The Dalai Lama in Auroville, 1993, putting in the foundation stone for the construction of the Tibetan Pavilion there. In a speech afterwards, he said, “You can be a believer or an unbeliever…, but there is no choice between being a compassionate or non-compassionate person.” Photo courtesy of The Auroville Adventure
Did you know an Aurovillian won’t read this, no matter what I do? These are tough shares. Talk about hang in the water all in yoga. My cousin slapped my mother. It’s hard to believe such anxiety. Let me muscle you at, heart poundin’ in my ears.
Let me say that again. Oh boy, you wouldn’t believe it. These are in heartbeats that you don’t know to measure the light of the sun. I wish I could come down to a heart in my living room the Shambhala success magic. I cannot spray this in numbers. The heart central has to be the case. It’s dog eat dog otherwise.
Where do I put this compartment? In everything I do and breathe. It can’t be left out. You regard everyone as potential shares. You can’t stop evil among you with the ball and chain. You can’t just keep it from happening with everybody’s suspicions.
You have to rise to the occasion and also consider the bad man. What does he need to do to change? Can he do that among you? Yeah, people just want him gone.
There’s somethin’ I can’t get across over here. If you wanna create Shambhala, you have to envision his place among you healed and changed. Shambhala is the perfection of humanity where Auroville is. You have to rise above yourselves and do that.
You will not even listen to the change. You have closed your hearts and ears to a peaceful man among you who is poeting this change. How can it leave out the community, the bedrock of the change?
You know it would speak to it drum rose people. It would have the imprint of the divine sounding poetry’s worth. Terrible is it?
I come from another land. I do not meet the world it’s a thing out there and I’m a thing in here. / Those lines have been drawn, and they are wiggly now. I meet the world inside myself. In the substance of my vision something is wrong. The world is not a normal train ride, and my thoughts don’t take me there. I see the substance of vision it’s all acres of That, the substance of the show. You wanna know the gist of it? It comes to oneness.
Now bake my bread I’m normal, nothing special to look at, just another person to be around. Now test my feet I’m normal. I get angry laugh and cry. I can give you an argument. My difference is my hands on you. I’m lookin’ at the One starin’ back at me.
This is so real to my eyes my hands collaborate this. I am in your field of vision, and my that hurts, if I even make you feel bad. I don’t wanna do that, and this is strong stuff to prevent me.
Are you an alien on that? Have you reached the divine in vision? Do you know how to heal the sick, and they are not sick in body they are sick in hands, and their actions hurt the world, rob the community? How many times we said we needed that, heal the community?
This is a frog suit. I’m lifted out of the water until I cry. I mean I have to come up and record lines. Do you get the picture back and forth? I’m hearin’ these lines in inner vision I’ve developed over a lifetime. You hear the sauce now all Sri Aurobindo’d, the Mother’s guidance please.
Here’s the thing. It changes consciousness. The world grabs you in this. You see signs everywhere. You’re walkin’ hand in hand with the divine, but that’s not the beauty of it. It’s soundin’ bodies way out in front of you the substance of their mystery crayola figures of That, and it dawns on you it’s peeling you through everything, and will you get a load of that? The invisible ties connects us. Wow, I’ve just shored everything.
photo by the author, a chalkboard at the entrance to an Auroville middle school
Boxed in the corner, I hear You call my name. I last. I play the game. I know how to handle time. There’s a secret to it. Open yourself to the Invisible. Hold yourself on the inside and see the outside. Don’t just stand there and swim. Mount time the stadium you wear. Don’t be bashful about it. Don’t overrate yourself. Stand up and spell time the way you wear it. Give the voice to the ages. You want to be so sincere you spelled time for everyone.
It can be in a broom closet, but you’ve made that closet sing. I’ve been in dens of iniquity, and I found the price of the world that way. I found out how much we cost hurtin’ people. They wore the boundaries me. They were the hope that carried the world, and I just cried my eyes out when I discovered that. Can you embarrass God? I think I did.
