White supremacy for mayor uttered in Wilmington. They just chopped people to pieces. The injustice lags the sky. I don’t believe it happened. I cried when I heard about it. Can we play that again?
We do it every day, not massacres, although they come along. We put people in power that hate Blacks. We give White supremacy a place at the table and call it by other names. We don’t know how to count it. There isn’t a racist person in the state. Even a White supremacist will tell you that.
Do you know how they feel, the Black people at the table? Of course they’re racial gatherings. What do we do with their anger? We don’t know how to handle it. It’s hatred for us, and nobody gets better that way. Nobody even knows what’s goin’ on. We are stirred up by so many people, and the unseen lends a hand.
Not all good people are good. A Kumbaya feast doesn’t do any good. Racial unity, we have to address our sins first. We have to see them there. It’s a feelin’ we have around Black people, even with our smiles on. I’m sorry will you get the broom and sweep the house? I’m gettin’ at colored folks in the drawing room of White men. We face each other not as equals. Our attitude hangs out the beekeeper. They are inferior to us in our American bones.
These are racial wounds we spit on and light on fire in the complacency of man. How do you get rid of this? You shove it down people’s throats a woke system. That did a lot of good. The White supremacists took over. What do we do now? We arrange guns and burn down houses. You think this’ll work? We just break apart our nation and cause a lot of hurt.
Racial aren’t the only issues in the sky. There’s livin’ with each other bein’ true to one another. We put our cap on and show genuine to people, because we feel it, the confusion of everybody in the hurtin’ of life. We know we’re dumb too. We have to protect ourselves yeah, but we take our hats off to everybody and give them a little bit of us if they ask.
How do I get this across? It’s a squeeze test. Most people aren’t genuine. Some people want to hurt you. You have to know where to step. You can’t carry your heart on your sleeve. You have to know when it’s time to get out of Dodge. You are generous but wise. I can’t give you the roof over my head. I can’t empty my pockets for you.
Now we come to the meaning of the Earth. It’s not racial reports. It’s how we all survive. We get in with each other to make the Earth work, and it’s bigger than life. We are bigger than Negroes and White men, bigger than any gender we wear. It’s across the great divide, our true life and purpose.
You hear a Daniel say that today. I’m in the lion’s den right among you, and no one has eaten up my flesh, but I can feel the breath upon my door of some dangerous shit. Can you hear me I’m tired, but I’ve opened up humanity in myself, and I’m doing it again. Will you sup with me? Will you even try?
Speak lotus, these were reminds me these were come up in these poems something of Wilmington has happened here in Pondicherry. It’s race related. I’m not Indian. A parenthood of oppression blights this land. I’m standin’ up for my boy. Free him please. Don’t let this tragedy go down unnoticed.
The details would scare you, and I’ve named them in other poems. His name is Nithish, S. Nithish, and he needs help. I sit here flabbergasted at the amount of lies that make up this story told to policemen and child welfare and so many other people.
They put their Indian first each time and the rightful law and order of the land that made their parental rights supreme, the underbelly the lie that India will not wake up from. Children are crushed by their parents, abused and beaten and forced to give up their lives for school. Hours of tuition at night kill their playtime, and disorders such as dyslexia and dyscalculia are unrecognized. They’re beaten for bad grades.
This is right and proper in India. They just took my boy behind the woodshed and killed him for parental loyalty, all in the eyes of the law. He has lost his personality, had his identity crushed. What this has done to his character will put him in his father’s shoes, a man who has murdered four men in Pondicherry targeted by his gang, on bail now for attempted murder that never went to trial. The case has been overlooked. This is standard procedure in Pondicherry if a powerful gang is involved. People get away with murder.
I have to stand here and watch all this happen to my boy, and I can do nothing. I’ve even been to the press and contacted every major NGO in India that deals with child cases. I’ve threatened hunger strike, but the divines I look to said no. I’ve written poem after poem, giving these circumstances, but the social conditions of a blog put likes in my hands, put readers, but I can’t arouse the crowd for my boy and get this matter looked at by proper hands. I can’t get off my blog.
