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.
The captive adult, I’m not that bad. Dated immigrant, 21 years in India, and I didn’t have a form to fill out, and they called me illegal. Are you kiddin’ me? Human beings are wrong, nasty, and evil, if they’ve overstayed their visa. Everybody says so. Look at Trump.
I’ve got a million dollars. I’ve got hair in my ICE, and my hair in on fire lookin’ at the human being. I judge is my luxury. I’m not as tall as I am, and I get downright small on the issues group think.
Now murder me some, the I now the poet, who can say I to anyone. Okay we’ve called down congress, hopin to find some expediency to keep tyranny from happenin’. I mean we’ve wrote a poem, maybe several, that ask government to be government and not make us bow down to nationalism and be a dictator over our lives.
No British government can force the crown on us. We are all we are in the halls of independence, and everybody who signed the paper put their lives on the line. Protest is useless. Give a government what it wants, total dominion, you stupid s.o.b. Let it take over Auroville and rule with an iron fist and remove the international scene if the people resist.
To point this out to people, to use poetry to stop it. Now let’s get on with it, movin’ Heaven and Earth to get our dogs. No, no, no, you can’t do that, ask the community for help, the man at large, the woman with the telephone. Get second jobs you fools and pay for your dogs yourself.
You selfish points of contact with the society in the bag. You are supposed to work, work, work and create no art, write no poetry, or go on your little round abouts and discover the community. You are of no value to us as a society, and you cannot ask for a thing. Asking the community for help with your dogs, you’re throwin’ pies in our face. Get your act together and stop asking people for help. So many millionaires on this island, and please don’t bother them. They’re makin’ money.
I think we’d need to ask the millionaire. We find some kind, nice, and warm, open to humanity, especially dog lovers, and we’ve gotten a lot of help. Thank you. But the thing most profound in all this mess, in all this criticism, concerns our way of life. We are digging a well into the meaning of life, and every decision is based on that. We live our lives to a spiritual plan and put that first. It’s not lip service. It’s the reality of our lives.
Even our dreams we hone in on God and seek to find the higher consciousness. We do not base our lives on survival, making money, or anything of the sort. We are not here to have a good time. The consequences of that are huge. We get attacked constantly. Jesus died on the cross, and you think it was for sin? Poor bugger got caught openin’ up God inside himself.
What’s this I say? Jesus was on a tree, castigated and torn, murdered, because he showed men how to change their lives in spiritual substance. He gave men and women a way to be free by breaking the bonds of consciousness and being born again into the higher type, and you think it’s a wish-wash hangin’ on a prayer, and you’re clean and good, religious for the rest of your life? A radical transformation of our whole life Jesus envisioned. Now shoot me for saying that he did not die for our sins.
So anybody we’re up against, as we try to change, base our life on this mountain, is either put off or keeps us at a distance. Few come inside our home or invite us to socialize. We are too weird for TV. I think you’d find us warm and very human to be with. We know you’re God starin’ back at us, a startling revelation we challenge ourselves with every day.
Now kick us and be mean to us because we are different from you, and you need validation that only your life is true. Have I said enough? I’m on time I think to be Who I am, a man in search of himself that his divinity time share wears, a man tryin’ to change in his higher type, and I’m doin’ that in normal life. I got kicked out of India.
Now say I keep my nose to the grindstone, work a 40 hour week, pay my bills, keep my mind to myself, unless someone asks— I’m talkin’ about at work. Can I be in America and do that, or is conformity the rule of the day now, and if I don’t conform I’m fired, lose my home? Will I be chased off this island for poetry like I was India?
Do you understand what’s your doin’? There’s a radical change of consciousness ahead, how we evolve out of this mess. There’s a new society of ourselves waitin’ to be born. There’s human survival in the balance. Let’s huff and puff and blow it down because we cannot tolerate change out of our satisfied little lives, and these two beggars, Don and Doug, we need them to straighten up and be just like us.
Now all you good people, can you get your head around that? Can you please? “Douglas at the Watering Hole”, another joy for understanding. It’s so true yes. All the whiles are looking at me. You raise your hands among yourselves. Why should I be any different? Another two weeks before bylaws are stated. A bunch of people, a bunch of people on this island support, are lookin’ at this way: I approach the bench, and there are good vibes there.
