ll be up much longer?
The diversity is what is placed in that pile of focus.
I think we go to school,
learn to look in all things God.
What is the divine nature and where can it be found?
It’s your thoughts found the world you’re in,
and you go from there.
The above air in the lines’ all that matters,
but anyway,
movin’ all that mass.
What was wrong?
Your mind is a stronghold.
It caters to its own kind.
You can’t get at it easily
with your conscious mind,
the way a neighbor thinks.
We suspect each other.
But double down,
in your underwear,
open closed doors,
and you can catch your neighbor’s thoughts about you
and where they’re at in life.
Test this link.
The inner television
is kinda a body temperature,
and I’ll figure it now
one word:
peace.
You really want that to happen.
Did he trouble you?
Mustn’t give him
some blacklist.
I wouldn’t back down.
Be a light unto him,
and you are on the case man.
You hear them all the time.
You hear the community thought
with the bodies of your mind,
and no conscious person see it happen.
This is screened, subliminal.
You take them from the field your thought,
as you are fooled:
they’re your thoughts.
They come in your mind like you.
How do I know this?
I study mine,
and I’ve opened those closed doors,
and I study all the time.
Go Big Brother.
A few moments time,
there you go,
I’m off the net,
and you never even knew I was there.
(Note: from July 2016 to December 2016, I posted seer poems on Facebook written specifically for our educational page Harm’s End. I know FB was aware of the posting at the time, because some poems were boosted and had to go through Facebook’s review process, with one being rejected, one about the prophet Mohammad, although FB did not take it down or flag it in any way. On August 4, 2020, I copied all the poems, along with their images, to my computer, and a day later a poem from 2016 was taken down for violating their community standards, showing me my activity was being closely monitored by FB. I then deleted any image I thought FB might object to, unaware that an image of Hitler is now flagged by FB as a matter of course. That it is now but wasn’t in 2016 reflects a growing trend of censorship on the net. It won’t be long before anything that seriously questions the generally accepted reality construct or tires to introduce things that construct isn’t seeing and doesn’t want to will be banned from the major social media platforms and taken as far as possible out of the public eye. In other words, the net will become like TV.
This poem along with this image was posted on FB September 10, 2016. It was flagged August 15, 2020, but not taken down, citing it violated their community standards, and I edited it the following day, adding material in brackets within the poem that explain the poetry, to make it clear I wasn’t violating their community standards. Within 10 minutes after editing it, our page Harm’s End was unpublished. Although this poem fits into a poetic conversation on my FB feed and is out of context to post here by itself, I’m posting it here to protest the censorship of art and poetry on Facebook and on the net in general, in this case, poetry whose purpose it is to heal, not harm, however controversial it may be.)
Executive order.
Anyway she just surprised me.
Hitler, the 1st letters of incest,
rape.
It started World War II.
Half the money
the gate come open.
What come out?
I know it,
the material,
the material of war,
the material of concrete war.
Incest gun,
check it out.
That’s not a gift.
It’s an orgasm
your mom gives ya,
or your dad,
an adult in the family.
The house owner
outside of somethin’.
It’s American.
We know it’s German.
It’s also England,
all countries,
just a story on it
broken.
You wouldn’t hit everybaby,
enough to organize
the required material.
Is that war?
You said it baby.
It’s German
under the feet.
That means it’s right there:
kill ‘em,
thousands gas.
Bring them on the table
but be careful.
Daddy was good wasn’t he
or mommy special?
We do this in an orderly fashion.
Got that right.
Just line ‘em up
and shoot ‘em,
terrible.
I’m gonna
keep comin’.
What’s this?
An orderly compound,
an orderly room.
Procedure, procedure?
And we built the gas chambers,
and we built
orgasm.
Give that kid
trouble,
not between his legs,
not
now,
not now.
Look out the window.
Go to the door.
It needs an umbrella:
the night of the generals.
They have a very detailed IQ.
THEY.
People are bad.
Not everybody.
He doesn’t like,
he has a very knowledgeable
presence with Jews.
Art school,
they wouldn’t let ‘im in.
Art college,
they wouldn’t let him in now.
Okay make them unworthy,
lump them with all the undesirables,
society’s degenerates,
but blame them for everything.
They are the masterminds
of all that’s wrong with the world,
of all that’s wrong with our country.
[understand the poetry: those are Hitler’s views, not the poet’s.]
Fell down –
see a war,
a war,
a world war:
give to me
my mountain.
You have to understand
orgasm.
It changes war.
It’s a blitzkrieg
of physical pleasure
on an I unformed.
One second.
There’s an I.
Is there
more like the animal I.
Is that me?
That building centerfold
the earth
is removed from the scene.
I’m a baked chump,
burn in a holocaust of pleasure.
Understand
repeated action,
all this mess over time.
It has a tendency
to rob you of pleasure,
organize your role
an antenna
to try and get things in order,
down
if you know what I mean,
not up in the sky.
Look at
the nice uniforms,
the insignia,
the roll of tanks.
You’ve been robbed you see,
and that damage,
and you in ego formation,
and God did it,
your parent.
Any questions Paramount?
That’s it.
(There is, it should be understood, a personal interpretation to this poem throughout, since, in truly inspired art, in seer poetry especially, it’s at bottom, however remotely, also about the artist. In this light, the verse about Hitler being rejected from art college and subsequently scapegoating all Jews because of that can also be interpreted to be about the refusal of my entire society, Jews, non-Jews, everybody, to let me into the art of the day, but the personal interpretation isn’t tit for tat with the poem, as it just lights upon it here and there. If you want to know how the personal interpretation applies to the main subject of the poem, infant orgasm, read this comment I posted on Medium before my Medium account is also suspended, because I color outside the lines.
If you want to know the occult truth behind Hitler, read the book The Light That Shone Into the Dark Abyss by Maggi Lidchi-Grassi, 1994, Sri Aurobindo Ashram Press (not available to read online). Facebook, which almost a third of the world’s population uses, has such an unwarranted and inequitable influence over the knowledge that we pass around, and it (like not only the other online mega-businesses, but also the major news outlets and the great majority of the entertainment industry I might add) is in its core beliefs reductionist materialist, however many employees it has that doesn’t hold those beliefs. If that’s not enough, it’s in it for profit, and if Facebook encounters material that makes people feel uncomfortable, a loss of profit steps in and makes the decision, and even if it doesn’t violate its policies, FB will simply ban it. Now, the truth of us, the good, the bad, and the ugly, it might hurt to hear it, you know?
Is the human matter finished? I mean, is there anything more to discover about us other than the fundamental beliefs that we’ve built human society upon, and those are that we are individual human islands expendable to the sea of humanity and inconsequential compared to it, islands possessing an absolute freewill and a consciousness that doesn’t extend beyond the island that we each are, and, in the intrinsic ground of who we are, we are nothing more than that island? Here we are at the cutting edge of humanity. This is the denied knowledge trying to gain entry: there is more to discover about us, and we are more than that.
I’ll end with an analogy to put the subject matter of this poem into a context that will make what I’m attempting here more apparent:
“This thing no one ever talks about before, and when we are the first ones to talk about it, there are a lot of people that think this thing shouldn’t be touched, this thing is you know, sacred, and the people that think you are going too far, and all of these people are going to undermine our movement, for sure.” Quote from a Thai protester in Bangkok speaking to a BBC reporting about protesters questioning the power of the Thai monarchy. Source: BBC video “Thai protests: Thousands join rally in Bangkok”, 17 Aug 2020.)
Harm's End 