photo by me of one of my only real friends on the island
I’m telling you the birds and the bees. It’s way over your head? Come on now slow down and read. This is the biggest thing on earth where we whip up ourselves. I’ve revealed the times, any way you look at them. See that dog standin’ there? It’s the same for him. Now let this poem unfold before your eyes a poet where you’re sittin’.
All about bears and livid nature just feed the worm. They just didn’t do it right, be themselves in a public crowd. An exaggerated sense of self led them through the day. This is the human worm. I think this plagues everybody. It’s baseline bein’ human, when we encounter each other. I am so big in my eyes. I need to show this to people. I have to feel good about myself and expose my difference. I am just one in a crowd, and that hurts.
A social hierarchy makes everybody sting and just messes up bein’ human. Everyone is just falling all over themselves to be an item. Your boss said no. Now, what’s at fault here? Everybody’s just bein’ human. Let me give you a hug. I’ve just arrived on the scene, and I think we met once, and I have to show this scene my Jesus imitation mi corazón, or I just sit back and judge everybody pretendin’ to be bigger than everybody else with my debonair, so they see I’m the one important here.
Can you stop? Nobody can. These are the facts of life. I’m a hole in one. I see everything as the center of me. My senses place me dead center. I hear everything inside confirm that. I feel it on my skin, and you can be my child, and I am not your senses to you, and your inner life is dead to me. I don’t hear a thing. I infer. I gather. I learn to empathize. I don’t know where you’re at as you see me. My world is so big you understand, your world pressin’ in on me. I’ve got to show yah I’m worth.
Here’s the deal. You don’t believe me, unlessin’ we mean for each other. There are just too many of us to care about them others. This is such an exaggerated posture, however much noise we make to show our worth. We feel ourselves so deeply. We are ever-present with ourselves, and we want so to be liked and loved, not made to feel bad about who we are. Oh man please listen to me. We each and everyone of us hurt so because we’re ridin’ the world right upon its seat, legitimately the peddlers of existence, wind in our hair, fire under our tires, and not a person sees that but us.
Oh my God that hurts. It’s downright mean to arrange a world bottle this way. Is it a Creator laugh? We’re so on ourselves, little children at the handlebars, peddlin’ for all it’s worth. Who can blame us for bein’ mean? Now you know that’s not right, and God is not a son of a bitch. We’re workin’ out a plan too big for us to see. We have to take the impossible and pump it on our bikes, not live in a storm of I am the you, the me.
We have to do this ourselves, realize every Dick and Jane is the center of ourself too, and they feel the world out there the central event in it, just like everyone of us does to our existential eyes. Oh my God all life fits there. Oh my God all the world fits there.
Can you see the change in identity? There you are identifying with everything. Now you can still get your work done, but with radically changed hands and thought process, and your heart beats in everyone’s so that you can feel them like yourself. Even if you fumble this someone really does you in, you climb back up there because it’s how you see.
Now am I livin’ wart? I have the apple in my hand. I’ve explained to you humanity, right there in social dice. I’m the cows come home, and I’m different you see? I’m posturin’ so you’ll give me worth. Is it all a game? Do we just bury our heads in sand dunes we are so embarrassing on each other? Oh no sweet brother, sweet sister, puppy dog, pussy cat, we are so much more than tumultuous sees. We are bigger than stars, just immature infants that’s all to how fucking big everything is and meaningful. We have a role to play in an unimaginable creation’s purpose, these little animals that we are, but we grow up you see.
I’m speakin’ from that tall noon far off in a shimmering distance. Inevitable we arrive. A chrysalises our dumb selves, and we’re just waitin’ on that greater light to open us, and this poem has eyes on that light. Is that okay? You sent me the email to shut up. I’m sorry I can’t. It’s what makes me tick, right here: see that me there? I’m lookin’ at the world poet my number. His editorial number God central that’s you.
I have to have a storm to peddle in emergencies, passage mean, this business of losing my job. A cute muffin is my horticulture, a grassroots revealing poem. Now think on this. What’s so weird this is Candid Camera. We’re bein’ caught in ourselves, because as luck would have it we are the One lookin’ out at the world through everyone’s eyes.
We get caught in ourselves seein’ that, and there’s a host of pile-ons. We’re creation’s niggers, little hapless animals breastfeeding on life, not knowin’ who we are, not knowin’ where we came from. We’re a little window on time, unaware of the All inside. It’s spurs us on. It gives us courage. It’s not bound by time or even existence. We are there you see in the front of ourselves too close to see.