Then I opened inside myself time and discovered its secrets. I had damaged time, and it didn’t punish me with it. The way of redemption is forceful and slow, but you can ride upon its back if you find redemption’s base: I am trouble I am, and that is a whirlwind, and I turn that whirlwind upon myself, and I open time and fate upon myself, to rack the tools up in inner man to overcome evil with good I’ve paid for myself.
It happened, and I grab you by the hand and show you inner healing’s ways. We are not an accident, and we are bigger than the wrong we have done, and you are bigger than having it done to you. We get trapped in these ways, and we make reality existence either hurting or being hurt, the clash of right and wrong.
How this fools us into little lives that can’t see past their own noses, and we make everything a sin, or we are trying to get to sin. How many can let a child play with themselves and stay out of it? Why you want to stop them or join in. Fuck let’s cut that asunder and just stay out of it. Fuck, you can stay here, or you can allow language to get a little tight to come into these narrow straits of time. It’s difficult to go past your moral boundaries, and the world needs to be saved, and our existence depends up it.
Children need to play with themselves, and men and women need to heal from sin, not punished, not beaten, not be made outcast. You cannot stop evil you can only heal it, and that changes it into something else. We can heal together. We can find the weapons to do that. It’s much deeper than a doctor’s office, deeper than a psychiatry chair, deeper than a religious conversion and any form of prayer.
We have to turn inside out. We have to get to the bottom of things. We have to open our consciousness and get in there to the secret stuff. / We have to get clean, not from sin, from even the desire to hurt and harm. We have to look at each other and know we are more than any me. We have to find the secret Inhabitant that sees out both our eyes, and we both see together that we are one through that gaze.
Man this is reality, who we need to see to survive, and it’s how we heal from hurting people and being hurt, but you have to arrive there not just in belief. It’s to see that Look. We wear time. It doesn’t bury us. It’s not our keeper. It’s not who we are.
The phenomenon is just a wonderful in the All-Look’s gaze. Wonderful we see that, and wonderful we see each other, and a panda is to us the moon and a dog the starry sky. Can you get there? All life has Eyes, and oh the splash of healing there, phenomenal.
Do you want to understand? I can give you all I’ve got. That’s the music in me. You have to be wide enough to take it and not stand in its way. We need to heal time, and are you gonna block that?
Oh look at that swing behind the throw up. It’s how you reach enlightenment my dears. Believe it or not a swing shows up in dreams when you approach it. It’s a force that takes you like the spiral, and you literally swing. How about that habitat? Nothing can get in the way. You’ve got to swing all the way there. Your life will proportion this out to you. You get closer, and you move further away, swinging back and forth until you get high enough to arrive.
Do you see how tall you are? The symbol of dream has shown you up close your waking life approach, time’s secret here I’ve shown to you. If you do anything, habitat this truth when it comes out.
Am I allowed to continue? Why thank you I appreciate that. The little swing of enlightenment people, how we tell time what we are.
I’m a soul warrior defeated. I’m immortal but can’t heal, shot by arrows of betrayal on the top of the lonely mountain. The wounds are deep and cold. Wind burns my wounds and waiting till the cold nights stop.
What do I do? Do I build a house on top of the mountain, or do I find a cave? I hate myself feels like I’m the evil spirit. The ocean is my tears. The pain is my curse breaking the wall of sanity and peeking through it.
I once heard that I’ll be the one giving the world peace. I can’t even give peace to myself. And that I’ll find eternal peace. I’ll give freedom to the world. I need someone to set me free, and the voices that do whisper to me is that there is peace in heaven that’s not in store for me yet.
If I give up now I give up faith in God. This life will be a burden. I’ll have nothing to lose, no strings, fall for eternity into the abyss.
Now I can see how evil people are forged, and those evil people proved that their parents won the game and have accepted the curse.
This moment I make a promise to myself on 30/7/25, 7:30, that I kneel down before no one, and that this is my game, my controller. I’ll make it clear as your eye, and I write my own story in my own brand.
