One of the photos I took of him in a secret meeting in April, the last time I saw him
Untitled
by S. Nithish
The Beatles needed each other. I need all of you together. Nithish can only take you to the door, but you have to open it.
* * * *
Soaked in pain, guilt. Let alone in the dark. Can’t find a ladder. I hit rock bottom and sink even deeper, laying for the lies that built the world. Where do I find a cure for this virus?
We stepped on a bubblegum. Will stick for life. Can I be forgived for being myself? Now I see how people turn evil and bad. Is it the society or the world or both?
I could almost call myself a homeless dog, but even the dog is happier than me. I saw a kid who can’t speak properly, but even he is happier than me.
The worst part about life for me is that I can’t go live with my daddy, [1] and I’m afraid that I can’t forgive myself till the end of time if I don’t go live with him.
Ever minute of my life spikes of sorrow and guilt. Poke me on the inside and the outside it’s been very long time since I’ve got wet in the rain of love and joy. [2]
Darkness on the corner and light on top of the mountain, it’s easy to run but can’t hide from the radiation of the bed I sleep in, the hole that I’m falling. The mud is soft but the hole is deep, and I’ve gone blind. I can’t see the world or feel the world of what it was.
I’ve never wanted to go to North Korea. [3] All I had to do was follow the damn train, [4] and I am warmed by his smile cause I’m the one who has his mouth stitched. Who am I? Why are we both chained to the pain of the world and suffer from this poison and keep drowning in the bottom?
Where is the divine? Is it a rock? Everybody thinks that I’m evil, bad, greedy, selfish. The one who really love me will really ever know me.
Where is my mother? [5] I don’t see her. Why aren’t you coming to the rescue? This is the story of the universe. Why aren’t you introducing the twist of my motive? My story is not filmed by IMAX. It is filmed by the divine, the universe.
What sin have I done and pay so much and put me in debt? Look into my eyes. See and feel the pain, guilt that is untouched by you.
[1] Me, what he calls me
[2] He lives under almost total control so that he will not make contact with me in any form and so that he will make passing marks in school, and that control entails being called names, being beaten and slapped. In his entire school career, and he’s now in 9th standard, he’s never been able to pass all of his exams. He has learning disabilities, mild dyslexia and severe dyscalculia, but his parents do not believe in learning disabilities nor will allow him to be tested for such. I was there from his birth and informed his mother of his dyslexia when I began trying to teach him the English alphabet when he was three, seeing him write letters backwards and not able to put sound to letters, and when he was not learning to read and write English in school, 2nd standard by this time, I taught him to how. His parents have been told it’s impossible for him to learn to read and write Tamil.
[3] A favorite activity of his growing up in my care was, when it rained, to take off all his clothes and go and play in it, I mean every time it rained and it wasn’t too late, on the roof when we lived in town, simply outside when we lived on the farm. I only made sure he didn’t harm himself or offend anyone.
[4] In our own personal speech between us, this phrase, which comes from a GTA gameplay video that he liked when he was six and watched more times than I liked, came to mean for us the simplicity of just going with the flow if it were taking us in a good direction, and we used it among ourselves to correct one another for going against that flow. The whole phrase is “all you had to do was follow the damn train CJ.”
[5] The Mother, Sri Aurobindo’s spiritual collaborator, who is for him is the divine mother and whom he adored and dreamed about often.
The poem was written by a 13-year-old Tamil boy. If you’ve read his previous poetry, it’s more organized than this and more poetic, but he’s suffered a lot since he was taken from my home a year and some months ago, and his poetry has suffered also. The first verse is classic muse, the inner voice of poetry, in its mode of giving advice and guidance, and so I set it apart from the rest of the poem. I suspect the rest of the poem is not pure muse, is him mostly just pouring his heart out, although still under the rush of inspiration and still in the voice of poetry. The trauma he’s suffered has almost turned off his muse, and, with the exception of a song he wrote upon being able to spend some time with me the first time since he was taken, “Heaven and Hell,” he gets very little muse now.
