And the Vehicles of Discernment

Where autism rides,
nobody believes in it,
and the vehicles crash.
Madness in America gave us this lay:
autism comes from television
and screen time.
I laugh at every little thing. [sing line]
This is the public mind.
Where do we go with it?
We can’t take it anywhere
in the fundamentals of ourselves
where we’ve encountered the unknown.

I’m dancin’ on thin ice.
I think this is the public construction of our ego today,
or whatever you call that we are now,
how it’s made,
where it comes from.
Everybody’s ignorant here.
Nobody knows what’s goin’ on,
and nobody cares.
Too many other concerns crowd the show.

How do I introduce you to you?
Let’s take your dream last night
the closer you are from waking up,
when you’re patterning on dreamless sleep.
You’ve gotten down that far.
This is really weird.
The forms bite you.
They do not contain waking life
in anything recognizable
except maybe a sandwich you’re a part of,
that you’re being eaten by.
They are larger than machine.
They swallow you whole.
You were merged with that odd substance, weren’t you?
The separate self was hanging in thin air.
You didn’t recognize it yet.
You were the forms you saw,
and you are all mixed up.
You couldn’t tell yourself,
but you were there.

Have you ever woken up from this
merged dream content?
It’s oddly familiar.
You feel basic with it,
like you’re on a slab of reality
you’ve know before,
when you first woke up from sleep,
somewhere in womb-time,
but I think after we’re born the show begins,
when we hold the world tight
indistinguishable from it.
We are merged in our identity
with all around us,
but the body localizes us
in our surroundings,
and we are so bodily there.
Mommy and springtime,
that’s the season we wear.
Her face, her touch,
her smell,
we know those are safety measures,
and we don’t know much else.
It depends upon the daddy.
Some are right there,
and it doesn’t have to be a parent.
I can’t give you the lists
without breakin’ ‘em up.
We’ve got to talk about the thing.

I think slowly we wake to the blows of life,
its insistence on its kin,
and we separate ourselves from our environment
slowly,
little by little.
You can see this happenin’
if your look’s engaged.
That sense of separate self is precious
a wee one becomes a person in.
Are you three
when you’ve balanced life
and can give a wink to other people
here I am, here I am, how do you do? [sing line, popular nursery rhyme]

I’ve just studied your rabbit.
You think you’re localized in space
a separate consciousness in time.
No, that’s learned.
Now put all this in a TV show,
some stupid video,
and you see what you got.
I can’t distinguish myself from time and space
to begin with.
Now add another layer,
the absurd,
the inane,
the chocolate freeze cake,
and some children don’t make the match.
They can’t distinguish themselves in time,
and spectrum autism
makes them their relationship with the world.

One in 36 is it?
Anyway it’s huge.
I can babysit
a two-year-old,
and I don’t have consciousness breathin’ down my neck.
I make contact with the kid
casually.
I understand his price.
I see him there
pullin’ himself out of the world,
tryin’ to make himself work in it.
I dream about him,
have him in vision.
We have open lines of communication,
and I don’t wanna mess it up,
that delicate balance he has with the world
as he’s findin’ himself in it.

No extra touches when I wash his penis,
no emotions in my hand,
and I’m careful with that anus.
(I have no sexual desire for the child.)
I think these are where he is localized now
as the body reaches the sky,
right there at the birth of thought.
No they are not the majors in the room
that determine his life.
There’s just so much feeling there,
and feeling’s what it’s all about
when you’re two.

I’m crowdin’ in on your crash course in reality.
I’m tellin’ yah how it’s made,
our sexual preference,
our sexual alliance with the world.
We can become gay or straight,
pedophile or necrophiliac,
and the list goes on,
and we can this and that
or just someone who harass women,
touch them somewhere
they don’t know where it’s at,
respect,
and if you wanna rapist touch them more momma.
An old movie,
don’t worry;
I’m taking it to see daylight.
It won’t take long.

We need good parental hands
with everybody who handles them,
our genitals.
The equations will reach the sky
with anybody who touches them,
or squeezes them against ourself
in diaper rub.
Add some kissin’ on top of that,
real romantic feelings
with some male role model,
and if you’re boy you’re gay.
Watch and see.
I just let the cat out of the bag.
Can you see it?