You’re on dissidence you’re on daily bread, you just take a deep breath and keep on goin’, confirmation code casting problems away from your human beings and comin’ to yourself for the love of man. Are there any other spring rolls? An island bright in sunshine, and all those puppy dogs— the love of animals too. Well they’re on our diet. Would if they’re off in time for us to renew the Earth? Yeah I know. I got a ways to go, but our dogs are our children, and I don’t eat those.
For the love of dog, they’re honored guests on our island too, and who are we but guests on bright and shiny seashores the power of Nature rules? What causes earthquakes? Well, we might have something to do with them greed takes the shore, if we honor our pocketbooks more. Help was health insurance, but would the Calusa listen? There are no more creeds for the Calusa to close. It was 30 miles an hour, their hunting season, who put other peoples out. I pointed it out. Pointed it out wind, we do it, no socioeconomic class below the poverty level.
It’s easy for me to say. I just got here. And they’re real deep in there so be good to them Harbor Island. Ed the reason an algebra drive, if you wanna get past your schoolbooks. We are representative creatures ourselves hook, line, and sinker. An actor plays a part, you and me, and you don’t save your soul. Your soul you find it and rise above yourself to Who you represent in time. Find Yourself to believe in. That’s good news and that One is all of us, islands and dogs included.
Now believe in hell as a preferable option for most people, and you really need to examine yourself, don’t you think? I’m just talkin’ islands. Now you hear them speak. Rise power to Nature, or we’re not gonna make it. Will you listen?
Well legalized in a fiery seal, we’ve moved mountains on Fort Myers Beach to get in there. Would you welcome please Doug and Donny and let them have their dogs and spiritual life? I need to put poems on it, this startup page. Rock me gently, rock me slowly (sing to Rock Me Gently by Andy Kim) for the love of the island. It touches yah you know and helps people along like us. Thank you island.
Come on Jim, we’re just here for a little while. We’re off to the mountains in springtime. Not now. When we put our time in on the island. Meaning we are open to the island. Can you gauge that? Just let it be.
There’s somethin’ Earth husband, but can we be accepted not being gay doing it? We don’t have to be gay, do we, to be two husbands and a wife? We’re celibate you know, but we don’t live inside an egg. I don’t like it. You guys are doin’ great. Good riddens. Well we’ve heard from the crowd. It’s nice to be accepted, ain’t it? We’re just a laboratory. I’m doin’ the laboratory. Could you stop threatenin’ to kick me out? I wuv you.
I suppose you can read the writings after the fall, but I was really hopin’ humanity wouldn’t fall. Is there anybody out there? We don’t have to fall. Now I’ve taken on the voice of the world, but who believes you can get that done? Now you know the spirit of Old St. Nick, and it shows by a red light. Build for sunlit paths the stadium of our Earth. Is that today’s date? I have found good shit to faith, but we’re at a watering hole, and we have no sense of each other. Love others as yourself, that’s precious to us now.
Sure, are you singing the song, or does your music just get drunk island hopper? Gimme, gimme, gimme the honky tonk blues. (sing to Honky Tonk Woman) Let the big sheet guests know that the grassroots can do it themselves, move Earth towards our up stand. Now gotta get to work. You have a great day.
The podium on the stage of the Art Hall in Koreshan State Park, Florida, where the utopian religious group, Koreshan Unity, had its community, whose founder and prophet was Cyrus Teed. A visit and a meditation there inspired this poem.
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.
In dreams and visions my voices speak. What are you doing over here? I’m a religious nut. I can’t control myself I hear visions. I count the salesmen in my dreams. Go wake up humanity, I can’t count the number of times I tried. I can’t even get a word across.
This is not save the world vision. I mean like I’ll never forget that I made the wrong sort of mud pies. I write poetry to reach the world. I’m not a religious figure to charm it. I’ve opened up consciousness inside. There’s no barnstormin’. I’m a quiet place takin’ a mile. I sit and read muse, no religious fanaticism, but I answer questions bluntly and with sarcasm. Let’s see what stinks here. Your mind.
Flying saucers from outer space did not tell me a thing. I have not been visited by angels tellin’ me I’m the man. I don’t want to get in your pants. I don’t want you to obey me. I would like a better society. I would like to say things that mean somethin’. I would like to hold your hand, where you don’t look down on me. I would like to lift you up in your mind where you think and touch that heart of yours.