In the months before the was taken and his ordeal began, he wrote poem after poem, two raps, and a song from the muse, each spoken or sung to him on the inside, and each one a prevision of the future he’s now in, the raw hopelessness and desperation of this present poem so painful to read in the light of those past poems, which are full of confidence, faith, and resilience.
I am very familiar with his handwriting and form of spelling, and so I can make out what he wrote (you can see the dysgraphia) and organize it into lines and verses. I include the pieces of paper that he wrote this on at bottom. They were smuggled to me recently. He wrote this in school, in secret, on the back of exam papers. His muse told him to give it to me, and my muse told me to give it to you.
Months ago I gave his school a copy of all his poetry and asked that they provide for him a child mental health professional because he had mentioned suicide. I did this with a letter, as the parents have bribed the police near the school to take me to the station if I come there, what Nithish’s mother told him they had done, and what he warned me about. I might add that neither his school recognizes learning disabilities, and of him they have repeated what his mother told them, that he is acting and failing on purpose because he’s a smart boy.
I had complained to the Child Welfare Committee of Puducherry earlier, and they didn’t even know what dyslexia was, and a bribe was paid there also, his mother told him. The school has also complained that he thinks of me a lot, and that interferes with his studies, not able to recognize that he’s suffering the grief and heartbreak of the loss of a parent, a relationship with him they will also not recognize because I have no legals rights to the child.
It took months for the school to respond to the letter, and when they did it wasn’t to me or to provide him with care; they asked him to write a poem about his school, praising it, and they’d publish it in their weekly newsletter. The request that he write a poem came some weeks ago, and he wrote this poem instead, after much deliberation and anguish over the whole thing, but he’s afraid to give it to his school because his parents would see it and punish him for it, and so, I have to open the door, albeit without causing him further harm.
I wanna restrict access to ether department material. I wanna clarify the sense of know. What is the irony? They never seem to remember they’re not dealing with science they’re dealing with train yards. It only becomes science when consciousness becomes involved. That dog exists. He points all the cartoons and movies. I’ve seen ‘im.
This is not just an English submission. And the way you must maintain, [sing line] inhabit this as if your life depended upon it. Disturbed her hand. Nobody knows where this is comin’ from, and no reader sees this comin’. Soon you’ll get bit and ice cream. It has the attention, [sing line] and you hit a basketball court, and it may happen to be our key.
Dobie you came to stop me why? Christianity does not know it’s interred. It thinks it’s the sandman. It hurts people, and it does not match reality. Fine, I’ll keep singin’.
I put everybody in bed with me so they can see change. It’s a safety measure. Where do we come from? Do we come from the trees? What happens when our pants are off when we were children? How angry does momma spank us? Are we left in a corner to rot? Is daddy a guerilla? Do we get enough to eat? Are we the brunt of everyone’s joke? How much pressure do we spend childhood with?
What’s mental health, and how has it failed us? Every scientist knows you put the telescope on heavenly bodies, the microscope on nature’s small dance. What makes us tick? The observational posts are not there. We’ve neglected our very selves, who we need to see to survive it’s gotten so big our department store.
Why didn’t we do this from the beginning, put all those training devices on us so that we know where we came from when a child comes out of the womb? Have I hit the most territorial seize the day? You can’t look in there. It’s the most agreed upon privacy in the world, that little family intake, by the time we got to where science was. I’m not countin’ cucumbers. I want you to look at this. We put our eyes on the workings of nature not us, as if that would change the world and make us live with one another well.
What was early scientists thinking? They established a model, and to get right down to the business of us, the making of the human being, was that akin to heresy? Now folks, what do you want to look at to be safe, how many items dance on the head of a pin or study the universe to systematize it?
Let’s be crystal clear. Science deals with the environment too and the damage we’ve done to it and the danger that’s put us in, but human choices made these decisions that have put us at risk. How self-centered they are, how monetary gain. Change the human change the environment so we don’t run amok.
