He just wants the people he love to be fair to. (vision of Nithish standing in the forest at a microphone stand and speaking into the mic) Life is a very changed little boy. He’s not gonna control. Will see everything eight thousand, which means he doesn’t see it as himself.
You gotta take the phone out of his hands and let him listen to you. You got a therapy. You can help it. In the interest of therapy you will go. Okay then, a PowerPoint presentation, you spend the night with me in the phone.
He had just been through a hard time for any conversation at all with him. I let him throw the other people in jail. A file said that. Boy’s not gonna go crazy and do anything rough to his daddy.
Just bury your head and see now’s not a good time. I vintage. We’re tired. It’s been my dream to have a mountain visit with daddy. I can’t get up.
They don’t go. They don’t leave him out. They guard him all the time. It’s impossible to see him wherever they visit. I can’t hear a car.
Did you make yourself useful? Not yet. See you soon Nithish. Goin’ to Kuru you’re not fondu, over? I don’t think so. I stay away from that plan.
Why is the son not supporting seeing me? What is that? (two visions of ugly, insane pictures of some horrible place) Hell my mother makes me imagine, my mother messages me. There is a want to see you gotten in.
Could not believe it, we are right where we see each other weird, but I belong to him. In a child’s mind three and a half months is a long time not bein’ with his daddy. He forgets the report. He forgets the love and attention.
Christ look ahead. Don’t overlook your eves. Does it take all day? I’m with you so much right now, watch your glow. (vision of Ramya, a young woman I’m a daddy to. She’s looking at me and smiling) You give everybody kindness. Give me your love and support.
On Monday the child never woke back. Come here. I told him tomorrow’s thinking about that does not measure our true love. Have a good day. I love you.
Go into the Earth tower, I have to maintain. I cannot see Nithish and that kills me. I watch his moods change from day to day. I’m inside his consciousness you see. He toys with me like a rabbit and then just puts me down and forgets about me for a while.
We achieved union together, and this is the price I pay for it. A child does not know your worth. They only see themselves. I can’t take this child anymore. I carry his pain all day. He just wants to be happy and forget about me. I’m too much trouble for him right now.
What evil is this a mother does to her child? No one questions the mother’s insanity to forbid any contact whatsoever, when she herself will admit I was good to the boy and did not abuse him.
This is killing his character, but this is India, and we don’t protect our children, and we do not know the damage the heart can do to a child that’s been made to kill his love for one of his parents. This boy will not be kind.
I can only sit here and watch it all and cry. I so want to help my boy. I am with him every minute of every day, and the sleepless nights just tear me apart, and it’s all I can do to maintain, and I must maintain.
Do you consider me? I’m a value in consciousness, and the same you hear from me I opened up in this boy, but that has been killed too, and no one seems to mind.
I love you Nithish, and I will not give up on you, and I understand your pain and your need to be a boy. I am a parent and I can take sacrifice. I just wish you could see me as I am and not in the stench of gaslight you mother has put you through.
It’s inevitable that one day you will. A demon can only hold the field for so long before the divine forces prevail. Do you see me Nithish? I am here, and I’m not going anywhere.
Let’s move forward Nithish.
It’s time to move forward Nithish.
The camera pushes in,
immediately replaces your silence with sound.
It seemed to have the heart glow of eternity.
Some price is right.
Making sense out of a horrible situation, okay?
I can be the whole thing now, forever.
Now I can’t be a boy. [line heard sung as though Nithish is singing it]
I can’t cover good for you when he knows you won’t say my name in proper. You won’t say how you feel.
What do I need to save you? I need you to call my name in public, say how you really feel, to whomever asks. Be honest about it: you want to live with your daddy; you are not happy with your parents.
If you don’t do this you will die to all of your dreams and aspirations, to a happy childhood, to being a teenager in America, to being an adult who’s a poet, who loves the world and protects children. You will die to yourself Nithish.
Listen to me good. I have more to say but that’s the main thing: you must call my name now, in front of your parents, in front of Kuruchikuppam, in front of the city of Pondicherry.
When a random stranger asks, when your parents ask, when anybody asks: you love your daddy; you want to live with him; your parents have been very mean to you.
Go to type. Type good news, fast car, your heart’s desire. I need you to listen to me Nithish. To mask truth so people can rob you of your identity, take from you who you are, you’re destroying your own dreams; you’re kissing the feet of those who abuse you; you are not getting your heart’s desire; you are getting nightmares.