Nithish, a 13-year-old Tamil boy, wrote this poem. This blog has chronicled his plight for over a year now. He’s recently begun writing poems again. To view his previous work, what he wrote before his ordeal began, click on the Page Nithish’s Blog on the top of this post. The difference is writing about the coming night and being in that night.
I, or my muse rather, has written to him this response, and it’s being smuggled to him now:
And the word crashes with God. What's the name of the monster? It's not yourself. Do the relationship as I do. Don't banish God to the outer ocean. God is bigger than your pen, than your thoughts of him. Alright baby, look into yourself and say, "I want to be the biggest truth I am. I want to feel this truth inside me startling my days. No problem this truth slips out of my hands. I will pick it up again. It is not darkness."
I remember now. I built a mile high stadium. Stupid show, look what Hookah did in the center of your program. We’ll always have that voice.
I would murder in words anything I tried to say. We have our long lists of hurt that’s been put out there. It’s how we tax the world. It’s how we feel better about ourselves. Would an actor see that?
And if I reduce it to a role, do I bleed responsibility? Do I reduce it to an abstraction in the places I’ve bleeded reality, the places I’ve burn?
I’ve grabbed the sun, live on a height of thought and life I write about all the time. I see the representation, the symbol we all are. It eves my day. What then?
How is it possible to hurt someone and not know their pain because you’re a writer of sky dreams? I communicate with the dead, have them all around me, each little life I’ve lit on fire in the bucket of intimacy.
I don’t think the possibilities of healing surround your room. You are not stark walking the symbol. You know the outer lair. An inside all day long, you don’t approach that.
You don’t know what it’s like to love the world in those places you’re sorry, breathing those words all day long to a you know you’re heard way beyond man. I don’t think you’re aware of the price you pay when you become aware of man. The pain you feel humanity.
But on the cutting edge of this is who I make it up to, a little boy growing in time. He represents you. He represents the world’s eyes, and I am there for him.
We can take joy on the Earth, sweet, innocent and kind, holdin’ our humanity close. It’s not all a razor blade. We can get sweet on the Earth, and when you get home, you can love the world like a little boy, and your representation grows.
Is by human nature human nature changed? Let’s defeat our purpose. Let’s go around the Mulberry pole again. Let’s just not listen to our teachers. I will by human nature outcast this person, in the middle of a human unity project, where the Integral Yoga was set down on Earth, and I will do this willfully and strongly, not caring for the consequences.
This is how it’s done, if you want to protect the group from someone. You don’t give them also divine eyes, and you give them no public venue, and by that I mean you keep their voice unheard, and you ghost them forever and ever without end in your little social bubble. It’s high time we changed that, in such a powerful place as ours that holds such meaning for the Earth. Are you with me? I think not.
The opposite poles of human unity, that’s the whole way to rape the system, when we keep them apart. I’m a whirlwind of the proper material. Don’t you confuse me with panic. I have my rocking chair, my golden years.
I am the toilet that speaks one more time. I just want you to consider your own goodness. Why would you castigate me? Because God’s the author of punishment, and God’s called you to punish me? Sri Aurobindo gave this commandment: thou shalt punish the wayward sadhak? The Mother despised sin and dealt out punishments to people? The Integral Yoga hates sin? The One cannot stomach me?
Let’s look at your business. You don’t know who you are. You are not the sadhak with the name you call. You are not the Aurovillian you sign your name as. You are a person beyond time. You can’t get this right. You think it’s some far away, and you are supposed to act in human terms. The Zeitgeist says it; you carry it out.
There were times and there are places I would not be the ass among you. Your morality is relative to the times. You can’t see straight when you face a sinner your town and country hates. This is rock bottom being human. You see it unleashed on the globe, this breach of oneness. We are killing each other over it.
Oh Islamic State was a model for our eyes. They thought they were justified in bringing the hell they did to punish people, or the Nazi and the Jew. The scapegoat they made was another attempt at Nature running something into the ground in her symbol wrought her blind actions speak. The availability of the Jew as the scapegoat came to show us we wear scapegoating shoes as the modus operandi of ego-led society.