Did I just spell out change? Why has the focus been on objects of nature, I mean in the intention of science? Momma don’t make your babies grow up to be cowboys. [sing lineto tune of the country songwith similar title] Well I lost the rodeo. Can we talk about small minds and violent natures that live in boxes? / I grew up in this milieu. I could say policemen or rodeo clown, or even schoolteacher, but the exceptions would pile up, and I can’t show you what’s happenin’.
How can I tell you we are a tortured device? We do not produce good human beings. Just look at the world. Do you know how violated everybody is? Do you know how mean? We are still guerrillas, even your newspaperman and mother with her child. We are not a functional society for the good of us. We have animal hierarchy and just let people die or rot in misery. We are a selfish lot. We are not our brother’s keeper, and we do not love our neighbor like ourself. We make war with him.
No gentil people would agree with me. They’re soft and warm. They treat their brother kindly. They go to church and pay homage to society, or they have the right liberal opinions and treat everybody equally. Do you know how immature you are? Watch yourself in transactions you get shortchanged, or where your opinion is busted, or you find someone you don’t like, or you’re brought up against your unconscious, and you watch it take over. You react and show your immaturity.
This comes from upbringin’, from where your family put their hand, their voice, their feelings, and their directed-toned thoughts. Now science would not say this. It’s not there yet. It won’t do that, look that closely at us when we’re in momma’s lap, in bed with daddy, at the dinner table bein’ reamed for somethin’ we done, or just sittin’ on stools with the family in our little private milieu.
We can’t put lenses there, and we don’t know how to get at that space and nobody knows we’re lookin’. We could’ve solved this a long time ago, but science didn’t see that we are behaviorally made. Put genes in the shotgun they come from behavior too, however many diseases get in the way.
Audible, we saw a destiny. It wasn’t religion. It grew larger than mankind. We’re in the apple in the trees now. We can’t get out of our underwares. We still slap children, make them feel uncomfortable with themselves. We breed disease. We don’t know how to handle children, and our world’s a mess because of it.
How can I get you to see this newspaperman, scientist studying nature? Who else would we look to for change? A politician’s a ninny-gag. The clergyman reads from a book and doesn’t see change except to be more Christian. I bring a new thing upon the Earth that we haven’t seen in awhile, as the poet lands Earth.
I bring you essays on living through my personal share that can see through the walls of humanity and show things even cameras can’t capture. I can show you the inner workings of our species, and the dice is on the table. I can hunt you in corners and show how this makes us mad. I can show the pathology of mankind and the rule book of disease that puts rabids among us, and I can chip away at your armor and show you your snakeskin, the hidden fount of your wrath, and you are as policy as the rest of us.
I do this with a divine eye that looks in on things, and I have found the hidden fount of poetry, new for the times we wear, a new font of poetry that speaks to us living men and women to bring our heights to the sun.
I am not a caged animal. I have a freedom in my room that walks on mountaintops. I am a receptivity to God. I hear the angels sing. Healing lives in my top drawer, and I let it out and sing to you the heavenliness of its smile. I can do more than that. I can rise the sun in your eyes and reveal to you the secret of the universe, the real person you are beyond time. I can bring you to the Silence that empties our race of all its cares and brings enlightenment into the room. I can hold your hand to the well of soul and have you touch base with forever. These things I have seen and been, where moments meet me in the well of change.
Do you see me there? Every impossibility meets its gun. I’m taller than you in that I have met my own impossibility and let God handle it, but I did not neglect my duty to pay. So I’m aligned with the times to give us living Earth. This is not a handmaid’s tale that robs us of our own divinity. We have it on our tops, and we will wear this one day in clear and certain skies. Time’s the animal we wait on now, but time is not our keeper. The hidden divinity is all across our tops in every movement of time.