Don’t worry. I am here. Let me help you, but you need to also help yourself. You are not helpless. You are not a baby. You are scared to death.
Do you know how many social workers are watching what’s happening to you right now? You have an audience of concerned people, and your mother knows that. If they try to put you into a boy’s hostel, if you even get beat again, they will stop all that, but you need to speak up so they can.
They are going by what your mother tells them and everyone else: you are happy with her; you do not want to see me; you are perfectly normal now.
This is Nithish, not who my mother says I am. Call my name. Call your own name, else you will not come out of this water, and you cannot be a boy.
They are going by what your mother tells them and everyone else: you are happy with her; you do not want to see me; you are perfectly normal now.
This is Nithish, not who my mother says I am. Call my name. Call your own name, else you will not come out of this water, and you cannot be a boy.
How many thousands of books have failed, books to help humanity, and they never made to public eyes? Do you want yours to fail Nithish? You have to be the hero your dreams show you are. You have to vanquish the demons like you say you do in your poetry. You have to stand up for yourself. You have to stand up for every kid in the world.
That’s what’s going on: you have to be the poet of a sunrise, that sunrise a better humanity with our children.
I made a religious issue. He’s not allowed to love the Mother and Sri Aurobindo. He’s not allowed to write his poetry from the divine, that give you face to miracle. He’s not even allowed to read his poetry or see his YouTube videos the poet takes shape.
He’s being beaten and bruised to renounce me and these things, and no one’s here to help him but me, and they’re threatening me with jail if I go anywhere near him, but will admit I did not abuse him, was good to that boy. They just don’t want him with me because they have abused him, and they don’t him to tell me that so that I tell you.
We cannot have one second together his mother brags. Where do we put this on the shelf? A child’s suicide? A child runs away? A child has a heart attack nervous breakdown? Or a child who’s dead to the world, lost his humanity because his parents killed it? What kind of man will that make?
Pondicherry, those are you options. I can do nothing else but warn you somethin’s terrible comin’ from that boy if you deny his right to see me and be the daddy I am to him, aka his poetry guide and spiritual teacher.
We need your help. This boy’s extraordinary in his reaches of soul. You could do well to have a poet of this stature. Poetry the boy? Imagine poetry the man. He’s here for you, and you do not see that.
You think a foreigner raised him, and now a foreigner wants him back. Do you every listen to your scripture? It’s not about being Indian it’s about being human. It addresses the world. It takes the hand of oneness and confronts the world with it. I have that vision constant in my worldview. You hate me for it. I can love unconditionally, and I can love this boy to safety, despite your hatred of the foreigner.
In oneness there is no foreigners. We are each human being, and I ride your town with that identity, and I was giving it to this little boy, a worldview based on oneness, based on who we are. We are That you see. What made India’s past great? Godmen and Godwomen, seers that brought down civilization from the Gods, Rishis that reveal to us the godly life.
I am not an American I am not a foreigner. I am a human being through and through, but I have chosen India as my home because here the Gods can still communicate with us, and God had more room to act, because He is alive in so many hearts, however narrow they put Him, however blindly they may see Him. It’s a devotion in every shop, in every home, and even the atheists have their banner, but this great spirituality that India carries in her inner waters, cannot come to the surface a wellspring for all to drink. You do not allow that. You are orthodox Hindu, orthodox Muslim, orthodox Christian, orthodox Buddhist, orthodox Sikh, orthodox Jain, and by orthodox you wear a religion and do not have concrete inner contact with the God you adore, where you view him or her real in consciousness, or your spiritual ideal, and through signs and wonders let it guide you through your day.
This was India of old. “The ancient minds were better,” Nithish says in one of his poems. But you just see that as political turmoil. I’ve given you a boy, who still needs further development by me, but who already is a poet, through his pain, giving us high glimpses of India’s rise to her humanity.
You let his parents throw that away. You just want the foreigner gone. How do I speak to you emergency? My child needs me you see to bring him back to good and God. You are hurting him with your silence, validating his mother’s abuse of him, his father’s, validating the worldview to hurt children, and I just don’t understand your reasoning. You are not the boss here, and this is not a hell world, although in this situation, it sure seems like it.
Can it get any worse? This boy could die, if not his body, then his heart and mind to humanity. This boy’s gonna die, and you’re being warned before that happens. Pondicherry, save your child.
Yesterday night he gave us a poem, last time his poetry, and inner dawn. People were around to see it. Where is the sensation? His poetry record gives us something to think about, the paradox of time travel. You can’t put it down as a hoax. You can’t even say it’s terrible poetry, but it’s useless today because it hits society where she can’t figure out stuff, and no one will get alarmed that this poet’s being killed, molested, sat on, abused.