We have a society here growin’ money and hate your neighbor. The mind of us is not the best of us. Our souls are only beliefs not houses kept. We think each other wrong. We don’t hand out society so you’re a prized member. That’s the rich and famous. We don’t know how to do it, be kind to one another, and it’s not a social laugh, the uncomfortableness of putting each other down to get at time with one another, or at best we keep our distance from heartfelt communication. We laugh at one another and wear big social masks to prove it, or we’re tryin’ to sell somethin’ when fake that sincerity.
Who is vulnerable and sweet? Who lets their guard down and give people meaningful communication? Our minds are full of the kingdoms of ourselves. And I’m not sure how to write that. Would you group with me? I’m a group-minded person, and I give group to my human being. I don’t consider other groups human, the Democratic Party for instance, or those Republicans. Man I love everybody. Now you everybody’s get off the bus. I’m lying to my social lying. I can only tolerate certain people.
You disguised my I, and I’m sharin’ in your business I don’t understand. You’re not the biggest people in the world Americans. You’re not even tryin’. What happened to me? There are changes in consciousness ahead. I’ve had some previews. I was not someone you handled correctly. You didn’t know how to see me, and I just fucked up. I got intah trouble. The previews came as a start to help me feel you as I feel myself, even if you look down on me.
I saw humanity. I’ve seen the world as my eye, no, no, not its offerings to me. I am a vision of the world as we speak. We look out each other’s eyes, in the world being that we are, and we look out the eyes of God, who is the vision everything. It is possible to break free from single vision’s number lair, from one pole of consciousness don’t you see? I’m about that vision. It’s universal. We all share it.
We’re lost in me’s and the boundaries of our group. I’m so sorry this chain gang has defeated my eyes too. Can I help you some see the truth, reality as it is, no religious overlays, no scientism that can’t see past its own nose? Reality’s bigger than you think, and you have identity outside of time. You aren’t this puny self laboring on a hapless globe that can’t see itself and know it’s true. You’ve put on actors wings, and it’s a hell of a ride ain’t it?
And all your dreams represent things to you because you are representative in time. You’re bigger than you think, in household wears, not your peckin’ order. You are actually beyond the stars lookin’ through a thin pigeonhole at that embarrassed I down in time. We’re all naked down here, and pride just can’t seem to go with us to sleep. It takes coffee to perk it up, and who knows the master plan of the universe? Kids we are and kids we’ll be, until we wake up on ourselves.
Do you know a mature notion? It’s not here, in every man for himself, in the little world we’ve made, in the societies we’ve engendered that make you obey it like it’s a real group but blames its faults on individuals, a world that does not know itself.
Good works and technology, you can’t move the field there. We have consciousness to change, and that’s not a thought process. The consciousness changes into its larger type. I’m puttin’ this in your hands, the ideal for the ages, the thing we’ve been workin’ at all along. It’s not a messiah you see. It’s not wings from outer space. You do the change and me, and we get bigger than ourselves. Blinded I am?
This photo-poem was posted to Twitter/X February 11, 2024. In vision it came to post it here. All photos by the author except photo one, which is by Douglas
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.
We all understand tomorrow. I’m goin’ somewhere. It’s not dishes. I find my boy, bring him home to me and do something bigger than life right there in my homegrown. It’a about my consciousness and its see. I arrive my boy first, giving him healing. This is a new brand we will get good at so it can be mass-produced.
I’m in enlightenment shares healing my boy, a spiritual consciousness override. They’re dealing with a mass showdown. Right now it’s all black. Not even a pinpoint of light gives hope. It’s all gone, the whole save my boy plan, and spiritual practice has fallen by the wayside. I’m merely drifting to no ends.
I count my stupidities now, where I am half-crazy in rants. I sound good on a piece of paper: I’m gonna see my boy; I’ll get that spiritual consciousness again; it’ll all work out. I talk to his parents like I have the power of God. His parents have the absolute power to rule his life. I just make them mad and guard him more. You’d think I’d learn by now my voices are deceiving me; my voices are derailing me.
You’re in trouble. You’re on a stage. Are you there with anything bigger than life? The world’s not gonna listen to you. Everyone ignores your pleas, and your knowledge don’t turn anybody’s head. You just sit there and sing. This is the gist of life. This is how almost everybody feels the world. It’s impotence sings.