Is this stupid, to talk about this injustice, to tell you my boy needs help. I am just a Black newspaper of 1898 this happened at Wilmington, a whole town overthrown by White supremacists, and no one believed them because they’re Black newspapers?
The New York Times and the Washington Post, and all the major news, came to scoop the story. Met at the train station with the royal treatment, the leaders of the coup put them in hotels and told them lies they all believed: Nithish is in the hands of his parents where he belongs, and the Indian order has been restored, the natural order of things; his father’s an outstanding citizen rich now in business, his mother a gentle soul that would never harm a child; we have him in school 11 hours a day because he’s acting and don’t want to study; we know he’s smart, and this is India, and we make school the center of a kid’s life for our national pride. Buy me another drink aldermen, and I’ll put in our newspaper what you said.
Would it alarm you his mother paid bribes? Even to the authorities. Okay, okay I’ll shut up, but I’m a Black man in a White man’s world, and no one listens to me. Can you hear this? It happened in Wilmington.
The offices of the Daily Record, a Black-run newspaper, were burned by a White mob during the Wilmington massacre of 1898. (New Hanover County Library)
Insert card and procedure. Remove the chance that we had, visiting. Are you English? I don’t understand. I didn’t red one second in that girl. Stay high and close. There’s a ballpark you’re gonna play on. It’s just a matter of minutes. Come on get happy. Ecstasy at the apex. Ride your family. There’s more than family values. Okay A camp, there’s Donny.
I’m gonna realize you in the stack. The stone of my words will remove them from any look on themselves innocent. Arrow on his sight, and Auroville is under the dominion of these wares. Well that’s in Pondy. The hand butter or you are called potentials, the rest of your life. Don’t feel scared there. You’re not wet cross.
Why would the child cry?— excellent. For some attention. These phrases stopped your evolution. You didn’t touch that child. You were so good to him he cried when you left. David Wayne was it? Your cousin’s boy, David King. They accused you of molesting him because he cried when you left. What a child and jury, these were your cousins you’d known all your life. They just accused you, without even knowin’ why.
“Must’ve stuck your hand down his pants, when we weren’t lookin’.” That was your uncle Jerry, whom you’d loved all your life. Jerry Duke and his wife Sherry Duke, they were monsters to you. Karen and Eddie, their children, were the posse. I think they saw the kid cry and made out you did it. You saw each one of them born and grow up. They were Jerry Lloyd’s brother and sister, your first best friend, the love of your life until you were five. You were like twins, daily in your playfields together. You kept that love, growin’ up. He didn’t.
Now wasn’t it David King had you stroke his penis when were a little boy and he a teen, and didn’t he tell you he raped Karen when she was 11, he 18? Wow you, Eddie and Jerry Lloyd, a lot of sex play when you were little, penises all in each other’s mouths, especially you and Jerry Lloyd. This continued growin’ up. All the cousins did it, James Duke too, and you’ve always remembered that horse Jerry Lloyd and them fucked when you were teenagers. Did I see you get on it too? Steve fucked yours, do you remember? You were 10, he 14. Now they’re gonna go and accuse you of child molestation. It ain’t right.
Jewett, they all lived in Jewett, Texas, on Old Durant Road. Some of ‘em still there. Mean people, they just got rid of you when you were in college, and they were not. Wow you had been a Green Beret, and they hadn’t been anything. They are jealous, vile, people, and your love for them was never returned. The suffering of that false accusation, it changed your life. You wailed in dream. You couldn’t believe it, and they never spoke to you again.
How’s that for family? They’re all born again Christians, and they act like it. They don’t love their brother. They don’t even know he’s there, still hurtin’ from their murder of his love. He cried for years in the solace of dream. This hurt. What did it do to his ramrod? False accusations sting. They waylay you. They change your behavior. Why even try? You do it then.