You don’t have a field for this: where we take our scapegoats and make them human again. You just hate and justify your hatred by the human mass. You are not godly citizens. You burn witches.
You have been given a vehicle of thought unparalleled in the history of thought to arouse your stomach, to change your heart, to detach from this human clay the pettiness of human life, the vile emotions we feel for one another and see beyond the play, and bring yourself out of this turmoil and into the light of day. You quote these fields all the time. The Mother said this. Sri Aurobindo wrote that.
The Integral Yoga can heal anything. I have been among you 20 years showing that, but you cannot see it. You don’t want to. You will not apply the lessons you’ve learned Integral Yoga. You will just deny, hate, and castigate, and as a group you do this. What do I do to bring you to peace over this person named Donny Duke?
I offer you my home for a station of tea, and you won’t even answer me, stubbornly justified in your ill will by human morality that has no part God. I am the reason for Auroville’s fall, and I graft upon it the deception of a poet that hides his sins with godly words, wants to commit them among you if you but let ‘im, deceiving the elect with holy lore. You don’t know the price of sin. You don’t get away with it, even if no one finds your ruse. Say you’re a sadhak close to God. You have no way to hide, and you learn to do what you’re told to get out of your mess.
It does not take forever. Low and behold I have sinned and healed that sin and given the beauty of art to give you examples of healing’s ways, and now it’s reached astounding. You will not sit up and take notice. You will not even let it in your groups. No one can read it. No one can see it. You hate art the scapegoat of the day makes, the one hated among you by an agreement of the times.
Ladies and gentlemen, will you castigate me for all eternity, name my sins and how ugly they were, without ever seeing the unexpected good that can come from woeful deeds, without ever admitting that God has a plan even for one such as me? This is stubborn willfulness out of the hour of God, away from the lessons of truth. Who is the greatest sinner? I forgive you of your self-righteousness. I understand your state. I don’t blame you for being human, but we can’t stay in this state. We are called to greater life, and we have to go together or none. The people that refuse, God just takes more time with them. Are you one of those?
This poem was recently rejected by Collaboration, A Journal of the Integral Yoga, whom I have submitted numerous poems to over the years, hands down the publication I’ve submitted to most, because it is a publication of our yoga, it’s name claims inclusiveness, and it’s by fellow Americans, but they have not published a single poem. I have this theory, and I submitted this poem to prove it to myself at least, that they will never publish a poem I submit, regardless of the quality and truth of the poem. This poem explains why.
In other news, the admin of the Facebook group Friends of Auroville approved it, although the other Auroville Facebook groups I submitted it to didn’t, and it was submitted to Auroville Today and Auroville News, and Auroville Today at least replied rejecting it. Auroville News did not reply this time, and they too I’ve sent poems to over the years.
Can we reach the delivery of the poem that our being intercepts? I am worried about contradictions and just pissing people off instead of reaching them. Nithish is suffering. I don’t know where to stop that. No one seems to notice because it’s not polio, but it’s heartbreak nonetheless. He misses me, a mother to him for many years, the most important person in his life for many years, and I’m not the only one saying that; his heart does.
He’s in mourning, and that’s not recognized. It’s not even mentioned. He’s not allowed to talk about it. There is no outlet for his pain. His mother knows it’s there, and it makes her very angry, and she punishes him for it. What’s a kid to do?
He cries. He gets angry. He implodes upon himself, but there is no issue from this dilemma. It just keeps getting worse. He cries. He carries on, and the pot boils over. Now he’s desperate, and when you’re 13, adolescence has given you weapons the child you are still can’t handle. It’s a dangerous moment in Nithish’s life. We want what’s best for Nithish, and if we want anything else, we are really playing with fire.