I’m a diamond in the hall. I’m on top of everything. I really know my business, and I understand the rise of the world. I don’t spit there. I feel humanity like it’s my very self. I can see the cutting edge of time. Movements I see, world shaping movements, that give me a great yard. I’m of few people see them. Now I come back to myself again. I’m not the stupid guy.
I have reason to believe my boy’s comin’ back to me, and I will put on the Silence once again. It’s evidence I can get big as the world in tellin’; I can wrap the hours around God, and I can make you examine yourself in your hands on children. You sit there and believe me, some of you, because you hear the angels sing in this poet’s gut. I’m a strong one you know, and I hold up the world an Atlas unknown. I really do it, take the ideas that change the world and transmute them into verse, one rocket at a time.
You know I’m there because I love you in that special formula that makes you feel me in the very place we meet, in the intimacy of a poem that’s got handles on it that bring the world closer to you as God sees it, dangerously in love.
You must have some grace to journey this day. It’s the vulnerability of a poet I give it, just role of bein’ hallelujah. [line heard sung to tune of Leonard Cohen’s song “Hallelujah”] You doin’ okay?
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.
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.
(written for the Facebook groups Friends of Auroville, and Auroville, INDIA but only approved and posted by the latter group, after sending a small poem that appears below this one. It must be noted Friends of Auroville removed me from their group and blocked me.)
I like rainbows spoken in the most clear and circular terms. Please, I’d rather have this is gonna turn out. I sit here with my hat in my hands. I’m a big roar on magic. Wanna see my human unity? It’s in your beautiful hands.
The uncompromising villager, the most accounted for where we find human unity, if you’re not on its side, if you wanna freeze it, if it’s not something you can work out because they won’t let it. They just like their tribe.
You can’t get away from Nature’s homegrown, and sometimes you have to swallow them whole. Definitely, that’s our footpath here. That’s our red beer here.
How do I get this off my property? We are not romantic letters. I’m not tryin’ to get yah to buy toothpaste. I don’t have an engineer here doing anything except talking to you. You’re my sweet opening to ride my pages. I don’t fight you. I just stand and sing. We need some heaters to loosen up human unity. I’m not trying to get you to buy land in Florida. I’m going with my function among you as a photographer and a poet to be part of this great experiment.
I’m his poet, the boy we had such a mind to open and facilitate. Did anybody publish? You won’t let a boy and me together in plain sight. You won’t even let him on this page. Human unity bills him to you, that little boy I took care of for so many years. Pay on your buddy my friend.
Where is human unity? I think we have to find our divinity first. It’s like the psychic change can’t be complete until the spiritual transformation. I don’t know what I’m sayin’. The yoga beefs here. We put it in Auroville’s hands. Now that’s a stalk monster. I’m blind to this— the tree hunters. I can’t get it off my chest— the need to see Auroville as human unity. It’s a crash course in nothin’— the battle weary Aurovillian says.
We can’t see it in our feet. We can’t see it on the road. It’s too big for us. It’s a journey inside. I’m sorry most people are not prepared for this. I’m not even close. I’ve been waylaid. An ignorant mother took my child out of spite. You don’t know the dynamics of raising foreign children.
Now I hate that mother and her whole crew, and I had achieved an amalgamated oneness in my mind, realization’s status in mental wears, not in that point of no return. The boy was my apprentice, my give my gifts to, already writing whole poems from the inner voice. He rode samadhi a time or two, approached the Silence, neared the sun. An overhead experience had opened his mind. He talked about the world like it was his brother.
Then he lost it all in one fell swoop. No contact allowed, and the boy’s been sat on for months and abused. I was opening up human unity for him by going inside. I know how to do children, without that stink. My inner consciousness opens theirs.
I can put human unity on a beanpole now that I’m mad at these people and wish them dead. I’m just sayin’. What a drop in flesh. I was showin’ him to you when it happened, when human unity fell from my hands. The irony in being on the other side of child abuse wanting to protect your child.
You have no idea the intricacies of karma on a mountain sink, when you see the world as representation and not as it. I flounder here. I’m mean this world plays for keeps. The vital is in an uproar I’m calming down now. My yoga works. I sit in spiritual vision and confess my soul.
When they’re hurting your child what do you do? When he’s crying and talking of suicide, and he’s only 12? They’ve made him think he’s crazy with all the gaslighting, and do no forget he’s been beat. I can’t find human unity here. Now I understand someone else’s child is dear to you too, and along comes some man who changes their dream, hits them hard with the facts of life.