You were really good to David Wayne. He was four and don’t remember a thang. He was a cute little guy. The Dukes and the Kings, how are they with kids? They take care of them but don’t give them any attention, the kind that opens them to society kind people. They give them swimsuits and baseballs, but not the focused family time they need. They all watch television together. It’s not raise a kid, and they’re the center of the room, the heart of the attention. They’re not fostered so they grow up nice and sweet. They’re whipped with belts and switches and a lot of anger, and along comes this nice man from know how to do it, because he loves children so, and David Wayne gets the attention he so desperately needs.
Why did he shake his head yes that you touched him? He was four and didn’t know what they mean. This was a holocaust to that family’s sense of love and devotion, to that little boy’s pride. They got away with it, until today. You hear me speak now.
Control ball, now you record it. When night go for it Nithish, knock phone numbers. If he gets caught he’s killed. In Tamil the people who put worse seem very powerful. I wouldn’t put it that way. It’s just in good English we’re learning to mince the Devil with words. / I’ve localized the economy, and I’m takin’ English to new heights. It’s not artificial anymore, a poem that comes from inner sights.
I throw that devil out, but I show ‘im to yah. I don’t play with bones. I heal them in your shelf. What you got in the closet, I ring around the rosy. I’m not here to play dice. I wanna get to the bones of reality so that we can live here and not ruin each other. I wanna talk about it, you know? I wanna get down to bloody business. I wanna show you you a danger to let’s all grow up.
Will you find me? I’m blacklisted for that. Let me cough. That danger I present is right there among you. I’m not pullin’ any punches. I wanna heal myself and be free. I mean I wanna be a proper human being, no longer stupid. I don’t wanna block my own trail, get mad at the world because I stumped my own toe. I wanna forgive you for the same stupidity. I wanna look out on the world and understand the miracle of each day. I wanna see you in it the very Self I touch with myself, no cigars. That means I’m right with you.
I hear my stomach growl, and we all feed on each other like it’s conversation. I’m learnin’ not to do that. You would not know I feel you when I’m just some guy you’ve met on the road, or you’re my landlord or niece. I cry for you sometimes. Okay I cry for you a lot. It’s really rough in here, you know? There’s just so much pain. They got buried in an earthquake, a daddy holding his little child dead in a news story. Can you imagine how that felt?
I’m tryin’ to wash away the tears that we symbolize time, and I’ve found out somethin’. This is just a single show in a movie house with infinite theaters, and each one pulls on the next, and each one supports the next. We are its base, the last of the free worlds before Hell begins. Of course we suffer. We support Heaven. Our blood, sweat, and tears hold up Heaven, all the ascending worlds. It’s not cruel. Existence has to have everything in it. I don’t think we can measure how big it is, and we are not the only world that suffers, and we’re just innocent little children, dumb like animals.
There’s a comic plan, and our universe sucks on the Void to bring existence out of nothing. The devils rose, an unforeseen consequence, mad as hell existence be, and they rape us in broad daylight, and we don’t even see. We are a banquet of the Heavens and the Hells, and I am sorry; I can’t gauge all the worlds in their ascending hierarchies or their status in Hell. I’m tryin’ to take you somewhere— understanding.
My little boy wants to know why there’s pain. Do you know what they did to him? It woke me up. Now I’m a fish out of water, a foreign man in not my land. I’ve been shook up. I don’t hear my music. It’s not my culture I see around me. It’s not even my language. Do you know what that does to you? It takes you out of your little world. You have to confront reality more on its terms. You can spend more time in the environment of your consciousness, / because you’ve got a strange world out there that doesn’t speak to you momma’s titties.
You ever live a life for spiritual change? You wanna get enlightened? I wanna be my true self above, whom you are too, though we’re individually wrapped, but I’ve gotta be emptied before I can be filled, you know? That’s enlightenment. I put myself to the task. I’m not sayin’ it right. My soul puts me. You gotta get there. It’s the only way out— up Don’t you remember your last death? It’s what everybody talks about on the other side: “Goddamnit I missed it again!”