What a Hollywood. It’s wonderful really, and validates all our notions of look important me. To discover that in yourselves you would have to remove the Earth from view, see brighter than stars. Can you do that? That will be the day you will count forever as the starting of your see. You would’ve seen Earth laid bare in all of its miracle. In several seconds sums it up for me. I’m seein’ all those pile-ons a poet describin’ time. Is that so bad? A referee man, I’m tellin’ yah how the cow ate the cabbage. Am I invited to dinner?
The most precious thing on earth, your dog loves you so, and you can treat ‘im like a dog, piss all over him with your human control, shock the shit out of him with that play-button shock collar, and he’ll lick your hand and throw away all his pride at your feet. Now how do we help that dog? It's not abuse you get arrested for, but you don't wanna look at it. There’s better hours his master can spend with him. Well I found out theys do me dog here too. Comin’ in didn’t see that. I thought I was a pedigree dog. (The sound of laughter) He gets embarrassed and shy we share identity. Get that puppy so much better than scoldin’s. Honor that dog.
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 timeshare 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.
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?
Me at work at the Roxie, photo by a kind tourist lady named Eleanor, taken just after writing the 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.
I sit and toil all day at the heart’s sky, laboring meaning into form that won’t surprise me with its despair.
I unhand time. It seizes me. I believe in miracles. It’s all a wonderful of the All-Look’s gaze. I labor to see that.
I can remember it happening long ago. All the sights I see hide God. Can you hide God? It’s a revelation in a day, the abruptness of creation organizing time.
I can see through the forms cloud my mind with meaning. That bus that just stopped there, it stayed a bus, but it carried mystery.
The people at the bar getting drunk next door, a singer sings their songs. I can’t find the music or the melody they become more than sharks wetting their nose on freedom.
I carry them in time, the little guy at the Roxie station wagon tourist information center, seeing past the show into metaphor’s play.
Bathing suits and butts don’t know what they mean. Their wearers are proud of them. They walk past smiling don’t look stirring sexual desire.
I don’t know how to do this, be a Roxie concierge and assign God to the role. I just mean somethin’ to everyone. My hand is ever on time’s grasp, “Yes ma’am, can I help you please?”
I study tourists tryin’ to find time a meal on paradise. Can I help you folks? Every meaning gets bigger than time and be what it means for.
Can you see that? Every meaning we look at wears the face of God, but every dog knows God is horribly attentive to things you don’t understand.
I will find meaning there. I will reach beyond the Earth and sit at the Roxie and be myself guiding tourists to their destination on Fort Myers Beach. Yah get me dog?
When we had to suddenly leave India and return to the U.S., we faced the heartbreaking reality of leaving behind our four dogs—Luna, Hannah, Bruno, and Grace.
We’ve been told our four sweet pups wait faithfully by the door each day, missing their family and hoping for our return. Now, we’re asking for your help to bring them to us in the USA where they belong.
Transporting dogs internationally is a complicated and costly process. It requires medical testing, paperwork, and significant transfer fees. Our goal is to reunite with all four dogs as soon as possible.
Great news! A secret donor has given us $2,500 because we raised that amount, and he matched it. We are now only short $250 to bring Luna Rottweiler here, at a cost of $5,300.
Important update: Luna Rottweiler arrived right before Christmas. Thank you everyone.
We are continuing the campaign to bring our three other dogs, at a significantly lower cost than to bring Luna, because she had to come as fright, being a Rottweiler, and they can come as excess baggage, and we have a friend to go there and get them, first Bruno, and then Grace and Hannah.
A lot of things up there I don’t like to talk about. It’s a mess up there, and it chases your life. I’m an idiot for believing it. There’s no hope on this runway. I can’t even see my dogs. I lost all the people who matter to me. They’ve taken me out of India for a visa violation. Can you imagine Dylan?
I had several minutes to pack. Nithish came and we talked. Everybody was crying. No appeal allowed. They were stone-hearted men. The immediacy of the situation derailed me. I was not prepared to go. No one would listen to my pleas just a few days please. It was heartbroken. The dogs were so confused. Bruno knew. The pain in that dog’s eyes, can it kill you?
Who knows the price you have to pay for poetry? I made the Auroville Foundation mad, and they promptly got rid of me and didn’t even show their face. Their lackeys did it. I’m going to shoot them tomorrow, not with guns with their guilt. Douglas and I are on a plane to nowhere. We’ve been kicked out of our home. I am over skies now. I don’t know where I am. I don’t care to. I will never see my dogs again.