You’re a bugger aren’t you? No I am now a healed man, feeling what you feel when you look at me. You want them punished. You want the child safe and sound. You want him healed, but the formula for that is not in your hands. I’m a call on that notion. I’ve a vehicle of self-healing’s swirl, and I know how to heal children. I know how to open their consciousness, and I am flabbergasted divine process has ruined me and flattened my child.
This is not fair. It’s not right. My ego blunders. I sit in your stool and say that. I point the finger at other people. I arrange them with my hate, because they’ve killed my child where they hurt him, and they hurt him in his love for God, his trust in the Mother, and they beat him for his love for me, and all the while say they know I was good to him. They’re his parents and they have the right to take and beat that mother told me that in a swaggered brag.
You lift your head up and see me mourning over a child, like I’ve never been healed. That child is still my number one day. Okay what did I do? I made that child’s feelings God. Attracted to him, I gave him God’s eyes. I gave the world a bath when he was little. I tempered him through Dog as a medium for our affection. We loved each other through a Rottweiler’s fur. Healing’s ways visited me like a mountain tribe close to the sun. I was guided. The feelings of God I opened up in me to care for this child.
So many tools I used, so many make it right. Then the Devil comes in and damns it all, and you dance to this tune. Do you know how much power the Hostile Powers have to turn off our lights? It makes you question the divine. It makes you try to blame God. What do I do what do I do?
I come back to myself of course. I peel off this hate from blocking the psychic’s view. I stand and sing. How far you have to go inside yourself to find human unity. I’m afraid most can’t do that. We have to have developed souls, and we have had to have found oneness inside ourselves. How many go that far?
We’re in the stage of adopting belief. Can we understand a multi-generational project? We want the consciousness open, so our children can grow up wise, a human unity bundle, but you have to get it right with children, so they can make the journey if you can’t, the journey inside our yoga talks about.
I’m a vehicle on that worth, and I’m hamstrung right now for loss of my boy. I am just this landed fish speaking into your microphone. Now I’m supposed to tell yah human unity is a spiritual aim, soul’s quarters.
I believe, I believe, I believe [line heard sung, from It's Too Late To Turn Back Now] don’t bring it through your front door. It comes when you’ve seen the One with its own eyes, a vision in consciousness. You can’t rule it into play. It’s not a textbook model. Can you find spiritual process? Isolate that nigger. This is perfect sin.
The suffering is so explosive. I don’t know how to manage it. I’ve managed art with it, so radiation in purpose, and I die by the public barrier. No one wants to hear this. It’s just spilled upon my paperwork. People would slap me for it instead of help. I just sit here and cry so often. You know I’ve heard from that boy.
The insanity with which his mother has put him, so she can keep him from the slightest contact with a man who raised him, would make you want to put her away if you knew the extent of it. He will tell no one but me, and those around her support her. It’s a living nightmare, and this is what happens when you do right with a child and turn on their lights.
I’m an Auroville side keeper. I’m conducting the experiment in my home. I think you’re too rigid for that in your mainstream rooms. Surely the consciousness will change one day, but you don’t know how. I bring in that formula, and you won’t even look at it. Now it’s been captured by the Hostile Powers, and no community supports me to engage these misguided parents. What do I do?
Stay close to him in inner consciousness and hold him there, wait for him to give me some outer contact, with no satisfaction that will come. You sit there and enjoy this, the child removed from my lair, kept from my clutches. I pity you. You are not the experiment.
I throw you a human unity ball, and I would get into the quick of things, if you let me, in your own rooms, by doing art and making it public so you can see. What are the issues that divide us? The handle of children, I can take you to where we are feet with them, the places that society all sees but gives it permission to be, and I can take you to their God room, and what beauty can come out of a child when their inner doors are open to the God-felt expression of their soul.
A social trigger we do not fathom but persecute, when it’s as deep as this into our children’s honey. When it’s social honey, can you come together on this and extend us your hand? I can give you his song inner hearing wrote. Listen to the boy. You know he’s months away from being taken from his home at the lake and made to feel so alone.
The future folks he’s got in his hands, and he’s blisterin’ himself now with his vision of the future that has failed him now that it’s come to pass. So much spiritual technology he wrote to save himself from a future situation transpiring now. I give you this miracle if you would but look at it. He cannot. He’s not allowed.