What’s his name, Pride? You wanna let ‘im shoot your kid? It might be a gentleman that gives you honor and social prestige, for a little while, but when you put it above your child’s needs, above goodness and mercy, you wreck your life in the fall you have from Pride, when it’s gotten to the point even you know you’re wrong, and that you’re treating your child badly. But you don’t have to fall. Put down your pride and address your child’s needs, okay Sandiya?
I’ve looked at soul models. I’ve looked at grief, and you’ve heard me on Facebook tellin’ about it and all over the damn place. I don’t come on this platform to insult and offend. I’m much better in the werewolf of time reading you right. You took a bath tonight. Son of a bitch! We are closed. Abolish One on the way. Who do you get to come after you, Mr. Cat Stevens talkin’ about the Peace Train? No you get a me pointing the finger at you for all these abuses.
I respond to my muse. I respond to the image of my boy. I know he’s hurting. Now can I spread this on the table? He’s really hurting. These are deep wounds he has to live with, and they just eat him alive. You don’t know the pain of suffering when you’re just a little boy all mixed up in adolescence, your body a whistleblower, and everybody knows you’re confused. You’re standin’ there with a sense of self no amount of world can resolve, and you can’t grab the world by the tail because it has you so tightly in its grasp you just want to please it, make it go away.
He’s an adolescent, in the most difficult years of his life, the most confused, the most tender where he’s sensitivity it hurts. He is already a well of suffering, and then someone took from him his support and his comfort and his home, in his mind of things, took from him his daddy, and you all know how I mother people, in a way that made it I’d died with no contact allowed ever again in his life. Oh my God that hurts in the very substance of yourself, and it’s a pain that won’t go away, even if you want it to. That boy hurts. Please see that. It’s terrible for him. It’s the end of the world. Oh Sandiya please listen. For God’s sake listen.
Yeah I know I’m studying your attention like I need to end this poem. Not quite. Transact another line. Who has turned over, that’s always a thought. Believe me, we can fix this right. Everyone would have run had he been 13, a teenager in years with their what's up. There’s enough fuel, still childhood left, to remove this pain, to take these scars out of his life, take him to his blue book.
Healing is the first thing I’d do Sandiya. I heard his manhood depending upon this time. Please, open, open up in there, and put down your arms of control that’s squeezing the life out of him, and let him be with me, and let him be with you, so that it doesn’t hurt. I’m the denomination now, and that doesn’t hurt. Do we throw this boy to the wolves or what?
A kid his own age, George, I know very well. I really know kids, like it’s the focus of my life. You know that boy’s in trouble, and you know what has happened, and you know Nithish needs me because I can make it right. Pay him back on the outside what he needs on the inside to heal, and give him me for his birthday, and give him the happiest birthday he’s ever had. Give him what he needs. Let him on his birthday be with his daddy, and here I am.
We all understand tomorrow. I’m goin’ somewhere. It’s not dishes. I find my boy, bring him home to me and do something bigger than life right there in my homegrown. It’a about my consciousness and its see. I arrive my boy first, giving him healing. This is a new brand we will get good at so it can be mass-produced.
I’m in enlightenment shares healing my boy, a spiritual consciousness override. They’re dealing with a mass showdown. Right now it’s all black. Not even a pinpoint of light gives hope. It’s all gone, the whole save my boy plan, and spiritual practice has fallen by the wayside. I’m merely drifting to no ends.
I count my stupidities now, where I am half-crazy in rants. I sound good on a piece of paper: I’m gonna see my boy; I’ll get that spiritual consciousness again; it’ll all work out. I talk to his parents like I have the power of God. His parents have the absolute power to rule his life. I just make them mad and guard him more. You’d think I’d learn by now my voices are deceiving me; my voices are derailing me.
You’re in trouble. You’re on a stage. Are you there with anything bigger than life? The world’s not gonna listen to you. Everyone ignores your pleas, and your knowledge don’t turn anybody’s head. You just sit there and sing. This is the gist of life. This is how almost everybody feels the world. It’s impotence sings.