Look I’m not some spiritual shoes you must put on because I wear ‘em. Now I’m really tryin’ to get out of this— suffering. Now I have seen enlightenment’s tale, sat right in those shoes, not long enough to stay there, and I have seen Myself overhead, sat in that Sun and watched it ray out, and I’ve found the soul inside, made the inner journey to Spirit in innermost us. It just accentuates your suffering if you get these little tastes, ‘cause it’s so plain in your face you’re not there now. But you want suffering to end? Can you hear a threesome with your hands and feet? Any one of them will get yah there. Realize time as a vehicle to get there.
We are not animals you see, and this is not a world buttressed in the Void, astonished at its meaninglessness, wondering over its one-trip pony. There is so much more than Earth right here upon Earth. The teeming worlds sing to us in our sleep. We make contact with the dead. Even in life’s little room, we make measure with immensity. I’m givin’ you God, what we are becoming, what even matter becomes. It’s all there.
Once you see God you’re safe. Bullshit. Every devil in the neighborhood will come to fool you, alarmed for the end of their rule. Sometimes a world devil steps in and makes you pay for every man’s sin. Here’s the bull: if it’s all God who are these? Knowledge of God is terrible, but you forgive ‘im for it. You’re in a movie. Neo seein’ the Matrix, you get there. What a goof in moviemaking— take that Matrix and make that a real steak that traitor’s eating. / Take that Matrix there. Oh the bones of analogies, you can’t make them right.
Bhakti, do you hear it? I’ve got it for the whole damn thing, but if I stump my toe I’ll cuss you out. Well, I’ll least look mean at yah for a minute. Yeah I’m still in school. World knowledge does that. It makes you right with God, not some moral timekeeper, the whole damn show. Okay I’m signin’ off. Pleasure doin’ business with yah. I’ll see yah on the rebound, when another poem is born from the matrix of my be. Got that Sin Wood? I’m not countin’ sin. I’m fulfillin’ my obligation as a poet, and I’m sayin’ look at this in the bowels of language that’s there to say it right. Musical or not, I’m gifted speech.
Answer it with a question: what is bigger than the Whole? The unimaginable sink. You get lost there, frightenings on the tail ends of nothingness. It really makes you think. It’s too big for sky. It’ll shake you up. It’ll make you cry it’s so alone, so unimaginably deep. You want it like you want your very self, coils of room on which existence is but a fin to glide it sleekly through nothingness. Will it put out its eye of existence and just be its lone self nowhere be? A frightening thought.
Okay world, can I comfort you? Everything has to be in nothingness. In existence all is, from the most horrible to the most profound bliss, and our world is but a tier in that world stack, and we are That you see, that unimaginable thing on lone oceans.
Have I reached you yet? Good, let’s go. We have to reach forever in a day. I’m on bended knees, and I’m not embarrassed about it. You there, little animal, prideful nation, take down that war. It’s time for exultation in humanity. Do you feel yours? It’s always hands on, good poetry, right where your heart is, right where you feel. That’s the name of the game. That’s where we find each other. I love you did you know that? And it hurts, you know? It really does.
Die in some way take care of those who absolutely have to have us. Those are our children. I’ve got one now. He’s 12-years-old. His name is Nithish, and I will move Heaven and Earth, overcome the world, to put that little fella clean out of suffering and back where I sacrifice myself to take care of him, the intent of this poem. I’m worthy to be there. I’m his daddy. You see us upon the roads of time I love that little boy. You don’t know the arrangement.
Alright Aristotle, put the boy to sleep now. Alexander’s got a big day tomorrow. Put the poem to bed now. Alright Aristotle it’s dawn.
His mother at the Child Welfare Committee meetingNithish at the meeting, in-between tears
That’s for grown social media posts. She’s unbelievable. Look at her, a stage in the groundwater. The American field, this is a story of S. Nithish. That’s been the biggest disappointment in my life so far. Will fill you Earth that suffering. Nithish is gone.
Two sizes too small, India to deal with it. I came I went I sorrow. Let’s explode these pleasantries. Demon monsters, can you imagine, rule over kids in Pondicherry? You hear this mother beat her kid with ‘em. No one will help me stop that, and I can’t see my kid. Stuff like this you get away from. You don’t entertain them with your kids. Cruelty is as cruelty does.