A few minutes to pack after a life of 20 years. No international rights, what do you do with that when your life-blood is on the table, all your hopes and dreams? Even Nithish’s parents cried, and we all forgave each other. So many crying people came to see up off, and it didn’t move a cop.
This is land’s lamb, a spoken inner voice, and it will even tell on itself. It won’t leave you alone. To trust it is to invite paradise, but hell is its price. Pain and suffering slam me now, and I don’t know what to do with that. More poetry please. Look I gotta get out of this ride. Most things have to be deleted anyway. I’m sorry. Look it’s over.
What happened? The government has cancer. It only has a gun. It breaks people’s hearts, is only concerned with its name, can’t see past its own nose, is a bear eating people. No one can call it on it. You get in trouble. They won’t let you talk. When you give them a divinely inspired poem they get mad, shoot the messenger, tear apart his family.
What’s the wasted gun, where I meet the government, or where it meets me? Hand that over a hide and seek. Show dinner now how much bullshit serves me on myself, or am I worth the life of this poet?
Plenty of people have no pride. It’s part of the hardship of life. Do we let then in? Do we let the haphazard come in? They’ll throw it open like they’re dying without it. They are not sincere. They’re trying to get over on you whatever they can. They can’t look you in the eye and say they’re sorry. They’re all over the place, a dim a dozen.
I need to know what that man’s like. Test him some. Come to his house and sit at his table. Is there anybody but himself in his banyan tree who are not satellite I’s of his solar I? Can he have compassion? Will he sacrifice for those around him? Is he a hope in humanity’s heart? Does he genuinely feel the presence of others? What does it take to make him smile? Can you count lighthouse in him?
I’m askin’ the right questions say you find an illegal immigrant. These are the criteria we live by, and he needs to show that. Can I get a horseman here please? We’re blowin’ humanity out of the water throwin’ somebody out of the country such as these. An immigrant’s status give the immigrant’s worth?
Look at yesterday. They pull a poet out of his home. Because I didn’t read his poetry. I listened to the bossman. We celebrate this. You’re at 1 o’clock. Put more tickets through. It’s all good. Put the police upon the table, and this defends a society of Indian spirituality?
Our family there were told that the Secretary of the Auroville Foundation, Jayanti Ravi, filed a police complaint against me for the past three poems on this blog, which are about Auroville. Four men came to our house, all in civilian clothes, and only one would show his ID, the one from immigration, whom it’s reasonable to assume that they brought just in case there was a visa violation, and there was. Later, since I was holding out in my house, the regular police came.
Recently Auroville News and Notes reported that the Auroville Foundation has brought 15 members of the special police who are crushing dissidence in Kashmir to do that in Auroville. I suspect at least two of the men who wouldn’t show ID were them.
photo by Lydia, Dylan’s mother, ban image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay
I tried to find people of substance to testify with me. I just heard my bottom line turn not which but for my soul. “Yeah I’ll be right there.” He was to make “me, I don’t care.” He is at this stage the little boy. He’ll bring him in in another place, and that boy cares about his room. It’s been set up for baby. Ohhhhhh, as in that’s an amazing fieldwork with the little in the house. God cares. He snuck in the lunch. Yes that was weird: a sudden host of angels lined the room.
Angels, when you are in a film, they see what you’re doin’. I’m happy about that. I’m not wrapped in golden chains. I love the highway. I love the freeway. I’m not mindin’ my own business. I do a lot of lookin’ in the inner chambers of people, all who’s connected with my room as they star in their own show— breakin’ bread together, and it’s just the outfield in my room. I put on my clothes.
Now I’m a witness of tomorrow, and I don’t think you’ve seen that yet. Look with Dylan. He’s about to turn two. I spend the day with him a time or two a week, really in soft with his mother how to do that. You walk on tippy toes around that kid. You let him lead. You follow, and you just see him all together soon. You focus, concentrate, on that kid, right where he’s developin’, and the voice come out “I am so glad you’re seeing me.”
You give him everything he wants that doesn’t hurt him or make him mean. You know you have to balance this with society’s rules. It’s what we make them for: we need a functioning society. Now what happens when he’s off base, a naked kid in a mud hole? Clean dirt don’t mind, well water, and there are no snakes and spiders around, biting insects. You let him enjoy himself, makin’ mud pies, smearin’ mud all over himself, splashin’ and a splashin’ and a splashin’.