Right on. I have some stature to gain. I want Silence to enter my room, but the world keeps swellin’ up. I tarry there. It’s not an impossible situation, but it’s bigger than I am. I’ll just put on my hat and let grace still me. It’s an office I wear, concentrating with no thoughts in my head bound for the Silence. I can’t get past the thoughts of the day, but I can ride the quiet for minutes or hours. It’s a warfare you know. They know you’re close, and the world steps in and robs you of your peace. Dangnabbit, I chase the Silence away.
They carry your name in the wind, the lovers of sky, if you’ve seen past the boundaries thin Earth. You are a flame shot up there that kissed the night goodbye. I’m hope in your room. Don’t let me down. Can you see me now? [the last verse came watching the movie The Summer Book walk its way into my heart]
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?
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?
Another life on earth, we enter that life today. Can you believe I’m 21? I sit in bathtubs and smile, holdin’ onto speech that has not come. I’m butt naked, and no one sees me. I haven’t entered society yet. I think my penis said that.
I lift my voice and sing syllables that make sense to me, and my truck, my God my red truck, it’s bigger than life. I’m a destruction derby all day long. How do you expect chaos to get along? When I pee everybody drinks it, and I’m glad that I did.
I just shouted. Did you hear it? I can turn a principle 13. Here I am in my kingpin. Wow that’s tight. What body part did they make? I am really in the ditch with you, and it’s wonderful ain’t it?
My body is on fire with the touches of life, and I can feel my own skin. I go through sudden rages, and no one even answers me for it. You can’t say no to me. I want to do everything. I love the sudden grandpa. He doesn’t practice the word no.
You know what it’s like to run free? We will find thought soon. I’m an image in my head of pumpkins waiting for the birth of thought. That comes with language you know. My grandpa gave me a new word today, careful. I fall so many times.
Okay I’m 21 months, and I’m takin’ my time. Who wants to be thrown to the wolves? I’m just all out in front of everybody. I’m Dylan. I'm myself to please.
Up bring everything. Where’s my boy? A resident’s assembly bringing towards that you. Who lived off the grid? What exactly did you mean by business? They think it’s me the wrong piston, this wagon: I can’t find my dime in society. This sucks and I want out of it. We’re on you like stink on shit— the great big arms of society. We don’t let you get there to utopia. We damage everything.
Now let’s go to the bubble Auroville, an experimental town city. Great Scott! society couldn’t leave it alone, molested it like a little child, and it got taken over by the Indian government way back when but comin’ out of the woodwork now, just as pretty as you please. Now they’re stuck with nothin’ to do about it. A patriotic Indian government has taken over, and they’re throwin’ out non-Indians who disagree, makin’ the international city Indian.
Spirituality’s the powder keg. They don’t do it right they say. They quote the Mother and Sri Aurobindo all day without understandin’ what they’re talkin’ about, without knowin’ those words, with the fervor of a religious persons who bring Auroville to its knees surrenderin’ to the Mother said. This is the apex of the new city. It’s lost its charter there. I’m a mechanic, and I’ve got some cars to work on, the Auroville sedan and the world school bus. I want to show you the method of the spirituality. I have some things to say. Annie get your gun. We might stay together, anyone wantin’ a new society, anyone wantin’ to change the world. Annie’s gonna shoot us all if she could. She don’t let social change, and she’s government big.
I begin here my revolt, not with gunpowder or any type of violence, not with protest signs and blockin’ streets. I give you the ideas that will change the world. Funny huh? it’s just little ole me. I want my boy to come home. That’s this can you hear me? That’s the child I’m pullin’ out all the stops for, I’m riskin’ my life for, to rescue.
A black man did it, killed all these people in control of mankind, without takin’ a single life, without firin’ a single shot. He got rid of their ideas that control us. He blew up the machine with the ideas that make the world. Keep him open answering questions.
There are horrors, huh, right now? [vision of a ghoul-like creature popping up from behind some trashcans that I kicked, as if it’d been hiding there] The tremblin’ must be rewound by it. You’re almost taken. There is no revolution anymore. It’s found you. This is hotdog nigger stats, your consumer prices index. Am I racial string theory my dear? Interracial. We are all following the machine, reacting to its wares and memes. Nigger got you didn’t it? You all jump in the same hoop, even if you use that word to call people names.