How’d we do that, let that happen? The absence of miracle might wanna tell you there’s a mountain. The boy’s in there. Double helper, somebody call Nithish one. He will help me, and there is a fantastic here, and this is Auroville’s: he will tell the story far and wide, help evolution so a kid don’t get beat anywhere on Earth.
But India, he’s gonna show to the world first. She beats her children. Her children get beat there, and not a kid gets saved. It’s normal for parents to beat their children in India the Puducherry Child Welfare Committee told me, and Nithish was sittin’ right there cryin’. You think that’s funny? They were laughin’ with his mother afterwards.
Nowhere left to go. There is not a person that can help me, not anywhere on the planet. You would not believe the list I’ve bade to help me. They’ve all laughed, or if they felt empathy, they just put it down. It amounted to nothing more than a pencil spray.
No one helped while I was crushed under the wheels of this revolving universe. No one even thought they should. I just sat there and died. I’ve unlocked cruelty, like it’s the bowels of the Earth. People just showed it to me. Never see my boy again, like he’d been killed in a car accident. The grief is the same.
A mother and father landed guilt. I was their son’s first choice, and this had been going on for years, until their jealousy came to such a pitch they decided to punish me for it, punish their son too. I would never see my boy again. They knew the bond.
I did nothing wrong, but they made me out to be a monster trying to steal their son. Everybody on the planet believed them. I don’t even talk about the underbelly of hell I went through. Insanity grabbed my clothes. Things I cannot speak about visited me. I’m a seer you see, wide open to the universe.
The divine I looked to to save me abandoned me. Even my soul cried. I was a baby for a moment. I lost everything about me and just became blind reaction. I lost the whole world. Everybody turned their backs to me. This was horrible suffering. I couldn’t get out of it. I just swallowed of hell as each day wore on.
You don’t know the price of suffering when your boy is still alive and you can hold him if but that people could feel your pain. Why wouldn’t anyone let me? The boy was not in a casket. The mother reveled in this. She made me pay for her inadequacies. She shielded her son from me by holding her hand over his face or keeping him behind her when meeting had brought us together. No one questioned this or thought it odd. This was India at its worst.
That mother got her revenge because I was a better mother to that child, and everybody let her do it, the Law, the Child Welfare Committee, the rule of India. No one spoke of reconciliation or healing. Fairness and wisdom were not to be found. It was get that foreigner and make him pay for superior being some question we ask ourselves. Why would you use it? Can we just get to development with our humanity in our hands?
I don’t think you understand the price of cruelty. It sums up our bad day. It haunts us at night in our dreams. It makes us slap our children because we can’t admit it’s there. Can I show it to you? I can’t see my son, and you all agree with that because I give you an opportunity to be cruel.
You can get away with it. I’m not anybody special. You don’t have to defer to me, and I hold the foreigner’s worth. That’s not quite a human being with the locals. Would you just principally see that Tamil Nadu? Hateful right up to say Indian.
Cruel, there’s not a name for it in India they are just so cruel, the Indians I called to help. Have I overlooked you Masil Johnson? You didn’t help. You sure didn’t help. One childhood, did anybody stop that mother from toring it asunder?
I’m gonna have to look after civilians. Madras Dyslexia Association will you come to help? Everybody his mother beats him for dyslexia, not just for loving me. You’re like really stupid. How many people say dyslexia here? No, you won’t mention the abuse. You don’t know how to handle it. Parental rights, even the welfare of the child is small in comparison.
You don’t even see mothers beating their children. Nithish has that in arm. The cruelty of his mother, everybody look at this please. Look halfway around the world. You know America beats her children too.
Okay Nithish you’re up. That’s my emergency. You heard me. Stop my mother from beating me, come on. Soon a major character, where we stop kids from getting hit, my little boy Nithish.
I got no out here to accept. He got no in there to… That’s your final. He makes things right just by bein’ himself. Our soldiers were held by death and many chisels. Put that rocket ship. He better India’d. Can you give me a minute? That’s bro what am I worried about?
He’s the only one that we want to hear. He’s the only one that we want to help. But the foreigner has challenged you.
