(written for the Facebook groups Friends of Auroville, and Auroville, INDIA but only approved and posted by the latter group, after sending a small poem that appears below this one. It must be noted Friends of Auroville removed me from their group and blocked me.)

I like rainbows
spoken in the most clear and circular terms.
Please, I’d rather have this is gonna turn out.
I sit here with my hat in my hands.
I’m a big roar on magic.
Wanna see my human unity?
It’s in your beautiful hands.

The uncompromising villager,
the most accounted for
where we find human unity,
if you’re not on its side,
if you wanna freeze it,
if it’s not something you can work out
because they won’t let it.
They just like their tribe.

You can’t get away from Nature’s homegrown,
and sometimes
you have to swallow them whole.
Definitely,
that’s our footpath here.
That’s our red beer here.

How do I get this off my property?
We are not romantic letters.
I’m not tryin’ to get yah to buy toothpaste.
I don’t have an engineer here
doing anything
except talking to you.
You’re my sweet opening
to ride my pages.
I don’t fight you.
I just stand and sing.
We need some heaters to loosen up human unity.
I’m not trying to get you to buy land in Florida.
I’m going with my function among you as a photographer and a poet
to be part of this great experiment.

I’m his poet,
the boy we had such a mind
to open and facilitate.
Did anybody publish?
You won’t let a boy and me together in plain sight.
You won’t even let him on this page.
Human unity
bills him to you,
that little boy I took care of for so many years.
Pay on your buddy
my friend.

Where is human unity?
I think we have to find our divinity first.
It’s like the psychic change
can’t be complete until the spiritual transformation.
I don’t know what I’m sayin’.
The yoga beefs here.
We put it in Auroville’s hands.
Now that’s a stalk monster.
I’m blind to this—
the tree hunters.
I can’t get it off my chest—
the need to see Auroville as human unity.
It’s a crash course in nothin’—
the battle weary Aurovillian says.

We can’t see it in our feet.
We can’t see it on the road.
It’s too big for us.
It’s a journey inside.
I’m sorry most people are not prepared for this.
I’m not even close.
I’ve been waylaid.
An ignorant mother took my child
out of spite.
You don’t know the dynamics of raising foreign children.

Now I hate that mother and her whole crew,
and I had achieved an amalgamated oneness in my mind,
realization’s status
in mental wears,
not in that point of no return.
The boy was my apprentice,
my give my gifts to,
already writing whole poems from the inner voice.
He rode samadhi a time or two,
approached the Silence,
neared the sun.
An overhead experience had opened his mind.
He talked about the world like it was his brother.

Then he lost it all in one fell swoop.
No contact allowed,
and the boy’s been sat on for months
and abused.
I was opening up human unity for him
by going inside.
I know how to do children,
without that stink.
My inner consciousness opens theirs.

I can put human unity on a beanpole
now that I’m mad at these people
and wish them dead.
I’m just sayin’.
What a drop in flesh.
I was showin’ him to you when it happened,
when human unity fell
from my hands.
The irony in being on the other side of child abuse
wanting to protect your child.

You have no idea the intricacies of karma on a mountain sink,
when you see the world as representation and not as it.
I flounder here.
I’m mean this world plays for keeps.
The vital is in an uproar
I’m calming down now.
My yoga works.
I sit in spiritual vision
and confess my soul.

When they’re hurting your child what do you do?
When he’s crying and talking of suicide,
and he’s only 12?
They’ve made him think he’s crazy
with all the gaslighting,
and do no forget he’s been beat.
I can’t find human unity here.
Now I understand someone else’s child
is dear to you too,
and along comes some man
who changes their dream,
hits them hard
with the facts of life.

You’re a bugger aren’t you?
No I am now a healed man,
feeling what you feel
when you look at me.
You want them punished.
You want the child safe and sound.
You want him healed,
but the formula for that is not in your hands.
I’m a call on that notion.
I’ve a vehicle of self-healing’s swirl,
and I know how to heal children.
I know how to open their consciousness,
and I am flabbergasted
divine process has ruined me
and flattened my child.

This is not fair.
It’s not right.
My ego blunders.
I sit in your stool and say that.
I point the finger at other people.
I arrange them with my hate,
because they’ve killed my child
where they hurt him,
and they hurt him in his love for God,
his trust in the Mother,
and they beat him for his love for me,
and all the while say they know I was good to him.
They’re his parents and they have the right to take
and beat
that mother told me that in a swaggered brag.

You lift your head up and see me
mourning over a child,
like I’ve never been healed.
That child is still my number one day.
Okay what did I do?
I made that child’s feelings God.
Attracted to him,
I gave him God’s eyes.
I gave the world a bath
when he was little.
I tempered him through Dog
as a medium for our affection.
We loved each other through a Rottweiler’s fur.
Healing’s ways visited me
like a mountain tribe
close to the sun.
I was guided.
The feelings of God
I opened up in me
to care for this child.

So many tools I used,
so many make it right.
Then the Devil comes in and damns it all,
and you dance to this tune.
Do you know how much power the Hostile Powers have
to turn off our lights?
It makes you question the divine.
It makes you try to blame God.
What do I do what do I do?