We are a standardized machine, no glory holes. We take our partner to legalized sex and punish those who don’t. Can I get at that spirit of the machine? I’m not sayin’ sex traffic kids. You’re all in a bottle you know, even the one who breaks all the rules. You’ve been put to the test, livin’ off the grid like you do. You define yourself by society. Just look at the books you read. They’re society bound, even Henry David Thoreau or that guru master you read. You’re reading other people of what you make work in life.
Can we get off the stairs? Can you table God? My God he’s big. Can I rewrite you a blindin’ every minute to the creation made today as we speak, nothing standardized nothing made all this past that led up to now? It’s a fairy rose, a shapin’ flux that’s puts together our minutes seemingly aligned with the past. A great big school of thought this that brings the universe to bear. I mean the universe is jumpin’ out at yah right now, created this minute don’t you see?
A settled creation no. Created now of world maker’s art. You have these pistons it fits into, and you grease your days and nights with your own content. You are a happening in the Void, a mechanism for a movie graveling existence into nothingness so that we can be. Do you have your hat on?
When science reaches here it will see God guiding stars from above and gathering forms in place, but it is fairy rose, the whole damn show. In this existence is real. Its rises God, climbs out of the Void by lighting it, and we make up its lives. See you soon at the reunion of stars. We do not come from the Void. We are the soul in the machine.
Now do you see miracle? The soul rises in the machine. Are you startled? You should be. That’s the bulwark of creation right in your hands. Now take a child and whip him again. You know you’re risin’ stakes. You don’t see the significance Earth? It has a wonder-weft in it. To your mom Nithish. We have the autograph books for Being, big beautiful Being.
That’s why wood’s together, those two grapplin’ with existence proper, the boy that makes you uneasy, the man that makes you question things, they find inner muscle. I’ll have X call you back. You know he’s waiting. Now for some childhood trauma. I met the Void in its dirty underwear. Outside of the world I disappeared from Heaven in a toddler’s nightmare. Buried alive, I had existence piled on top of me. I rose things that jumped out and rescued me. Fell down in the Void a toddler with inner journey secrets. All our arms point down be careful. Hell has a wide mouth. Light itself got me out. Can I call your name? Can I name the world? Caught in those wheels myself existence rose, right in the middle of the sun.
Now I’ve seen where holocaust comes from, saw the monsters of the deep and the origin of all evil. I felt it there. Trade me for secrets, and I will light what can’t be seen. Come down to earth with me, and let’s get out of this hole leading little lives of quiet desperation not knowin’ where we’re goin’ or a get there to get there too, just bein’ fishes in a plastic bottled sea in the pattern of the days. Even if you’re rich or the president of something, we’re in the Void. We are almost buried in the machine.
What do we do with these minutes? We standardize them, make them in line, and we do this by society’s test in the basics of us, no matter where we live. I’ve chased you there, all the great thinkers escapin’ the machine. I don’t think you can be free in it. Here is the test now in a sudden poem. My God that works. I can do it. Fine, I’m in my underwear.
Can I show you the Holocaust again in time, the cruelty of one towards the other, the diabolical meanness? Will you change that way and be kind to people or even good, or will you hate the abusers and turn off the TV? Will you see this in your own house with your own kids, forcing them into labor camps of school, making them obey you or else, giving them your name not theirs, making them fill society’s roles and cutting off their souls? It’s a holocaust of denial. We make standard kids in a standard room, and we can’t get over it don’t work. Even if our kids cure cancer, they haven’t made humanity bigger than itself, they haven’t evolved us further than ourselves, they haven’t seized the wheels of time and discovered us.
You live in a box you see, a prison house of weft. I’m tryin’ to find a key to outside where the inner splendors lay, but you’ll just shoot me if I’m wrong, not in my theory in my moral with boys. Look at you. You will deny the inside in the moments of this poem because I can’t talk about it I’m not worthy? We all live in the yellow submarine. [sing line] Coffee sir, I think we’re on the brink of change.