Liberated me, bright colors, and he helped himself, like a book report, and he helped every kid in the world the new statesman. That’s the formula needed for world change, the child stands up for himself, and he’s Indian. Bravo.
(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.
From Nithish’s YouTube channel
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.
A Crash Course in Reality: A Poem Tower, Healing Circle, Art Project
Life Curtains
You like that art that puts you in the front yard with our children. So we can gaslight them to death? I’m a chapter on raising them right, and this is a book of love.
So, you’re gonna still feel us out in terms of money? Wow, cultural understanding, let’s put it down on paper. A cultural misunderstanding, I’m all over you.
Baby what’s wrong? Marvel Comic books cannot capture in my life the will of a single day. I’m being thrown against the wall by Titans.
And you expect me to believe such a dramatic intro? The hard part is think on it. Today is the day the world comes to call in your kitchen.
Take a little child and bash them up against the wall, that outta do it. Now put God there. Who hurt the child? Do you sure you know?
You are the principle of the inner fire. You will meet them in the stadium of your room, and a divine poet enters the room. Where is he at? Put down on paper he’s gonna rescue his boy. Put that in your hands, after he opens up for you consciousness.
Right there you find this book is ready for you, holding out a can up here.
Nithish, a Tamil boy 12-years-old, being raised by both his parents and I, an older American man and a spiritual aspirant in India 20 years, I his primary parent since he was seven, has his life upended when his parents suddenly take him from me his ‘grandfather’ and allow no contact whatsoever, and they do this simply out of a growing jealously that reaches its boiling point when, in a meeting with the mother over their wanting Nithish to be with me to only one day a week, I mention to her a video he’d given me that his mother made of his little brother masturbating and what he’d been telling me about his father molesting his little brothers.
There then ensues almost four months of his parents taking revenge upon the boy and upon me, and the boy is beaten, psychologically manipulated, and put under constant supervision and control over those months so that he will renounce me and not tell on his parents for abusing him or his little brothers. The book culminates in a meeting with the Child Welfare Committee of Puducherry, India.
The story is told by the 54 Facebook posts I posted during those months, each post a chapter of the book, and the posts are a mixture of English, Tamil, poetry, prose, photography, and video, my poetry and the boy’s, the videos from the boy’s YouTube channel and from mine. The boy’s material he created months before he was taken from me, and the creative material is a very clear and startling example of prevision, the boy writing poems, raps, and a song to his future self so he will understand what is going on and wake himself up from the brainwashing, as he describes in poignant detail the abuse he will undergo in the future by his parents and his ardent desire to get his life back and return to the lake from which he was taken.
Whether you believe in miracles or not, you will be made to confront unarguable examples of the boundaries of nature being crossed and the future laid bare, in this case by a little boy wanting to stop being hit and controlled constantly, just wanting life to go back to normal and to be a boy again.
You were crying and trying to hide your tears. Nithish, do not fake it. Only 500 meters to where you’re home again.
You have some tears to show Nithish, your thoughts of suicide, your pain at the world, the unspoken madness.
Let it all come gushing out, safely, wholly, by pounding on your parents’ foreheads let me live with daddy! Now that’s the vehicle in the room. Come on kid let’s go. Now baby dog.
Dominance next undo. They lord it over you.
You want to come to America, and that’s your airport, your insistence on seeing me. That’s your offering. You give it to that boy in you you have not let the world see— I really wanna see daddy I can’t take it.
For about a year and some months, from the beginning of 2022 to October of 2023, Nithish, Mithun, Douglas and I did a post cast on the interpretation of dreams called The Dream Company. The podcast ended in our last recorded episode, Episode 56, recorded on October 1, 2023, which has not been posted yet on our podcast site but which I present here.
Two minutes and 51 seconds into the podcast, Nithish relates a dream and interprets it in regard to his need to live with me here at the lake full time, and we discuss the abuse that was happening to him at that time at the hands of his parents, when we had no idea what would happen in a few months time, that he would be taken from me and suffer much worse abuse, which he predicts in the video-poem Edge of the Game when he says, “Well, next time bad spirits of school Nazis.”