Autism spectrum disorder,
it’s not the only thing that comes out of our threes.
Every touch counts.
Every moment’s involved with us.
A screaming parent,
two fighting parents,
and that’s joined in our identity don’t you see?
You got it all wrong.
Those years count the most,
and they’re the hardest to bear,
aren’t they?
Hit that child and see
you’ve got a child there
the world has slapped by,
and they’ve been betrayed by everybody.
Can’t you see it on their face?
Don’t you know it’s in their pain?

I love you Dylan.
I really do.
Anyway,
there, I’ve done it,
showed you reality.
Can you get my dig?
Cryin’ all the time, [sing line, from the song “Hound Dog”]
no.
We wipe their tears with our love,
always addin’ to the world
their place in it,
and the roles are clear,
and that’s heavy, ain’t it?

I can bring understanding
to many roles in your life
and to horrible times.
I can do that.
When you even begin to walk,
we’re gettin’ some stuff done.
We’re gettin’ some stuff done put well on you.
Like what can you do
if nobody wants to be well?
Kid you know
travel love,
and make that the aim of life
the immediacy of this moment.

May all your memories and all your steps,
may they be easy.
Okay,
I’ve tuned you to the ages.
That explains it,
what went wrong.
Daddy, daddy! [vision of Dylan standing and turning to look at me and saying this]
Come there
even for your own purpose.
You know as well as I know
the movies,
trauma is almost illegal I’m carrying
to bring Dylan through this touch and screen of madness,
someone
experiencing the world
his play bubba,
his romance,
his mastery,
and we all look for spiritual change,
don’t we?
Evolution,
it’s what’s you do with a kid.
It be like
huggin’
sha-la-la, la-la, la-la, la-la, la-la tee-da [sing line, song “Brown Eyed Girl”]
and never gettin’ caught in it.
You’re free.
Why would you want to take a child anywhere else?

Pop! Goes the Weasel

taken in Cape Coral, Florida
Behind the Biblical,
wow, is that real?
Challenges,
let’s not escape from that.
Never get to say it:
the worth in the characters in the Bible are real.
They had time on earth.
How do we listen to them?
Not through their own venue.
We’re encountering the past.
It has weight today,
relevance,
but it’s not our lives today.
Humanity hadn’t reached that far,
to understand more in life than the tall tale,
and fairy tales still ruled the day.

We believed them.
They made us mad.
They got our goat.
They made us worship the sun
and put deities in trees.
We abided by them,
thinking the world a magical place,
air tight,
and no laws apply.
The moon could stand in your living room,
and decapitated heads could talk.

We listen to them today
out walk our sun,
conspiracy daylight.
A bunch of Democrats
extract from children and child sacrifice
some blood elixir,
and this is their insulin for the day?
And do pedophiles rule the world?
Do you know how mad that is?
It’s from the Middle Ages.
It shows a huge decline in the population
in critical reasoning skills.
It’s moonbeams,
lunacy,
and so many Christians believe it.

They can’t get their fantasy straight.
They don’t know what it is,
all the magic in the Bible,
and we come down to miracle.
Does it exist?
Everybody’s seen it
down through the ages
in every culture on earth.
Miracles happen,
but they’re not the order of life.
They are rare instances of great change
in some little module or another,
a superseding a nature for a moment.
They happen and they don’t happen.
So much gets mixed in folklore
the impossible our daily ride,
and it’s quite possible
we hallucinated a lot
in times past,
even on a mass scale.
A consciousness change did that,
gave us reason to guide our lives
and put out the great eye of the cyclops,
Poseidon’s son,
so that we would no longer drink from dream and vision
right out there under the sun.
They receded underwater,
and the subconscious withdrew into its cage.

We tarry there now,
not even believing in dream and vision
and not knowing how to open it again
so it doesn’t swallow us.
That’s the crux of the matter.
I have held a telltale shark
in this escape hatch.
I am swallowed by dream and vision.
I mean it guides my inner life,
disrupts.
It surround me,
and I have to know how to negotiate it.
I spend half my time there.
It’s loud, and it’s free,
liable to take you anywhere,
and it’s costly.
It plays with your mind all the time.
You have to keep it in check.
You can’t just let it run amok,
and you can’t believe everything it says,
shows yah.
So much of it’s a lie,
a representative figure shown on a screen a moment
that’s followed your fancy,
your fear.
It scares the hell outta you.
It tears you apart,
and it gives so much hope.