The damage is done, and the light’s been put out, and he won’t even save himself but has laid down and died, giving himself up to total dominion, and he’ll lie about it if you ask him, scared of his parents’ wrath.
That’s the hope today, the boy tells you what’s real if you ask him. It’s a hope place to start. It’s a country road. It’s the place we land our feet and give this boy his chance.
The menu, it’s got Gods all over it, and it tells what happened when the boy told his father he wanted to go home, live with the velacara in a permanent song, but that was Sri Aurobindo’s house. The future is in his voice. It’s the future in your hands, if you’ve never seen it before. He gives a prevision of the future his soul wrote.
You’ve not seen nothin’ like it. It’s captured on the journey home to the lake. In one fell swoop, that boy tells you how the cow ate the cabbage, and you’ll just have to sit up and take notice the boy heard this line by line spoken into his inner ear complete and unabridged. We used my voice recorder. Other than that no help given. Now tell me this boy should be shot.
This is a cooperative journey. We can’t leave Nithish there. He’s a prototype of a brand new kid, and boy does he have baggage. What was meant to be: we are consciousness bundles, and by our poetry you see that we can bring you vehicles in consciousness headed for our high change. Eat that in the Menu of the Gods. Can we find Auroville? I’m drivin’ you home.
From Nithish’s YouTube channel
On August 19th, I sent the following small poem to both Facebook group’s admins with a link to the poem here on my blog, asking again that they post the poem, and in my stats I saw that two people in India came here from Facebook, and it’s reasonable to assume that was admin from one or both of those groups. Within a couple of days, Auroville, INDIA posted not only it but also two more posts I had pending, all at once. One can only say thank you when that happens.
Do somethin’ more than just an operator’s opinion. It puts human unity in your lap, and I’m the border they cross. Don’t kill it again. It’s costly. You’re destroyin’ human unity. Can you get a handle on it? Censorship is for what’s wrong and makes us bleed. Is it really for what makes us right? Answer the question, and that’s the ordinary. Let’s cup in our hands the extraordinary. I give you a ride there in this poem.
He’s read by anger. He says it beautifully and sweetly. I saw the changes up front. He’s just so confused, afraid. I feel sorry for him. It’s his lowest book, give you trouble.
He doesn’t know what to do with himself. I’ve already got complaint. Pound the report. He keeps forgetting the name of the trashcan they threw him in the night it happened.
You’ll do exactly what I say to waters, to water. It pulls him. He does it. He masturbates in front of his father and mother. I have a question. Why do they want him to masturbate? You would think it would be the other way around. It was. It’s soon to be pleasure house.
There, there now the father’s hand. You’ll get a rise out of me in a minute with this. After that he met the strong end of the law. Come help, and Sandiya slapped him as he pulled, pulls his red car. He felt his little toy rear end. He screamed, and his father pulled it by the roots again. Now, he was hysterical, and that’s how he got into the bathroom with his mother, and then she syphoned his little pony to sooth, golden fellatio.
Son of a bitch, this is horrible news. The vision is exactly what happened, all the ponies included, and we rest our case here. It’s too lost to talk about, and that boy’s underwear is scared. This was the opening for him to destroy himself. This made him blight his tears for me. He couldn’t believe it had happened, and he kept tryin’ to forget about it. It was a horror story out of Genghis Khan.
Now it’s on Facebook, and you don’t believe it. I’m sorry it’s true. Spiritual vision shows it, and it has shown it all along. You just didn’t hear me the first time. Now they put all of this on him, the surveillance cameras, the total control, the psychological manipulation, the physical abuse, so he wouldn’t tell me what happened that night, and that’s why, dear ladies and gentlemen, he can have no contact with me whatsoever, in any shape for form.
They do not know about consciousness. They think you can hide somethin’ they did to a little boy, and I’m in union with him. They don’t know about consciousness. They think we’re separated, and we communicate daily. The boy’s gotten fluffed about it, and is trying to ignore it. He wants to accept this abuse and move on. He has been ruined in character, totally humiliated where he meets the world, and is scared to death of his parents when they’re in their wrath. He will do anything for them, except tell me to get lost.
Okay now that’s you’ve heard the story what are you gonna do? Nothin’. We haven’t crossed this bridge before. You just listen to stories. No one will question this kid with the proper treatment. They let his mother rule, and she is not good to him. Okay Pondy it’s your stuff. You need to see this, because this boy died on the Cross so you wouldn’t abuse your children. Can you figure me here?