In interpreting his dream we did recognize that it was a prevision of the future, but we just did not imagine that that future was many months away and not days. That future that he predicted in the dream has not happened yet, as he’s not got the power he has in the dream, has not overcome the biggest bully in his school, and his mother has not brought him to the lake and left him here, all of which happen in the dream. We await it to come to pass.
I relate my own dream next in the podcast, but I interpreted it wrongly. My worry over Nithish at that time did not equate being smothered by a python, but now with what his mother has done after she took him from me does. By not allowing us any contact with one another, it’s been like having the life squeezed out of me by a huge snake; the grief has almost killed me. So my dream was a prevision of the future too, but I could not imagine at the time what it really meant until the events the dream foretells came to pass. That the Mother assures me at the end of the dream that I will be rescued gives me the same hope that Nithish’s dream gives me, and that is that he will be back with us soon.
That hope is further broadcast by muse, spiritual vision, giving the name of this video and asking what I’d done with things just the other morning at dawn. I wasn’t thinking about our podcast and hadn’t in some time, and I didn’t remember the content of our last recorded episode, didn’t have the slightest idea what we talked about in it. It just came out of the blue because my muse, which is a divine power, has the power of omniscience, and it knew what we recorded nine months ago and also knew that now was the right moment for the boy to hear what he needs to hear, and for his parents and everyone else involved. With that kind of magic supporting us, we have more than hope; we have faith given to us by the divine. Will the divine lose? Wait and see, but we can also ask if the sun is coming up in the morning. Do you think it won’t?
Everybody deserves credit, the ebook I’m about to give you. Do you know what’s real? Don’t give me any chances. And why not? Put me in the hospital, be in a hostel. Don’t put me in the world. Thrown out of life paradise with you. But someone he gets mixed up. He gets really missed. Bury your head. Now I can’t be a boy. [two above lines heard sung, from my song “I Never Boy”] https://youtu.be/kvx_uZ9iWKc?si=SbDujgGn4kJrjp_K
I’m in concert. Can you believe it, that I’m deaf? When you first arrived, was that before rise here? You’re here all day with her. Basically I wanted knowledge. She leans down not to help her calm. It’s inevitable we have the victory in the Mother’s hands.
Like lost his faith left and right. He didn’t trust the Mother. She’s real to him, and she’s so present in his life. He speaks to her in vision, always soothing him, always assuring him, making sure he’s on the right track. She is gentle but firm, and there she is in vision again, the Mother’s face looking into mine. She’s there to tell me it’s okay.
The Mother is working on changing the ground of reality. This situation had to play out last. It’s about abusing kids and making them safe in their homes. The fundamental problem in humanity our children we hit and beat, give them spoons to make them unhappy with. We are generally mean with kids, rob them of their wills, want us to be the center and focus of their lives, the family tree, the parent that needs that love. They belong to God not to us.
We’ve got to get it right with our children. This has to happen in a big way. It has to be seen by many people, and then change could come. We will tear the house down mocked kid and other crimes. We have to learn with our children all the ways of the world that come into blossom/blessing with our children. [above words heard spoken simultaneously] We need them to be kings and queens in how we respect them with our attention. They are the center of the room, not our pastime. They are not a sidelight we’re handlin’. Sacrifice a parent does to put that child’s needs above their own.
We’re not here for enjoyment, though we can enjoy. We are raising God in our rooms, big monumental change, and we will love our children to that door. How is this done? With the patience that master plan. We give them our very lives and correct their misbehavior with love that does not hurt them, but knows how to employ their own will to overcome their blunders. Patience and kindness, it’s our children we’re holdin’ you see.
Who can live up to this plan? It is a model we use every day to come into the kingship with our children, and we start with they are not hit or beat or have their pants pulled down for our enjoyment. We leave their genitals alone, but we do not make them put shame there or keep them from their own file. We are liberal with our children, and we give them their natural development and do not stand in the way when they have a soul purpose different from ours. They may not stay in your home once they’re grown.