No one will believe me, and no one will question the boy. We have his mother on record saying, “You will not tell on me you will tell what I tell you to say.” Having just been beaten for talking to me through a window, he said mother I will do that, and then he went to someone he trusted and cried his eyes out, wanting me, wanting the abuse to stop, and I can even tell you who it is to prove my story, because he’ll lose the only shoulder he has to cry on.
He will have to be questioned with me, or he will tell no one nothing, and I’m the foreigner everybody keeps outside. You do not know what fairness is, nor do you care Pondicherry. You just want to beat your children, play with their little dinghies, make them do what you didn’t want to do as a child, force them to revolve their life around school and homework, as though there is no soul purpose, as though we are just animals aggrandizing our gain.
I call on you Pondicherry to give this boy his chance at poetic greatness, but we can at least liberate him from his parents’ abuse of him and constant control, and give him his heart’s desire, his soul’s choice, at least some days in the week with me, so I can cure him help him heal him, and prevent his parents from abusing him more.
Why is that an impossibility? We go right to the roots of what’s wrong with Indian society: how you raise children, and make them subservient to parental abuse, dominance and control. You slap your children Pondicherry, and you tell me it’s normal.
Here’s a fish out of the water of the entire gamut of abuse, Nithish’s story, big so you can see it. I’m askin’ you to take a look, that look that brings change, not because you are angry for what you have seen, but because you have been hit in your very heart center for the love of a child, and you see yourself that child when you went around the house in underpants, and you see yourself those parents diddling with his dolittle, and slapping him because he doesn’t measure up.
I am not accusing you. I have learned these lessons as one abused and as an abuser, larger than life like this kid shows. He got the benefit of all that wisdom, all that handle with care. I know how to treat children, like they are the God in the room, and they just simply love it there, and this boy misses his daddy and wants me to protect him, but I can nothing except tell you the story and get down on my knees and ask you for help. Please help my boy Pondicherry.
Father I can’t take this pain any longer. It’s an illness to slam you. I am not responsible at this, but I know what I’m talking about. Open mind comes with smartness. With an open heart comes the father. It has shaken my whole world, changed my eyes. My path is on a unicorn, a big one.
I look out my widow every day and ask for freedom from this barrier. It’s a block. You just got to take another way. You can’t go through it can you? What if my path is highlighted from the others? I have my own dreams to chase.
I just found this poem in my carry bag two days ago. I had forgotten about it. Nithish gave it to me some days before he was taken from my home on March 12th. He had been telling me he wanted his muse to give him another poem to his father to explain why he wanted me to tell his parents about him telling me his father had been masturbating his little brothers, and why he gave me the video his mother had made of his little brother Mithrin masturbating. He wanted me to tell his parents these things so that they did not put him to one day a week with me. At that moment, he was living with me during the weekdays and with his parents on the weekends. He wanted to continue to live with me and only visit his parents. We had hoped that would wake his parents up to the difference between my parenting and theirs. It did the very opposite; they took him and showed just how bad parents can be.
He wrote this poem while at school from spiritual vision, meaning that he heard each line spoken into his inner ear, and he copied it down. He does not record the lines like a poem, just writes them down, as he is dyslexic and has a lot of trouble writing. If you have read his other poems posted here, you can see he has developed more as a poet and a writer, and you can hear his feelings and thoughts spoken very clearly, what he wants his father to know, but the poem never got to his father. He was taken just a few days after he wrote it.
It was his father that he was worried about, was not concerned with explaining things to his mother, he told me, because she was the one he blamed for everything. He had written a previous poem to his father months before, before we had decided to take any kind of action to make it so he continued to live with me and visit his parents. “It’s not beef; it’s nature,” he tells his father in the poem, meaning it’s not because of any fight or conflict but, because of his nature, he needs to be more with me. Here is a link to that poem, which we made into a video and put on his YouTube channel, which he is not now allowed to see: https://youtu.be/5EJbAFsCTQo?si=YIJCxrO4QoZ3tU2H
At the moment he wrote this poem, things were not so bad with his parents, or not unusually so, not like now, where he’s being beaten and threatened to be put in a boy’s home regularly, for continuing to love me and want to see me. This poem, like the others I found in his room and posted here, is also prevision of the terrible thing that’s about to happen to him, but here, it’s just days away.