He’s a representative example of what you do to children, just so exaggerated so it has the impact it has to show you abuse is wrong. You don’t know about representative figures. They’re a holy book. They are like a Christ, and you need to see them so you can get the full effect. This is godly awful, isn’t it?
Imagine what it’s like to be one with this child, sharing consciousness together no holds barred, and then he’s taken from me and has this done to him, and I have to watch a helpless observer. I screamed and I carried on to advocates, the TV news, and the Child Help Line. No one would question that kid or even worry about it. I was a crazy lark that needed to shut up, but I’m an activist, and I know my stuff. This story has gone out to every major NGO in the country that deals with child’s rights and preventing them from being abused, several Pondy TV news channels, and every major newspaper in the country. This story will get out, when the election’s over.
There’s no stoppin’ it now, and I’ll be right there to receive that boy to take him home and heal him, because that’s what union does. You’re unified on oneness, and systems of abuse do not have ground of being. It’s a union story of love and kindness. It’s oneness’ story, the heart of compassion, knowledge of one another where the soul sees.
I’m sorry I’m teachin’ yah new things. You’re not good with innovative stuff when it involves the terms and conditions of our being, what a human being is, and how it tries to rise up out of human being into the next class. I give you there with this kid. That’s our endeavor together, to change man.
Now tell me again I can’t heal this kid, but the truth of the matter is that we’ll heal each other. I’m in the same shape he’s in, only I will take the lead because I’m his daddy, and daddies, my sweet audience, really do know best. Thank you Pondicherry for letting him heal at my house, his home before all this started, his place of refuge and safety, a place of loving dog.
And that, my dear friends, is where this chapter ends. Did you know dogs are with us to become human beings? The soul says this, and evolution’s its spur. That’s why they live in our homes. That’s why they’re our children. They have an appointment with destiny when they change to the higher kind, and for a mountain of dog lives they learn the ways of human being, until they become a Lisa, my beloved dead Rottweiler, and they have the magic of human being in their eyes growin’ their understanding inside. They have reached the pinnacle of dog, and our house raises dog, and that boy’s right in the middle of it, lovin’ those dogs and those dogs lovin’ him. Imagine how his dogs felt when he was taken. They’ve never seen him again.
We have the ingredients for healing I tell you, even in the notion of dream. It’s candy for us. What did you dream last night? And we all tell. We have a healing house, and we’re ready for this boy to return. Now Pondicherry we’re a prototype, and you’ve gotta be big enough to see it. You’re a big enough town for it. The supramental manifestation on Earth descended here first. You grapple with big things. It’s time you knew that, and it’s you Pondicherry, you, that replaces Jerusalem as the city of hope, the city of peace, and we’re here to help you with that, me and this boy. Okay Pondicherry, let us heal.
You’ll have to give me the man roles. What have we here? Look at this kid, strangely peacock even in defeat. Are you listenin’ Pondicherry? Tell me a secret. I get him smooth. You crazy person, you’re by the wall; I’ll try not to tell you to get lost after the election.
We are the soul rise, he and I, and I understand your concern, and I understand your confusion. Boy get it to become man, and we’re hit Pondicherry on the head of its going to school. Now laugh at that will yah, and tell me I’m a fool. You haven’t read his poetry yet, nor seen that strength of soul. Just sit back and relax and review our material. Videos, poems, and songs will knock your socks off, will do your head in, will be kind and gentle and sweet, every time you see us talk, but we will be loud, and awfully bright.
Now here am I in front of Pondicherry, goodnight. Hey, can I get you something? Do you need to cut us up in pieces and throw it away? You don’t need to do anything except go with the movement. We know how to ride the storm. What happened? You heard the story that they took ‘im and all that ensued, and I am his daddy, and I would like to raise him again. All sorts of thought we give you Pondicherry. One came in a dog suit. Vision of Luna. (vision of my Rottweiler standing outside near a wood) The wrong people have that boy now. You need to see this and make it right. You can see the future in us if you look hard enough.
Nithish and his daddy, now that’s an item. There’s no reason to fear that now. He’ll be at break tomorrow. The train station on Friday comin’ here. I’ll have to turn him in the grocery store, and toys, many presents, we let him have. He’s got a healin’ train a comin’, and it’s at the station now.