This change is coming, and it’s gonna change the Earth. It will heal all our problems that we make upon ourselves. It’s the number one duty in humanity, pickin’ up God growin’ up, making our children safe with us, allowing them to be free, allowing them to follow their own path, allowing them to be who they are, not put our trails on them and force them to follow. Can you see this change?
It’s how we raise our children. It will be the talk of humanity soon, and we will standardize this with love, and abusers will be punished— according to the old rule. The new rule does not punish children, who are also parents or some other person that has damaged a child. We see the child in the adult who grew up on the receiving end of what they’re dishing out today.
Change forms it’s still the same nature, but we do not just let it ride. We engage that parent, that adult, in terms of love that knows how to handle people, that that man that woman puts on to find their way out of meanness, to find their way out of abuse. A separation model must needs to be truly called for. This is integral care. This is holistic healing.
We will protect children, but not from monsters, from erring adults. I cannot spell out to you this plan in one sentence. I can show you the way. You hear the Mother, and this is her master plan. We touch our children with all systems go. We’re climbin’ love.
Nithish at the meeting of the Child Welfare Committee, photo by the author
He has the robot, the eye of the robot. Entryway to the death of this child from his own soul. Child Welfare could not grasp the situation, and they did not listen to his tears as he gave his mother what she wanted, the rule to hurt me.
He was distraught. He openly sobbed. He held my hand from across the table and squeezed it as he shook his head no he didn’t even want to see me one day a week. He couldn’t even speak. His emotions had his tongue. This was blamed on me, not his unwillingness to betray his love for me. That red flag was not seen.
I’m left with this picture. Is that a rule boy? It’s not a boy in love with life. I can measure ‘im, but you’d have to listen to the song “I Never Boy”. I can’t reach him. I can’t do anything about this. I can only go home to America and try to restart my life, knowing God doesn’t care. The divine doesn’t help, and Sri Aurobindo and the Mother are either liars or have not the power to save. I have lost my faith, and where does a man go who has lost his faith?
My life is over as far as hope goes. I just want to die, but I will not do that until my time has come. Thank you for listening to me, giving the space in your lives for one such as me.
I tried. I did my very best, but lies and deceit carry the day, the boy’s lies too. There is nothing else I can do. If I do not have this boy’s will to see me, the will that he declares in public, not his hidden will, I can do nothing to help him, and I must leave. You understand. It will take some time to leave. We want to take our dogs, but the wheels are in motion. Goodbye.
Now I can’t be a boy. Now I can’t be a boy. A bitter thing that I’ve gone through. Now I can’t be a boy. Now I can’t be a boy, and the play plays strong in your strong eyes. Bury your head. Now I can’t be a boy.
Verse 1
What I’m goin’ through. I never boy. Years of file I wore my grandfather. Try to overcome the world in some fear. Well I’ll be damned, there’s gotta be another way. Come and hurt me, tearing at the edges of my mind.
Verse 2
Put hands together. Maybe I’m wrong, I’m goin’ where Christ the energy. Call your boss and forgive her, your mother. Even if I restart my family, now I can’t be a boy. Hopefully it will happen this time, gonna knock on doors again, have a beautiful time.
Verse 3
Marco, Polo. She stand him file, his mother. Too over, it’s over. He walks along disaster in English. He was alone. Where my mother put me so sad and alone. It’s gonna take some time I’m not the right person. You gotta figure it out. A 93 It doesn’t take anything. There may be a fall.
Verse 4
I spoke to the cinema. I’ve come up with another way, respect and honor to the people that I love, my grandfather. Yes I’ve opened to you, Yes you love me, yes you do. You mouse, big changes ahead. I will father the way, overcome the world.
Verse 5
His life is basically over, that’s what I’m goin’ through. Real men would not do this to Nithish. Years put everything onto the child. It’s a child made to feel all alone. It’s a child made to dump on. You won’t hear the child. Changed my life. Now I can’t be a boy. Now I can’t be a boy.
I wanna be a boy. Everybody sound impatient. Sunlight I’m gonna be. I’m gonna be a hero.
Harm's End 