I have to get that picture. I have to get that picture from the Mount of Olives. They have refined the books. That’s it, pretty intelligent about it. We didn’t kill ourselves.
I visited the Old City of Jerusalem and did a hunger strike outside its gates, three weeks, ended Easter and Passover 1995. Then I taped poems of mine all over Jerusalem in the holy quarters, dangerously daring in the dead of night. You wanna see it?
In Jerusalem is here, and in Pondicherry I will do a hunger strike for my boy, to protect him from abuse and get him back home. You don’t believe me read the story. I will do anything for love. Get ready folks. I’m about to step in God’s hands and see what they’re made of. Care to join me come at the lake. Day one begins shortly, for the love of Nithish.
Nobody catches blood on the first day of the field. It showed that I had been to visa. We must add those grapes too, so to be believed. I got it issued 1977 press, and that’s it. My hunger days as a Jesus freak add to the story. I converted people at school lunch, and we’d get on our knees right there in front of everybody. I’d have them accept Christ. I read my Bible every day, studied scripture, and I attended church every night, all the denominations.
I didn’t find Christ, just his name. The clothes I wore prevented me. Those clothes were Christianity, so I took them off, put my Bible down and started backpacking and camping on the weekends, looking for the natural God. Green Beret came easy after that.
So I went to Jerusalem with a heartache. Jesus was real I knew it, but would I find him in all that stone, all those old places? I found adventure, but I did not find Christ. He was too buried over by religion. Do I find him today? A present God in my life yes, who’s special function is compassion and redemption, the God of love.
He has appeared to me in vision so to help with Nithish, getting that boy back to me and getting him healed. So when you talk of the Old City, this is religion wore off. It won’t help you none. I think there’s still hope for Pondicherry to become a spiritual city of wide dimensions, for inner watch, not outer show, for freedom in the spirit, not to bow down to a religion.
A free, open, and easy God that can accept even the atheist at His dinner table, and change us all into better men and women, The New Jerusalem, we’ve found it here in Pondicherry. It is here the Supermind came down, and it’s here we’ll learn to be a proper city, considering human beings before even the law, learnin’ how to make it right with our children, learnin’ the true intent and purpose of school, and how to treat people who work for you and pay them well. No slaves please, no schedule that excludes your life. We’re on our way Pondicherry, we’re on our way.
I wanna be the first one to raise a child knowin’ Pondicherry is a cradle of civilization. is where we do it, the supramental manifestation on Earth. Did you even look at it? There’s a book here in Pondy with that title. Take it out for a spin. It’ll bring you on the road to destiny Earth and open up your life to what we’re actually doing here.
Say hi Billy, how are you? Don’t pull that out and show it to me. Let’s get down to business what you really want. You want God in your life don’t you. How do you become you are He? Pull your pants up I’ll show yah. My job pretty good, kids know I like them yes. I let ‘em play with their little small cars. Well why not? I don’t bother them there. I know how to take that energy and open their consciousness with it, and turn that curiosity to God, never once tellin’ ‘em playin’ with themselves is wrong. You just wouldn’t put it in videos and pass it out in the street. You protect that child’s privacy and leave them alone there. The power we give them when we do it right. God rest His case.
You have to find out tomorrow, at some point, your child got raped with that guidance that shows them everything is to make money, buy nice things, and walk on people you don’t like or you disagree with. Open heart surgery, open house surgery, it’s how we find each other again, so complete and wonderful.
I have the stairs. Will you walk up them? Pondicherry it’s time you become yourself, where peace descends on your city mood. Buckle up, I think you’re fine. Help me find my boy will yah? He was halfway in to the new humanity when he was taken, and you countin’ on me to get it right. We have pushed suffering out of his life.
Unfortunately this is a brand new way of doing things. I’ll see you scoff at it at first. Then I’ll see you think about it. Then I’ll see you accept it. We have to go.
You know I hear about Nithish. And what did you do with that? Normal, he’s perfectly normal. I just spoke to someone who he cried to. The boy wants his daddy, tired of being beaten and threatened. I guess we need insurance. Yes daddy, I know daddy. I’m almost done here.
You were so concerned with your mall and media. Heartbeats don’t measure pain. They just squeeze it, but this boy’s still feeling pain, and he hides it from you because he must. You beat him, threaten him, if he even talks to me. Imagine what you do with him when he asks you to let him see me. You’re leavin’ out the full story Sandiya. You’re not tellin’ the truth. That is a must Pondicherry, give this boy back his place with me, with you, and with God.