I’m a diamond in the hall. I’m on top of everything. I really know my business, and I understand the rise of the world. I don’t spit there. I feel humanity like it’s my very self. I can see the cutting edge of time. Movements I see, world shaping movements, that give me a great yard. I’m of few people see them. Now I come back to myself again. I’m not the stupid guy.
I have reason to believe my boy’s comin’ back to me, and I will put on the Silence once again. It’s evidence I can get big as the world in tellin’; I can wrap the hours around God, and I can make you examine yourself in your hands on children. You sit there and believe me, some of you, because you hear the angels sing in this poet’s gut. I’m a strong one you know, and I hold up the world an Atlas unknown. I really do it, take the ideas that change the world and transmute them into verse, one rocket at a time.
You know I’m there because I love you in that special formula that makes you feel me in the very place we meet, in the intimacy of a poem that’s got handles on it that bring the world closer to you as God sees it, dangerously in love.
You must have some grace to journey this day. It’s the vulnerability of a poet I give it, just role of bein’ hallelujah. [line heard sung to tune of Leonard Cohen’s song “Hallelujah”] You doin’ okay?
I don’t think it was specifically because of this poem, but Auroville International posted a poem of mine in their private Facebook group some days after I posted this poem to Facebook and here. I think it had to do with the quality of the poem they did post, maybe not in terms of poetic merit, but in terms of being sincere to the goal of Auroville International, which they seem to be. That poem is called “Prayin’ for the Hour of God” posted on this blog a few days after I posted this one.
photo by Nithish
Not one star Auroville International. These are the streets humanity is lost. Wow, could you say the Mother’s will is here? Fuck this assistant, is that what you say? I give my critique to the Sun. A poet’s basin it hears, and that’s how I write this poem. I’m a rose for my little boy, and I’m fighting for him here, S. Nithish. We make music together. Hear it?
Stop quivering old D, your fingers will look like the attention, and they are. Alright rebel, steal the show. I have my own blog to put it on, to make sure I can be heard. I guess you don’t have anything to worry about, and I’ve just processed you with the snake. Auroville International, here I leave my calling card you hateful organization hellbent on revenge, and that’s where we find your attention.
We’re all completely naked. All of you need to get off your thin horses and see this: that boy needs Donny. I feel like a fundamental character. I feel like a plot. These are ice to snow more shoes. We’re both realizing we’re here. Our mastermind sets people free. That’s the long and short of it. Now terrible channels go home. I’m about to go on the other side of the wall. You will see me there promptly. Then you can count grab ass and green cards, you holier than thou bunch of people, you people Auroville don’t need.
Just look at the character you endow with. You come upon the scene with the hatred of the machine, and you throw people away. Self-sacrifice to help your brother, go out on a limb to speak to him, you can’t find that in yah, because you’ve agreed among yourselves to hate and rob people of their right to exist and banish them from the land, and not even eternity can redeem them, oh you Christian bunch of people where your bones meet the land.
Stark naked I am in front of your mow me down, and I ride vulnerable and sweet to your execution where you ban art. I ride healing in the midst of your hate, and I’m here to stay. Are you gonna shoot me? There is no love in your ice machine, and that is pitiful and strange because you are the consideration of a city that seeks to grow new men and women who want to radically change the Earth into a paradise of brotherly love and hope that dares bring God into our human flesh and divinize the land.
You are that change, oh you normal people putting hate where God grows. Old system be gone, old ways, that punishes you an infantry of hate and ill will that has no means to grow the integration of society in healing’s ways. You destroy that too selfish and a pain to the officer of love.
See this and change or lose your raison d’être with us, the people on the groundwork of human unity, harvesting it into the hands of the city to realize this on Earth. Now take my sin and look at it again in light of the art I’ve given you. It’s the end of harm isn’t it? Paid for by penance and long years of learning the pain that I have caused. Can you grasp that? Goodbye. Auroville International will you answer your position?
This is a photo-poem from my Twitter/X account, and there are years of them there. This one was posted December 11, 2020. It came in vision the other night to post it here.
Harm's End 