You learn these are lies
to mess with you.
You learn discernment,
and you’re dealing with creatures more intelligent than you.
Jung will get you goin’ a long ways:
this is just all inside your head,
and your head is much bigger than you know,
but I’m sorry there are cosmic creatures,
angels and demons and Gods and Goddesses
and a whole host of nature spirits and world voices
and a whole bunch more.
You can communicate with the cosmos.
It communicates with you.
So you sit in the cosmic consciousness
and learn how to handle it.

You see miracle there.
You see it every day,
because the future is in your dreams there to discover
every single day,
and the hearts of men and women are laid bare,
everybody that touches your life
that you need to know about,
and the great world engines are revealed to you
and secrets no one knows,
but there you are a pauper in your room
of no value to the world.
It doesn’t make you rich.
You’re dealing with symbols,
representation,
fairy tales to most people.
No one understands the science
of dream and vision,
and I have gotten it down to a science
in my room.
Will you blast me for it?
We will see.

You’re stupid you know
when it comes to showin’ us the times,
men and women who are beyond their time.
They are persecuted or ignored,
made fun of
and sometimes killed.
I have been ignored and cast aside,
like being in an eye of a storm.
I must show you what I see
because I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.
I have divine beings breathing down my neck,
and do you know how smart they are,
how well they can manipulate our kind
to get their packages done?
I shoot the bird at them all the time,
but I get my job done,
and I resisted this poem last night,
but it haunted me this morning,
and I gave in.
I submit it to what,
several people?
Great world pretend,
oh well here I am again
crossin’ paperwork
and understanding a poem.
Do we just sit here and call snakes?

You Lift on a Stroke, There’s a Dog Shelter

A video-photo-poem, my own design, on its material level this is a promotional video for the Auroville Dog Shelter in Auroville, India. It’s the aim of this video art to take that material into the spiritual realms and beyond. To send donations to the shelter, go to this link: http://www.aurovilledogshelter.com/

The Window

photo by the author

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, do you see the problem?

Here’s looking at yah.

Look to the mountain humanity.

I sell garments there.

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

Look at Pearls on the Mountaintop

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Looking Forward

Posted on my Twitter/X feed February 1, 2021

Another Jacob

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Dire Straits

image by the author

This poem was sent to the editorial board of Renaissance (BharatShakti) of The Sri Aurobindo Society, who I’ve submitted poems to that use obscene language and present ideas people don’t like to talk about. It has been published by Edge of Humanity Magazine: https://edgeofhumanity.com/2024/11/11/harms-end-blog-by-donny-lee-duke-in-dire-straits/

We have that place where,
yep, you need to turn on that character light.
I would say he does not deserve the title respect
call him.
Thank you sadhak.
Nat started a story.
It was obscenity of being,
the crazy what’s up nails trauma
a bunch of us go through.
Are we on your calendar?

You’re nice and pretty.
Does that mean you’re good
in the sense of good to all of us?
We’ve got a world here in a tin can.
It hurts everybody.
You would not like a story that makes you mean.
Is that transformative?

Watch movies that’s all you see,
a blight of entertainment
“televised from the gulfs of Night” [from Savitri, an epic poem by Sri Aurobindo]
that tells stories
to pit you against one another,
to make your blood boil,
to let the demons in.

There isn’t a place on the planet it’s not
on your local TV.
This is what we’ve gotta get out of,
get back to our dream maker
as the one we watch and write.
Is that a perverted slam?

You would boil at the inner consciousness
because it pits you against your morality papers:
don’t say cuss words;
don’t mention sex;
don’t talk about getting your dick sucked when you were five
by your mother.
What have I just done?

I let the inner consciousness in
in language that grabs you and moves you,
that has the day on it,
that gives you a porn whereabouts
so many faces are into these days.
It hits you where you’re at
if you can’t tell right from wrong,
if you’re lost in all this sleaze.
We’re tryin’ to reach people not preach to them.

A dream comes out
from someone who suffered this
in the language that it felt like,
and the elect can’t take it
because they don’t know how to deal with it.
They’re into quotes of Sri Aurobindo and pictures of deity.
They look at spirituality as the cure
and not addressin’ what’s wrong
in the language that needs to.