I come back to myself of course.
I peel off this hate
from blocking the psychic’s view.
I stand and sing.
How far you have to go inside yourself to find human unity.
I’m afraid most can’t do that.
We have to have developed souls,
and we have had to have found oneness inside ourselves.
How many go that far?

We’re in the stage of adopting belief.
Can we understand a multi-generational project?
We want the consciousness open,
so our children can grow up wise,
a human unity bundle,
but you have to get it right with children,
so they can make the journey
if you can’t,
the journey inside
our yoga talks about.

I’m a vehicle on that worth,
and I’m hamstrung right now
for loss of my boy.
I am just this landed fish
speaking into your microphone.
Now I’m supposed to tell yah
human unity is a spiritual aim,
soul’s quarters.

I believe, I believe, I believe [line heard sung, from It's Too Late To Turn Back Now]
don’t bring it through your front door.
It comes when you’ve seen the One
with its own eyes,
a vision in consciousness.
You can’t rule it into play.
It’s not a textbook model.
Can you find spiritual process?
Isolate that nigger.
This is perfect sin.

The suffering is so explosive.
I don’t know how to manage it.
I’ve managed art with it,
so radiation in purpose,
and I die by the public barrier.
No one wants to hear this.
It’s just spilled upon my paperwork.
People would slap me for it
instead of help.
I just sit here and cry
so often.
You know I’ve heard from that boy.

The insanity with which his mother has put him,
so she can keep him from the slightest contact
with a man who raised him,
would make you want to put her away
if you knew the extent of it.
He will tell no one but me,
and those around her support her.
It’s a living nightmare,
and this is what happens when you do right with a child
and turn on their lights.

I’m an Auroville side keeper.
I’m conducting the experiment in my home.
I think you’re too rigid for that
in your mainstream rooms.
Surely the consciousness will change one day,
but you don’t know how.
I bring in that formula,
and you won’t even look at it.
Now it’s been captured by the Hostile Powers,
and no community supports me
to engage these misguided parents.
What do I do?

Stay close to him in inner consciousness
and hold him there,
wait for him to give me some outer contact,
with no satisfaction that will come.
You sit there and enjoy this,
the child removed from my lair,
kept from my clutches.
I pity you.
You are not the experiment.

I throw you a human unity ball,
and I would get into the quick of things,
if you let me,
in your own rooms,
by doing art
and making it public so you can see.
What are the issues that divide us?
The handle of children,
I can take you
to where we are feet with them,
the places that society all sees
but gives it permission to be,
and I can take you to their God room,
and what beauty can come out of a child
when their inner doors are open
to the God-felt expression of their soul.

A social trigger we do not fathom but persecute,
when it’s as deep as this
into our children’s honey.
When it’s social honey,
can you come together on this
and extend us your hand?
I can give you his song
inner hearing wrote.
Listen to the boy.
You know he’s months away
from being taken from his home at the lake
and made to feel so alone.

The future folks he’s got in his hands,
and he’s blisterin’ himself now
with his vision of the future that has failed him
now that it’s come to pass.
So much spiritual technology he wrote
to save himself from a future situation transpiring now.
I give you this miracle
if you would but look at it.
He cannot.
He’s not allowed.

The damage is done,
and the light’s been put out,
and he won’t even save himself
but has laid down and died,
giving himself up to total dominion,
and he’ll lie about it if you ask him,
scared of his parents’ wrath.

That’s the hope today,
the boy tells you what’s real
if you ask him.
It’s a hope place to start.
It’s a country road.
It’s the place we land our feet
and give this boy his chance.

The menu,
it’s got Gods all over it,
and it tells what happened
when the boy told his father he wanted to go home,
live with the velacara
in a permanent song,
but that was Sri Aurobindo’s house.
The future is in his voice.
It’s the future in your hands,
if you’ve never seen it before.
He gives a prevision of the future
his soul wrote.

You’ve not seen nothin’ like it.
It’s captured on the journey home
to the lake.
In one fell swoop,
that boy tells you how the cow ate the cabbage,
and you’ll just have to sit up and take notice
the boy heard this line by line
spoken into his inner ear
complete and unabridged.
We used my voice recorder.
Other than that no help given.
Now tell me this boy should be shot.

This is a cooperative journey.
We can’t leave Nithish there.
He’s a prototype
of a brand new kid,
and boy does he have baggage.
What was meant to be:
we are consciousness bundles,
and by our poetry you see that
we can bring you vehicles in consciousness
headed for our high change.
Eat that in the Menu of the Gods.
Can we find Auroville?
I’m drivin’ you home.

On August 19th, I sent the following small poem to both Facebook group’s admins with a link to the poem here on my blog, asking again that they post the poem, and in my stats I saw that two people in India came here from Facebook, and it’s reasonable to assume that was admin from one or both of those groups. Within a couple of days, Auroville, INDIA posted not only it but also two more posts I had pending, all at once. One can only say thank you when that happens.

Do somethin’
more than just an operator’s opinion.
It puts human unity in your lap,
and I’m the border they cross.
Don’t kill it again.
It’s costly.
You’re destroyin’ human unity.
Can you get a handle on it?
Censorship is for what’s wrong
and makes us bleed.
Is it really for what makes us right?
Answer the question,
and that’s the ordinary.
Let’s cup in our hands the extraordinary.
I give you a ride there in this poem.