The Rottweiler near him smiles. She understands mud. I am making sure he has the freedom to do it. Money from Heaven, I love to see him play. It’s a stadium room. We are bound by so many witnesses. I can feel them in my sleeves. I wanna get at the new creation, and I see with children we do that. I study them, hopin’ to find tomorrow. I am bound and limited in my time, and someone else owns that kid. I can only do so much.
I gave Nithish a brand new room, for a day, a kid now 13 I lost last year. It all crumbled. The new creation fell apart. He was reamed viciously by his parents, until he lost all his Heaven. They punished him for his spirituality, and he lost all sense of it. He’s told me he has no feelings now and would like to kill people if he could. That’s very far from grace, and I accuse God about it all the time, the Mother and Sri Aurobindo.
What we did cannot be repeated in a laboratory. It’s too much where we put spiritual influence. Laboratory conditions can’t copy that. Because I’m not there, on the ground, the kid is just in a black straight jacket, and I can’t get near ‘im. I can’t get this across to anyone. There is no need of me they see. I’m a foreigner in India, and that’s all they see. This is a racial country I just sit and bleed. Even if someone would turn him towards me, I’m a police major. Write it down hey I like kids, and I’ve stepped on their shoes in the past, and now I know what they need?
It’s a honey table, and the most skeptical person would find me right with kids if they followed me around with one. I know what I’m doin’. But I would not like the interference to tell you the truth, and we wouldn’t be focused on child development. It would be watching me. How do I show you this honey dog? You can’t blame me for tryin’. I want my boy back so he can grow up as tall as his destiny calls for, and I want Dylan to be assured I’m there, and no one will take me away. These are troubled times.
So we play eggs, these hot air balloons I sudden you with so’s you can see I’m not red in my room. It’s a feelin’ test. I’m givin’ you the means to look in there wide open feelin’. A seer would see a honey perch, laughter and commodity for the child. I arm there. It’s not a black bag.
Now what’s the commodity in my room? It’s soul change. I’m learnin’ the soul take over, and that’s the honey for the child I want them in contact with so with their souls they stay in touch; they don’t lose that sweet easiness that makes them joys at life, and that’s our leadership with children, the soul ever takes presence. Can you find that?
It’s too abstract to you, or most of you, or it’s some made-up notion we force in life’s cupboard. It’s the contact with life at its most basic. It’s what we deal with as children that never forgets childhood, and we love bein’ a child. It’s what we lose when we grow up that we call innocence and candor and silliness and so on. We lose that touch with our souls, the sweetness that can forgive everyone, even if they’ve just whipped your butt. You remember that?
I’m all about it, and I meet the souls of children with my own. Funny how you do that. You just be kind with them and ever present, as the big dog sittin’ there that just wants them safe. That’s what you do with children, open up their hearts with love and make them feel safe and special.
Dylan doesn’t respond yet to anyone to get out of his own mood, but he comes when I call, and that’s what we spent the day doin’. Self-Absorption do you see that dog sittin’ there? Luna baby loves you. And Self-Absorption looks up at me in play and gives me a smile full of eye contact, grinnin’ from ear to ear, and it lights up the sun and gives me the joy of the world. And he comes and takes my hand and leads me to what he wants to do, and he’s developin’ friendship and social contact. We have fun together.
Listen, you can’t fool an angel. What’s on with you when a child is under your care, when you play with kittens?
The Void fashions thought, gives it the clothes you wear. We bury the world there. We’re all over each other in drowning reality, and each one of us wears woe is me clothes tryin’ to describe our reality to another, even if we don’t feel that way. It’s the default among us. Just read some poetry and see. It won’t lift you to the skies, poetry club after poetry club. Do you know how bottomless this is?
I don’t know where to end this. By Dylan’s side. I don’t think he’s learned to be sad yet as his disposition. He’s two, and I wear him on my sleeves today his minder, really protecting his freedom, no anger, no swats, and no is not a word I cram down his throat. I like his natural freedom and his natural state of joy.
Where does it come from? I can sit in the same tub and not be happy. He’s an expert at this. He knows where the joy is, the merger inside of him with his environment. I don’t think we’ve reached a separate Dylan yet all in his own clothes. The joy is phenomenal. He just screamed and looked at me, and I gave a pirate’s laugh. I like the sound of joy.
His frank littleness operates on my moods, and I can taste his taste with the world. You have to hold on there’s stickers there. The world will grab you, and all falls down. You have to be careful there, and everything has eyes you know, even the water bucket. How amazing this is. I coo and talk to those eyes a speech pre-language wears. Identified with Dylan with a poet’s laugh, I’m in his jolly roger don’t you see?