Everybody just be nice.
Make your concentration daily
and let no wrong movements in.
Be cheerful and happy.
There’s no end to the advice
in spiritual seeking.
Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty of life.
Let’s use those quotes to solve problems.
The Mother and Sri Aurobindo are a wealth of that,
applied in ways you haven’t imagined yet,
because you’re religious and one-sided.

We need to heal,
so many of us.
You can’t imagine what it’s like
where hell has opened in humanity.
This is all over the globe,
terrible stories
that’ll make you cry
if you had your empathy on.

We need to heal the world first,
then spiritualize it,
and spirituality will be healing,
because that’s what it’s made for,
if it’s the soul involved.
You don’t know this.
Soul healing’s to you a preacher wrote.
It’s not test the limits of humanity
in making healing the order of the day.
This soul is wide and free.
You don’t know that either.

You look at the Gods of Overmind,
the lowest rung.
They’re moral and straight.
They have seen God in passing
one time maybe.
They are closest to us
in the ways of deity.
They make rules and regulations,
put experiments on vice
and get rid if it not heal it.
Our whole world is taken by Them.
It’s what we need to change
and bring a new order upon the Earth,
soul healing
in the dynamics of Supermind.

You don’t know how wide God is,
when it comes to the personal growth process of wholeness and healing. /
That’s been my path all along,
and it’s gotten acute where I show it to you,
all Sri Aurobindo’d.
What else can I do?
I’m his disciple
and a seer of his wisdom,
and I’ve been told to talk to you.

I’ve spent 25 years learin’ my craft,
a lifetime before that as a poet.
You can’t fault me
in preparation,
all prepared for yah.
Grab me by the balls will yah
and throw me to policemen,
or at least try to shut me up?
God’s will be done.

One editorial board member, Dr. Alok Pandey, who is listed as a “Member, Research Advisory Council, Sri Aurobindo Society,” replied to my emails, three times, the first: “May Her Grace be with you,” her meaning the Mother, the second: “What is tormenting your soul so much dear child?” and the third: “You are quite right. You seem to be an angry and arrogant brash revolting angel.  I don’t find your poetry tasteful or even poetry. It is a blurting out of things stirring in your subconscious, not mind nor higher, but inframental forces. That’s my view about your poetry. By the way I am not part of any organization nor have any access to publishing poetries so you could perhaps try some other place or person. Good luck. May the Grace be with you.” No one else on the board or in that organization has replied.

The Yellow Jacket

Nithish’s father
His family
Alright he will say a child of his when he was a little boy.
Do you know what it’s like
bein’ in this meat grinder?
You don’t have to wait;
okay knock on ‘im.
Think we can afford it,
moms beating health care?—
“I just throw you under the wheels of a truck
all laughter and sunny breeze.”

Please will you help me with this:
get this mother off my back,
a certain father?
Crushed the sun.
I counted the breeze.
What I was comin’ to yah to say:
I really bother yah.
I’m hell in an envelope
that you have to read past poetry
to put this on.

Well you’re not goin’.
Fine.
I get angry.
You wanna meet some hoodlums?
A gang member,
he gets all
King Richard,
the son of like true
to killin’ people like my father did.

I axe grow the taxes.
You wanna see me do it?
Just ignore this plea.
Get too far from the ashram,
my hat’s killin’ me.
Just close your eyes.
Ah, it’s gettin’
the footer at the head of the bed,
where I go out and kill someone,
a little older.
You’re yellin’ at me.
Cut through door.
You know you need to save me.

I hear it.
What did it say?
The you that you’re getting
put that foot down.
His mother’s beating him he’s in harm’s way.
The building blocks are there
in the pit of a gang
he murders people
when he’s old enough.

That’s what I’m tellin’ yah.
Stop this boy from being abused by his parents.
Let’s put ‘im
his grandfather heals,
or are you just too deaf to see that?
Get past the poetry
and rescue this child.
Get behind the verse.

Do you think that’s the only gang
with Nazi on it?
The fellowship
has turned Indian politics into mud puddles.
Trace the politician to the gang.
Leave ours out of it;
get rid of
the truth we hear speaking now.