I’m off right now. These are world fireworks of every cloud in the sky. I’m a loud chitty bang bang. I arrest you and put you to sleep. I call your name at night. I’m bigger than sin. I’m your guacamole. I take you to the temple at night. I really get into your stuff, and I can mislead you too. I can really mislead you. I play with your consciousness like it’s on fire, and I wrap it around the gods and the name you call home. I’m puddin’ in a bucket. I show you things unseen about yourself. I fry there. I’ve got a lot of gas to get you to the supermarket and back. I can change your life if you let me. I can show you which way to go and where you must not go. I’m a conscious mechanism in dream and all vision states. I’m your inner life where it touches ground when you’re alone to yourself. No dammit I'm not Donny. Jeez, representative think, will yah?
I’m great big and I’m mean. I mean when you first open me, for a lot of people. I change the world into its starlight, and I’m all piss and vinegar in them hellholes. Come open me I’m a gift of inner seeing, the lost art of humanity. Wanna watch it grow? Right before your eyes in this poem. This is what you’re off the grid for, to get in touch with your inner dynamics, to reopen miracle and you.
You’ve got to consciousness to get there and study there like you’re in school, where to travel in dream when you wake up in them, how to use the paralyzed trance to leave your body and your room and see if we share a field of consciousness, how to bake there in any inner keeping the questions of existence, of who you are and what unfolds time.
Off the grid do you hear me? No, you can do this in a valet parking lot, right in the middle of society. You don’t have to wear shoes. You can just get goin’ anywhere you find yourself stuck on Earth. You don’t have to have any titles to do this, no special education. You can just be you opening the doors of the inner consciousness and discovering what’s in there don’t you see?
Samadhi will come along eventually, and you will abide there fishin’, even in the surrender mode. We have paths to cross. We’ve got to get to know time. We have to see who we are. This is in the middle of the road. That's the dream maker. It gets you out of boxes, and it’s available to every man, woman, and child, even in the animal kingdom. I’m in; how did you get down there?
You study dream. You look for the doorways in there, the spiral force that takes you, the swing, and the fall down into the well of soul. There is enlightenment too that you can slip into for a dream wear. There’s overhead experience. You focus on the inside like it’s your business. Soon you will see the future in dream, where you dream every night some part of tomorrow. It’s in symbols weird. It will blow your mind. You will explore consciousness then so fortified. I don’t believe in magic. You will begin to. Just open the inner doors with discernment and kindness and a watch out about yourself, and see the world change.
You don’t jump in boxes. You call out my name and send money to this number. Now you know how a fraud sounds, as I notice your red tongue. Do you wanna be a teacher? You don’t need a guide. Go get your calendar. I’m going to build a new house. That takes time. Inner red riding book, that’s your splashdown. How to fly to inner report the eggs that it needs? Symbol after symbol you will encounter. It’s the language of the Spirit. I never thought about needing one. We haven’t gotten to the interpretation of dreams yet, but in our little dream company we cracked the code. Start with Episode 1. It’s a podcast silly, but it’s free.
I don’t have a guidebook to give you. I just have me when you get down to dream. I have evidence it’s out there, the rediscovery of mankind, the great big rediscovery of all our good books on survival, how we get along, and where we change for one another, share that field inside. I’m bigger than my room. You just watch. The table where we’re all planted the beginning of the inner revolution. Listen to this poem there. It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature, and it’s right here we beat AI, with our own inner television. I see. I need a new pair of shoes. And that’s great.
Earth meaning on a whole, the meeting of two red lines, you keep your outer life goin’. Don’t lose your job, and if you take your kids out of school, make sure they can function in society. Don’t give them your life. Let them find theirs. Outer life tuned, you’re now an ensemble of the inner too. You don’t get lost there. You don’t even make it your life’s work. It’s your education, how to handle the outer life and where to go with it, ultimately how to change the world.