Now what happens when we’re three? Identity with the world please, it no longer storms our room. I could be seven, and joy becomes something monumental we chase the dogs with. It’s not homegrown anymore. It’s not our natural state. We’ve put on man.
I’m on poet’s wings, and I’m identified with what’s in front of me. You can’t do this writing about your make up. It’s how we discover the world, reaching poet wings reaching the starlight, where God sees everything glow. It put us together in ancient times, grabbed civilization out from the paws of nature, a poet’s look guide, and we’re born you and me so much’d civilized clothes, and a poet born language don’t you know. It came from the skies added to our feet down below.
Where’s all this goin’? And we write it down in speech, great big letters of world maker’s art that came in vision or dream, and we fountain a language with it. A poet saw that. I’m not here to hear you scream, and kill all these damn flies. That’s the muscle we wear. The poet has the architect of civilization we grasp here. You don’t know from on high. You don’t know these robes. I’m speechless. Yeah, you would be. Well I be damned.
The chaos of the toddler, it writes your poem. They don’t know dirty, and they have no sense of mistake. They don’t know danger. A grandpa’s life is dangerous, and he gave that toddler reach. It’s not playin’ with the same cars of a society toolkit. They meditate together on meaning. The boy feels the rush. It’s living. I can’t draw your papers from here, but I’m showin’ yah how we’re made. I can’t explain it to yah so that you wear the same cars, but I accelerate growth.
That’s not dangnabbit, or any role of violation. It’s where that guy sees the stars. Are you with me on this? For a nice mental health, where it counts, it’s in that toddler child. You don’t want to falter there. They’re bright and shiny objects from the universe, and they just love to play. They don’t need a hard time.
Just organize them the storybook of the universe, and they mean something more than I am tired, irritate me one more time and I’ll slap you, or I’m horny please me. Don’t be confused with their gatherin’. There’s a child there with their tall eyes bein’ the Earth for you, and every touch counts, and they love to be touched and cuddled. They wear your fingers for the rest of their lives, your harsh tone, your can’t take it anymore. All of humanity needs to see this.
Listen, it’s not possible today is it? This is too cutting edge. This is too model. Don’t take their joy away. Let them be rising and kind and kids by you’re conducing a sacrifice for their wellbeing. Can’t you see this Paul when you get home from work, and you’re tired, and momma there in the kitchen, that meal’s better than that child? And we can reverse the roles and do the same thing or join them. What would daycare say? Keep them busy no. Let them occupy themselves with whatever, and watch them there. We want them to organize themselves, no just obey masters and do what they’re told.
Can you see my thought’s skies? We don’t want a subservient human being. We want society to challenge the world. We want a greater world bear. We are on earth for no other thing. How could you argue with yourself? Beginning right now, make that toddler’s world better by your lovin’ hands and freeze, no shouting, no hitting, no inappropriate hands. Goo Goo and Ga Ga, they just inherited the world, and it was nice to them. Oh man see this.
Make a child’s day. Make every moment count. Can yah? Will yah? It’s growin’ up to be you. A vehicle burned by society’s ways, a damaged vessel, do you really wanna put that on that kid? Let them play in the dirt and mud. They’re not going to murder themselves, hurt society with it. Aren’t you right there to prevent mouthfuls and rocks up their nose? They’re testin’ time, where all the dirt goes.
Aren’t you glad you see that, their special put together? It makes for good kids, lettin’ them be the little animals they are when they’re two, no inhibitions, not feedbacks. They’re beautiful little tigers, and we give that little creature kindness and consideration in every mood they wear. We just don’t let them tear up the ship, or express their violence towards other people and puppy dogs, and we teach them to be kind to ourselves with the kindness we give them, and who would let a toddler hurt himself?
You gotta be swift and fast, and you’re gonna make mistakes. The little monster’ll test your patience, the little cuddly bear. You’re farmin’, know that, and you determinin’ that child’s life. A great big heavy thing in life, we shape our children by our touch and mood, and the most important time’s before three, monumental she wrote. I’m infinity’s cards, and I’ve just showed you the spasm of life, where it most counts: hey baby, oh you new thing. Can you dig it?
It’s the living fetal position for animals, the punishment chair. Stop this motion. Order the pens to our insight. I was thinking first of Dylan. I didn’t chatter my teeth there. My comfort, his parade, he got the money’s worth. I can’t spell this out for you. It’s long on time. What do we do with him, pull his pants down and shoot ‘im, arrange him in the corner, blister his butt? Let’s call him kings, and you’re his subject most of the time. Can you get that?