My God you’re deaf.
Oh look there’s the BJP.
November
I’ll show you
I’m talk to you years ago
how the BJP
came from gang member politics.

He rides books sometimes
wide open
to the divine say.
Oh man I put you there,
in a poet’s mouth,
on a divine seer’s tongue.

Show his father
and his family,
WhatsApp,
see it work in my phone too.
I had the finish line.
I’m giving frequencies of his house, yes?
And now
get to the real thing.

They’re not real.
They are not real,
understand?
Not one person
is a gift to society.
This entire generation
being produced by society,
the families of society
in India and elsewhere,
gives us the skill set to journey on as society;
it doesn’t change society.

Take my arm here and understand my meaning.
Society must change or die.
India has brokered this for generations,
a spiritual consciousness,
a supernal air,
a soul arriving on the scene.
It doesn’t get past the starting point.
This is not gotten out of the bag.
A few individuals pretend.
Some have had experiences,
but none get to the root of the problem:
take a child and receive them at the door,
a baby born,
and change society with that child.

What would we have to do to engineer this
with that child?
Can I show you?
I gave Nithish
the principle changes,
not quite at the door,
but starting very early,
and I could do that because I could give him the attention,
and I have seen past society myself,
and I operate in that mode.

Listen to Nithish
where his dream maker meets the ground,
and you will see fantastic.
You will see the whole world changed
just by this boy’s dream.
Watch him have vision
you will not believe with your own eyes.
The Gods talk to him
and soul.

This is what he took,
that father.
This is what she beats,
that mother.
His light was snuffed out
by beatings and brainwashings,
and you worship your family or die,
and all this wonderful change
we were readying the boy to give you
has been ground in the dirt
and changed into thoughts of suicide and killing,
into about getting revenge
for what his parents have done to him.

He seethes inside,
and you’d have to find it to hear it.
He’s afraid to show anybody his feelings
for fear of punishment,
because I am the crux of the matter;
he wants to return to me,
and his parents will not let him call my name.
“I will shove that name down your throat
if you say it again!” his mother says.

He can’t deal with that anger,
and all his wonderful gifts
get crushed,
and in the place of love there is rage,
and in the place of change there is hate,
and he is mad at society.

Now you must see this
in a simple podcast
on dreams.
I will show you he had the formula to change the world.
I will show you what you’ve never seen before,
a sadhana watch as the functioning arm of society
not the family
(but the family’s still warm
and not abandoned),
a group of people in a dream circle
related by soul change
and small enough to function
together in daily need.
We are that prototype,
The Dream Company.

https://www.buzzsprout.com/1963514/episodes/15751474-the-dream-company-epospde-44

Honey Do You Sweep Under the Rug?

 

Video: ‘Lucy’s Cosmic Dream’ by Douglas M.

Honey do you Sweep Under the Rug?

by Donny Duke

Hey John Coward,
me too coming.
Standing on the train.
Look at
where is she:
is this a science
or is this evidence?
You look for invigorating theories
brought on by the catchphrase word.
Delve deeper and you might find life.

What’s this habit here?
Only outward tuned.
Tell me you don’t know anything:
it’s all conjecture, guess, and patchwork answer.
Evangelize this uncertainty.
All that can be known is in your little book.
Gimmie that a second;
right here
it says you’re at
a larger historia
than right here taking an inventory of what I’m saying.

Behind closed doors
a muscle romance with dawn
tells your inner life with dream.
Behind walls of thought
you are rounding
2000
go somewheres.
Open your inner life,
spend time there.

Where is the key?
In the realm of your bed,
around the neck of dream
and other things during sleep.
Pour over the books there like a university.

No way
a phantom
I see it.
Superstition idn’t it?
Science’s armchair here?
Science can’t reckon there.

Ambulance
we got here.
Trade anonymous
perfume
for the smell of God at your door.
It’s expensive.

Oh you laugh and say smile?
Don’t try to shut up the bottom mile
Richard.
Alight lookin’ good Brenda.
Still study your cat.
Bank it on the lips of dream
the rest of it.

Originally posted with the title “See Beyond the Peon” and without the last verse as a comment to the BBC Magazine article Point of View: "Ghosts and the Material World", May 5, 2013. It came via the inner voice.