Splittin’ with an open guitar, I will make people to understand what I’m asking of them. Hey Sleeping, can I ride your tricycle awhile? My boy’s being abused, and it won’t let up. I need this written in the paper. I need this on the news. I need to protect my boy. Will you help me?
I’m not robbin’ cradles. I’m not doin’ anything bad to him. I’m bringing him to the fullness of his potential, and I can show you miracles that’s being done. Read awhile his poetry, and then tell me his parents are right in keeping him away from that, in keeping him away from me, and do you know how they do that? They beat him they slap him. They threaten to put him in a boy’s hostel. They guard him day and night to keep him from contact me.
Why is this you ask? The boy prefers me as a parent, and they can’t stand that, but do you know what he did? He told me his father was masturbating his little brothers, and he gave me a video his mother made of his little brother masturbating. That’s why they took him from me. He told me these things. Do you know how much he’s been punished for that? Do you know WHERE he’s been punished for that?
It’s happened that way, and you’re gonna tell me I’m lying, but no one will question that boy about the abuse he’s received from his parents away from those parents, not a single Child Help worker in this city. Why is that? You tell me.
unless otherwise noted, photos by Donny, black and white photos developed by him
When you have sad news, that murder with Lisa, a parenting did not handle it right. How do I make amends? You give her what she wants, the tall part of the story. She is the sacrifice of the story. She is your dog.
What does Lisa’s death day mean? It’s the ascension of dog. She is taking on her human, and with consciousness pain she does that, birthing into another world. We greet her there.
This has gone on for some time. You need to meet, and she forgives you and moves on. Will she be there when I die? This is not just some free-for-all. It’s consciousness arranged. That will be your other side guide dog, and she will accompany you in death. Don’t worry she’s your angel.
Three years ago today, on June 3, the day before my 60th birthday, my beloved Lisa Joy Rottweiler died in my bed surrounded by everybody in our house. Dr. JP was our vet, had been for some years, had been to our house many times, but it was during lockdown, and he was shifting to a new location for his clinic, and he neglected Lisa and misdiagnosed her condition and gave her tablets that caused kidney failure, and he knew she had kidney disease. We took her to an expensive dog hospital in Chennai, and they made a bad decision to have her undergo dialysis when she was septic inside. I had to take her across town to the government vet hospital, and they wanted to admit her but told me I could not stay with her, and so I asked that, if I took her home and got her the treatments she needed, would she live, and he said yes. She died that night.
She did not pass rightly but got trapped in some dark place in-between life and death. I was going into lucid dream and calling her, did that several times, but she would not come to me so that I could help her rise out of there. I learned to my horror that she thought I’d killed her, as I’d unknowingly given her the tablets that made her kidneys fail, and I made that bad decision in Chennai, because of wanting the pleasure of spending my birthday with my boy, Nithish, who was back home in Pondicherry.
She was so present at our house after her death, but it was Nithish that saw her in dream the most. I had visions of her all day long, but she would not let me pet her or hold her big, beautiful head in my hands. She would just look at me with such sadness and the look you give someone when they’ve utterly betrayed you. She began changing forms, as soon after death we do that, and our bodies do not stay as we know them. She became very deformed. Demons came to claim her, as she was on the outskirts of hell. She fought them off and somehow managed to find a place there so she could always see me. Despite thinking that I’d killed her, I was still the love of her life, and she did not want to leave me. It was horrible, heartbreaking situation.
From the moment she died, I was in heavy grief, similar to that I’ve felt with Nithish being taken from me, and it’s as though he is dead because I can’t see him or talk to him. I gave her my tears, a lot or tears, but it didn’t show her I didn’t kill her. To this day, three years later, it’s still unresolved, and I am still in grief over her.
Photo by Nithish
On the first anniversary of her death Nithish met her in a movie theater in a dream. She was the only one in the theater, and Nithish came in, saw her seated about in the middle of the theater, and he went and sat next to her. Then on the screen began to show images of Lisa with Nithish and me in her life with us. Then she looked at him very lovingly, very sadly, and the dream ended.
The extraordinary thing about Lisa is she is to be human in her next life and was a dog with almost human eyes and feelings. I believe that dogs and cats are with us, why we brought them into our fire circle so long ago, to be the species that is the jumping off place to the human being in the evolution of the soul. Lisa is now in the afterlife on the way to being a human being in her next life, a dog developed to the upmost a dog can be developed in terms of consciousness and proximity to human, and she has managed to find a niche there so to continue to see me and present herself to me so to resolve her death, but it’s a heaven place she’s at; she’s no longer in darkness. This in itself is incredible for a dog to do, but now she’s reaching out on her death day to tell me what she wants, and I’m giving it to her, Lisa my dog, above any other dog I have. She sacrificed her life so Nithish and I can be together again, so our relationship continues, and she’s at the top of the story.