Wow he’s free to make decisions that don’t harm him. You’re followin’ him around a puppy dog. Did I just say something mean? It is exhausting, but you’re right there as he explores the world. Too wild to keep, my parents put a dog there, highly efficient at watching me. Outside he followed me everywhere. I brought some of the memories back. Can you believe he talked? Used all the sounds a dog makes to convey meaning. Boy get away from there. You stop that behavior at once. It was a pleading sound with authority.
Buckshot was extraordinary, a big dog from army parents, half Shepard half Collie. He came from a military base. Can you see it? We’ve been doin’ it all along in our homes and in our backyards, but we can make it an official duty of mankind, train dogs to watch kids. The little one’s too exhausting to keep up with. They need special care, and a good dog can give it.
Am I meaning here? Do you know how much this helps the child? The love of a dog opens up society to them in the ways of love, and if it’s a lone child, they pay attention to another person in their play. Let’s put a handle on their selfishness shall we? That big dog can protect itself and is a sense on the world we don’t. The consciousness shares between a dog and child, that’s the link right there, but I’m gettin’ far ahead of you. You don’t know you do this with Dog. We are more than their masters, and they are our children.
Buckshot grows. Would you believe he’d take my hand in his mouth and lead me back to the house if I passed the invisible barriers that said too far? There was a dog there on his way to human. You don’t know that’s what dogs are doing with us. In the evolution of soul they become man after climbing the latter of Dog.
What did you think they were doing with us? I put dogs in the throne room too, kids with fur and tail and adorable ears. There was this hole in evolution, and we created Dog to fill it when we were ready in soul, when we became men and women firm enough on the ground to fill it. At the role of civilization, and then came Dog.
I’ve gotten angry again, and I just shut it off and move on, apologizin’ profusely to that kid. How is this learned? The heart is open to soul. The heart is open to that kid. Profound love dwells there that can heal anything. Careful with that soul. I guess I’m a witness that you let out. I’m not an icicle. I am love everywhere found, deep feelings of release into the sincerity of the moment.
You are love there watch your nose, and you obey your nose no longer. You’re not led by the nose anywhere. You’re compelled to soul choices, complete understanding not offended by anything, and where you find love you find the wisdom to use it to correct that child, the strong love that knows its pants that can say no to things that harm and make that child know he caused it without those feelings of guilt that block remorse.
You surface the soul you know. It’s what takes over as you’re doin’ it, a sadhana out of ego. It heals. It wears a crown. It makes everything right. That’s what we’re doin’ here, being soul, a manual for the new millennia, how to be safe with our kids in diapers and into the terrible twos, and they’re comin’ unto themselves threes and fours. We are expensive with the toddler, lavish on them our heartfelt attention, and that’s the history of science that makes a better world.
We need a role model, and I’ve lifted up a poem for you that comes from higher sources, the role of a poet, a special use of language wear, and poetry that I have, I’ve returned us to our origins, where the poet revealed to us the world and gave us strong ideas how to live in it. It be compatible with what the world needs. I can’t account for its audience, but here take another poem.
We walked out a miracle. We walked out back. Did yah listen? The applications are enormous. I am in any thought you use to harbor children. A family of pioneers asks a lot about a new generation. Well I’ve got that orbit. I’m asking me this I’m asking you: what’s conducting God in our filthy experiment? The eyes of the child.
The pictures, we’re gonna keep looking, and another FMG, it was on the film net. Would you cause me to live? I’ve gone further than I am, and I don’t feel badly about it. Broadly I read you. You know Stoppa was running. They didn’t know what they were doing. This was the parade. I’m tellin’ yah I’m sorry. I'm not fighting wars with children anymore. Can you get a load of that redemption? Be hostile where joy was, their glasses whole birthplace humanity right on time. Good afternoon.
The change in consciousness ahead, get me my improvement I’ve penned these days. Why would I be running from it? See a bullock cart, I can’t get out of this view. Got some dirt, it springs into anxiety. I put it on the lawn and deal with it. I don’t know exactly when it happened, the line of consciousness drawn. I’m a senior builder. Stopness, seriously wellbeing, birth has a lot more to do with it than nature. Is that so? I gave a poem that talks about relief. I’m not gonna pull it to my pants down. Were you like a screwdriver yet, you’re used? Can I answer that question?