You don’t get led astray by your name among men. Can I exemplify you? You let your art do that. It will fly before humanity the flag you’re supposed to, the take place of you art. These will come from inner wares, the more inner, the more valuable. You’re not doin’ this to preach. You wanna find yourself inside to get into that outside the proper material.
You’re balancin’ life the inner wares too. You don’t cut one short. The inner and the outer play along and begin to dovetail. You can do both at the same time. That’s advancement. That’s where it starts, you outgrow yourself, you’re becoming the bigger you are, and it’s diamonds, but it’s not wear around your neck. You meet the breeze humbly and sweetly, without acting. Your self-honesty has reached sincerity. Come over here. You’re in the drawing room of God, and great shoulder notions ride your room. This is the attack plan of a real world revolution. Sweet, ain’t it? Sweet and kind. This is the attack plan of an inner revolution, and all you have to do is open your eyes to inner beginnings. You got that right?
I’m gonna explore and investigate consciousness. Bottled up inside you your destination. See who it is an overhead experience. Now you know you’re there because you’ve reached this nameless origin, the Person that you are, the origin of all your lives, somewhere up there in the sun, greatly over your head. You can see everything. It’s too big for you to remember when you return to your little self. My God this is big, and there’s no mistakin’ time. You’ve been outside of it. You’ve been bigger than the moon, the tall country of the gods. I’m ashamed of this? You don’t even know it’s there. You can’t count the sun.
Now murder me for it, or get your persecution gun, like you’re doin’ now in Auroville the city of dawn. I’m an outcast there, not now about little boys, where we begun. I’ve made people mad by seeing things the community don’t. I’ve engaged people who wear special status in spirituality or somethin’. They glide in my room and just spit there. Most won’t respond to me, and I’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest I believe.
These are little people. What do you do with them? You come out of your holes and shine. You don’t hide yourself no more. My boy’s at stake I’ve got to do this. He needs my help. Will I be here tomorrow? I don’t know. I’ve got people on my case. I can disappear anytime. So I show you the sun and where creation comes from. I give it to you all free and without regard to my safety. Great you say, big deal, are you trying to impress us?
It’s the wrong time for this. Everybody’s show and tell. I am just one in a number oh isn’t that interesting? But here in Topeka the flies are a buzzin’. [sing this and above line, a song by Loretta Lynn] I’m in danger here. What’s a body to do? Why open more poetry of course, high priority encounters about the transfer of the One. Then you draw the line he needs rescued. I want my boy back.
The constructuralist my poem. Do you know what I’m talkin’ about pedo squad? I’m lookin’ at you in the German theater. What they do with your mayor? Did they fry ‘im?
He downloaded images of against the law right there in the town square, that one special crime that kills everybody. You know I’m talkin’ disease. Do you know what? You’re the infectors. All of society is.
It’s a child’s jewels. It brings up so much stuff in humanity. You can’t get over it, that they have them, that they find pleasure there. It’s the fundamental rule not to touch. How did this come about? Guarding secrets.
You feel nothing I am sure seein’ a kid at the train station. It disgusts you what people do with little Johnny’s toy. You would rather they be shot, the child I mean. What am I sayin’?
Let’s go back in the history of children. Prehistory, caveman days, I think it ruled society eat that child’s lunch. We couldn’t get out of bed for it. I mean we could not evolve, develop, into let’s find ourselves there, an ordered society that did not eat itself. Murder and mayhem blinded us.
Do you know we came from there? A child got woke in a human animal band. It was a woke party. It was infant orgasm, and give them some plant medicine. The mother and parents were egged on in dream and vision from other spheres to give us human consciousness, raw form only; development came later.
Did one person infect them all, like in a reverse Planet of the Apes? I don’t know maybe this was a garden, and a whole tribe was involved. I think we started in one place, but the procedure could have been done anywhere where the apeman was involved. If this started us, kids got eaten alive for a million years.