What an active young man. Who are you? The poet of the sunrise of humanity. Let’s move his truck, and he can express that, and I’m his keeper, and I’m his teacher there at dawn too. Please hear us. We’re the Milky Way. We’ve got good news, the colors in the rainbow, either in social media or every place you meet us on the street. That’s rock bottom vision. It goes like this: do you hear our pull? We’re a look out for human beings. Can I wash off the dog? Get it right with human beings.
Nithish is with his parents. Don’t say anything now. One for… (vision of Nithish sitting at a computer and his mother and auntie are standing behind him, Sandiya taking a photo of him with a flat, silver, square camera, telling him to pose, and I realize they are taking a photo record of him to compete with mine, making a sudden concentrated effort to do that to rival the photos I post of him) It looks like a photo shoot, and they’ve got the video to prove it. And there he is. I had no idea. Nithish you’re asking me a question: where do you divide the partition? As long as you’re careful not to do that, tear me apart, we wouldn’t partition ourselves. Your parents are using you for propaganda. They’re taking pictures to rival me. I took spontaneous pictures of you. The difference is tearing me apart.
You’re open to they put you here they put you there, like they’re doin’ it for you, and you give them that warm smile, thinking you have their business. It’s not the same baby dog, and I wonder if you can even feel it, so lost you are in their approval and validation, so far you are away from me. I don’t like Bozos, Bozo the Clown. Put that on the street.
Grace school is himself. (vision of Grace his Beagle puppy standing in a table chair on her hind legs with her front paws on the table) He’s in his underwear. He’s big and small and little and mean. He won’t take no for an answer. He’s not dedicated to you, and something happened that changed his mind. You did not seem relief. You were not there for him. You didn’t come, and you were crazy with grief. You wanted to see him so badly it turned him away from you. He doesn’t respect you. He believes the brainwashing. He doesn’t know what’s up. He doesn’t care to find out. You want to know if he’s happy and doesn’t need you. He can’t find himself. He’s alone on the inside, and if you can’t see sadness in his eyes, you can feel it in his heart. He wants to see you and need is comin’.
He doesn’t understand what’s happened. He’s too little for that. He wants so see you help. He has not gained by loosing you. His life is something forcing. He’s a painted doll. You are his flower. He just wants to sit and be with you, but he doesn’t want to see this too loudly. He doesn’t want to be in the garbage can anymore with his parents. All that’s over. That he doesn’t renounce you that’s okay. They just keep him from you, and the phone call the other day they got by. You’re crazy and confused his mind was their answer.
And now you’ve declared you’re gonna die to see ‘im, hunger strike. I’m in trouble. This will all fall on me. Hear him now? Is he worried about you? They don’t want him to be but yes. He doesn’t want you to die. Will he do anything to stop it? He would try.
Now all this bad news, that makes you feel so bad, is gonna change. When you see him again you’ll know you’re there, and he will remember past lives, and he’ll want it there. He’ll reveal secrets. He will be with you in every heartbeat, and this will open that boy’s mind to convince his parent’s of his need to see you. This is incredible news and will change the story. He will be yours again, and they will have to contend with that.
Is there a public on the way? It happened. The public got wind of this, and you’re showin’ it to them now. You’re in the Pondy poems, and this one’s the big one for their being’s worth.
He has my note. He has my seven. We need him to see you, and that’s soon. He doesn’t know which way is up. And you’re gonna show him Heaven’s door. (vision of Nithish sitting on the curb of a street and looking up at me with such open love) He’s the taste in your room. You’re his special surprise. He knows you’re comin’. Will you listen to me? This was our world, the great and hidden pain of death. And you’ve got me on time, before I forgot you. There I’ll see you on Friday. You make the test model fight too. It’s prevision, and it will become active soon.
Oh there were his plug pluses down there. There were him. “The samadhi of the Gods is in my heart water drops.” He will felt good listenin’. Have you watched your video yet? I’m not lookin’ to do that. What’s wrong with you? No contact with me, that and I want you to leave me alone. Two notes from the ranger. You are being awfully bad. We have to waste time here and I show it to you. Here, and will you come when they ask? I would go in a heartbeat. But you won’t watch the video? I’m scared to feel the pain. I don’t want to remember you. I don’t want to cry. Alright little boy, you aren’t the greatest little boy in the world, but I will see you soon.
Harm's End 