Spoken word poetry, till I get it, I leave it alone. Wow, it’s left alone. In case of good poetry break this glass. I just sit here and discover, letting the word explain itself in the giving of lines and in the hurtin’ of the world.
If I show you the pain will you stop it? Will you even know it’s there where you feel your pain? Oh no another Holocaust movie all about bein’ numb. I can’t give you this star-glow to ride the world on its tongue feelin’ people. I’m not a robot I’m free, but the price of my freedom is your pain, your wellbeing I feel like my own.
It’s shoots me all the time, or it gives me stars. I’m there with you in the delivery room of another bucket of world today, huh?
I see through all these sleeves of world maker’s art, a world upon world in the moments with mine, a conglomerate of worlds of this group of people and that, of this person alone, of all the mini worlds that make up this world that we call Earth. Can you see that simultaneously with your own? I taste you there. I know you’re there.
How do I communicate this to you so you feel it too like you have your children’s hands in your own, like your best friend’s smile, like your mother’s love? I don’t die there, but I question God all the time and Sri Aurobindo.
These are terrible times, and they get ready for tomorrow terrible too, with a past just as terrible starin’ us in the face. Let the good times roll, and my God they do. How sweet life can be in its gathered moments, how manageable, but why does it always add up to this: life is not a bundle of joy; life gets us in corners and does bad things to us. Can you understand that?
Why does the world go on like nothin’s happenin’, like it’s free and easy and clean, so standardized? They scream on the news bad news to an audience of normal, of tie your shoe, of everything’s alright here, ain’t it? Not in every bubble. So much quiet desperation it has been said.
Do you know the rovin’ hellhole? Somewhere on Earth at any given time they’re eating each other alive. It’s the worst place on the planet for a moment. Hell swallows them whole, unbelievable cruelty, and nothin’ to redeem them. Goddamn that stinks.
Alight I’m blessed. I live in a little pocket of warmth and forgiveness. I have opened the doors to humanity in the stadium of my room. I ride there all day figurin’ you out. I take great thoughts to the skies, but I must remember I’m a low man on the totem pole in your eyes. I do nothin’ here that grants you my room, that shows what I’m doin’ larger than life.
A poet of world standing I am not. I’m a poet among many thousands in the availability of today, and no poetry comes along and wallops your head or smites your heart from my pen. I just spit in the breeze. That’s the trash dumpster, and here let me give it another poem. I put my dogs to sleep, and I wish you goodnight.
All united and happy they think. Come here Luna. Get your head… [vision of Luna Rottweiler putting her head in a hole in the ground] One doggy at a time. Oh fuck I’m on Candid Camera. He’s just gonna go for it. Well then the surprises and bad secrets, heart is ruined on the same thing: waging war on the Fourth of July. What’s the significance of your dog growing? Into a likeness of you. What I didn’t have: put every slept of it complete. My God, they should be spilled.
What is it this time? Dr. Milk Powder— I haven’t called you; I’ve had enough, is that the plan? You know he’s lost his boy. They’re travel uneasiness way to stutter. Don’t you see? Alongside with it it’s real. You know his boy’s called not in awhile. Suffer this, and it just last of people’s hittin’.
Do you like people? Is this fruit juice? Why is it we always hate somebody, run there all the time? You really enjoy this life don’t you? It seems all fair winds. Need to pull her pregnant with the grenade. It will get you every time. Just look around the world. Just look at your neighbor.
Do you know how we get along? Do you know how we get through this? We don’t be monsters to each other. We don’t be mean. We try to be kind and giving in our painful moments. This is overcoming the world and getting better at yourself. It’s a love angle, and we need more love. That house definitely, where you put your hat off, where you sit around. Love those people, the people you’re life-in’ with. You don’t know how much this counts.
It’s all an effort I know. We have to overcome ourselves to do it sometimes, but we have to give this baseball to all the standin’s in the world, so we can have a world that works. Is that so hard to believe?
You know the world is full of holes. Even the divine is negligent and will crush you to make the world, will just stand by and watch. These are not pleasant times, but we have to endure them, tryin’ to find joy inside, tryin’ to give our children a good time.
What else is there? Spirituality’s a pole we lean on. There are surprises in consciousness if we let them. There’s a world maker’s art you can see. These are deep down inside, past the underwear, past all that gets in the way. There is strong inside, even after you’re shattered.
This world’s a dream maker’s art, so much more than show, but this is a common dream we are having that the significance of dream shows. We’re living out a representation telling a story, and all our lives add to that One involved, and all our lives keep going. We’re where time loops around itself a great big mechanism of being that has definite boundaries that we can cross and get out of here after the whole has been complete. We’re goin’ somewhere together, and yes some escape before time, but they’ll end up on another world soon.