Morality was born. That’s the significance of the Jews in early history and some other tribes who got wiped out, but we see their trees today. You know the Gods came along and employed circumcision and moral rules to reduce us from our children, especially the male lead. This is the child machine. You know they are a leaven, the people of the Jews, but they were not the only ones. I’m sorry; do I count their sins too? Do I count my sins too?
We stopped eating our children as morality evolved. You can see in primitive societies, the non-technology ones, a whole lot of touchin’ goin’ on and histories of things got worse. Now what do we do with it today? Stomp it out like fire, like every day.
I’ve taken you on a journey into parental eves. Get intimately close to a kid in naked wares, in that loving embrace, the younger ones especially, and you might wear desire a time or two in the littleness of that child. You’re not a pedophile. You just hit intimacy as it hits us, and if you don’t believe what I’m talkin’ about, get really into your dreams where that kid shows up naked.
This is natural desire that scares the hell outta you. It makes you hate the pedophile. It makes you hate him mean. You can’t see this. You don’t want to. I can watch someone killed in a video all day, and the makers go to jail I don’t. What’s with child pornography? I just told yah. I can watch movies about killings, all kinds of crimes. I can look at horrible pictures of anything I wanna see, but see a picture of a naked kid, increasingly, not even hintin’ at sex, and you’re liable to go to jail.
The armies we have to prevent it, they’re poisoning humanity. Prevent child abuse? Everybody says it’s getting worse. What are you doin’? Ease up on those controls. Go for the image makers. Try to restrict access, but don’t hang people for lookin’ at it. You’re going overboard, like you do when you’re reactin’ to unconscious process. Can I show it here? I just did.
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.
To murder someone else on the arms of a little boy, in the status of a little boy, you hit the nail on the head with what keeps us from being human to one another, what keeps our humanity at bay in the everyday meaning of relationship.
Nithish has a parent that’s me we didn’t put together by law or found by blood. Time did it, growin’ him up in my care, parenting him. No amount of denial can change that in this boy’s heart or in my shattered life. No amount of lies can make it undone. We are parent and child and more.
We are each other’s significant other in that our lives are undone in the worry over the other. Where do you see that? In his inability to concentrate solely on school, in his brooding silence, in his anger that’s at a flashpoint every time, in his antsyness and nervousness not knowing what to do, in his inability to sleep at night. These are just vehicles. Those around him know something’s up, have known for months now, and all the punishment you can give him can’t stop it, all the control.
You got a situation where you’ve gotten rid of one of the most important people in your son’s life, / a very important person to your life, even important to the school his goes to, and that was done in what amounts to murder in the first degree, where you simply killed him as cruelly as you did that: without any thought of goodness or proper action, cut me out of your boy’s life like he was holding the gun, and you even made him shoot me, and he suffers for that to no end.
You can’t say why you done it, just that your parental rights give you that right, and I have none, what it boils down to, whatever the dyslexia of the situation, the Sri Aurobindo, and you split your family doing that, made culpable his school.
Who am I again? A real live person in your life no amount of getting rid of will get rid of, and even if you actually did kill me, or send me off in space, I would be around your neck in plain view of that boy for the rest of your relationship with him, what you did to me and why so you can have him for yourself.
Can we rule of the heart of the matter? And the heart is a tough customer, and you feel it too. It’s what we live by, overrides every rule, shows itself as the leader of the life in every relationship. It can’t be denied, and even if you ignore it, it will make sure you can’t, and you can’t can you Sandiya? That’s why you control him so much. You know he wants to be with me.
He’ll be 13 in less than a week. I’ve been to every birthday that boy’s had, been a principle player. You know what he wants for his birthday. He wants his daddy. He needs his daddy. You are his mother, and that’s what mothers do, meet their child’s needs. Was he born from your womb and now you own and possess him, or are you really his mother? Well are you?
Anyway, I want to see him on his birthday. Why can’t that be arranged? That’s tonight’s show.
Harm's End 