This great big ship has a destination you know, something worth time, something bigger than ourselves and is ourselves at the same time. I’ve gone out of the universe you see and been myself on high.
Stupid me, I describe experience like you’ll believe it, but you can kill me and it’ll still be there. It can’t be erased from time. I’m a nobody because of it, liftin’ up my room for you to see. It’s got crosses on it and monkey bars, because I’m just like you, but I’ve been given a breath of supernal air, and I need to tell you about it. It’s affected my vision. I see the world.
I’m just like everybody, but I don’t live like you inside. I live with you and inner vision. I get rocked by joys that fill my noon the outside world doesn’t bring me. I feel oceans of sadness I’m not in the world about. I feel existence pain, and when I walk outside, drive my bike through the town, the countryside, it’s a wonder-weft of miracle, and I feel every person I come across. I see the One inside, and all the many representations surround me. I can’t get over it.
Now I’m here with another poem. Let it ride the day if you read it, because it puts us together if you escape, because it’s here we learn to live again after your world has been taken away. Can you see me now? Can you hear?
We have everything to do with being creatures on a role planet. Our time in space blackens our time in thought. I promote myself spits in the wind. Art and thought, I wonder if you feel anything derelict. I’ve perished this bloom. Since everybody’s here, except any majority of people, I might as well clear my throat.
What do I hog to you today? I wanna pull existence out of the hat, be right on the ground of being. I want you to say, "that’s me." I put it in flower pots. I sit here all day and fight it, our anonymous with each other. This is stadium big.
We are all points in space too big for our britches. We see ourselves huge in other’s eyes. I’m talkin’ about ourselves. We feel and think and be the center of any room, so big to ourselves, and even if we are not the reason everybody’s there, we see reality that way.
Take us off the megalomania lists. I’m just talkin’ what it means to be human, or the dog in the corner, or the ant in the windowsill, and you know that plant think? It’s just not corralled its self-aware. It just does not pedal to the end of the room. Those thoughts aren’t in motion, but you’ve got a plant big there, everybody in the room.
How do I toll the star-gate? We are stuck on one world in our rounds of thought. We cramp existence here. Oh my God the experiment, would it be the same in every laboratory? Can we count existence a cheat? Does it handicap worlds, universes, or does it just stage things properly?
Do you know you’re blind, deaf, and dumb to what you see on the inside of the person sitting next to you, or leaving a comment, or submitting a poem, or who’ve you’ve encountered on the news? Their inner reality is blind to yours. We have bleeding cakes in dream and vision and in our thought wares unawares, but these things are disguised.
You can’t hear another person fill reality’s room. You only hear yourself. Hey Jim, let’s create a world… Screw this. You handicappers. Can I explain the problems in the world?
Taste another person please. Know they’re there as big as you, and if they think they’re bigger, well, how many times does this happen in any given day? We have to mitigate it.
They’re just stupid that’s all, like we all are. I’m sorry you’re stupid too. Do you treat everybody as you, give them a break, the benefit of the doubt, or forgive them their trespasses? You will have a million excuses why you can’t identify with them.
Come on people please. You’re the center of everybody’s pole, as you imagine them looking at you, but they put themselves there, you know? We can get better at it, givin’ people the credit they deserve, givin’ people their own self in our very own eyes.
Who’s humanity in the room? Can a poet speak that voice? Can we ride poetry there? The productivity’s there be a hurt bag and find humanity. And watch everybody spill the beans.
I am so very blacklisted, I could rise to the occasion and blossom humanity in my heart and write it down in gifted speech, and they would just turn and look the other way, the stadium managers in humanity, who’s who who block poems. Now do you hear me blossom humanity? Now do you hear me blossom poems?
A bridge is the universe. We are reality big. It’s a major crossing. Focus on the many aspects of this visual poem heard while doing science. In a round about way put it on your shoulder I’m your friend. It’s been a lot of Scottish in here. I’ve done a daily put people in the shoes with me. He put the swim in there. I am the render in time, the render in space, that’s the One I’m worth.
That farm, that house is play, here’s where you too, not the separate consciousness but the localized in space, God of the whole evolves. That’s the cherry blossom. That’s where we all rise in sync. I’m an American band I’m comin’ through your town, [sing line] this is exactly what the stadium room, that cherry bloom.
Harm's End 