I am Nithish a growing poet. I will write for the world and me, and I will take big steps anywhere, anytime. I am opening (muse) my marker a bag with development. If the bag doesn’t get bigger I will fly away.
Oh I am high on poetry. Get me a ride home. Hey god, how tall are you? Ha h aha I’m going to my job.
2nd Part
Exchange the world for some divine, and my marker call the muse. Will you listen to the paper it’s right. Why are the poets here for?
I have started my journey. I feel like I wanna be dead. But why? Someone have to stop this school before kids die.
I need help please stop these dictators. Kids need power too if kids to live in this world in peace. I ask myself God please help me. Forsake have you?
It takes a power in India. I let me talk of light/God I to the world. I will be in heaven if I am able to be in peace.
I have started my journey. I am gonna see my old mind, and I am gonna write till I see no more. I seen God. I need way to escape from reality. Have they heard God or have they saw a kid talk to God? Well I have a spark of power now.
I am in sea with sea monsters. His eye was bigger than my head. I feel ashamed of myself.
Chapter 2
I have started my journey. Am I really pissed off? I ask you that or do I ask me that maybe? I should ask the world.
I shall be born again in my mind. Please look me in the eye and talk to me. They shot my head off, threw me in fire, stabbed me.
I can only hear the light, but can you go? I am stuck as one. I am three, but people only see one and judge me looking at my face.
I tell them judge me after looking in my inner soul. Are we kids gonna die without living life a little? I am very strong my muse. I have to protect the light from another somebody from stealing it.
I always say goodnight, sweet dreams, but who’s there to that for me? God help I am homeless. I have opened my pen to write me.
This poem is a prevision of the future. Nithish wrote it from spiritual vision some months before the horrible situation he’s describing happened to him, when he was taken from my home by his mother, where he lived during the week, visiting his parents on the weekends. That is the journey he started. They did bad things to him, but the worst has been what they have done to his heart by doing Nazi-like things to him to kill his love for me and keep him from having contact of any kind with me, although for the first two months he called me in secret telling me of the abuse, and of course we have inner contact in spiritual vision, or I do; this also has been killed in him by his parents in their attempts to kill his love for me. He doesn’t write poetry anymore, no longer hears his muse.
I need to mention that school for Nithish was the worst thing in the world. He’s been badly abused for his dyslexia in school, both physically and emotionally, and his parents would never allow me to get him tested for the learning disability. But in this poem, school represents where he gets his life lessons, and that takes place at home too. The muse, the inner voice of poetry, uses the symbols that you know, and, if you have some preconceived idea, it won’t override it but use that in the place of what would more represent the truth. That’s going on here with his use of the word school to describe what is going on in his home with his parents.
He was not just slip in two, having to have one face to his parents and another to me, but there was the Nithish alone to himself he had to try and honor also, and so when he’s speaking of being three people, not just one, that’s what he’s talking about. Since the source of his abuse came from his parents punishing him for continuing to love me and wanting to see me, not to mention betraying their bedroom sins to me, he became completely silent about me with anyone he didn’t trust, did not even mention my name, let alone say want to see me.
On the phone he told me that he had to do that because they were treating him very badly, like he was poison, because he had caused all this trouble for his family and brought shame on it, and so, he told me, he had put on a fake smile, but he was really sad inside. So he was one person to his family and another to me, and still another to himself. I cannot tell you what this does to a child, especially one that is right this very second beginning the body changes into adolescence. Mental illness of some sort will ensue at some point. I believe the boy will become a psychopath like his father, who has murdered four men in cold blood for his gang.
Nithiish has now decided he’s finished with me, to honor his parents, and he did that over them buying him a tab so he could play his video games and surf the net. He got that tab by promising his parents that he wouldn’t contact me through it, and he knows that he can do things to contact me without his parents even knowing, which means he’s not contacting me out of fear of his parents finding out; he not doing so because he would disobey his parents. That in itself is enough to do serious damage to a boy’s heart, but he’s done this in the face of a hunger strike I had just told him I was gong to do, so to see him and to help him.
So, getting that toy is more important than me living, a man that was there the day he was born, doing the Saturday thing with him from the time he was one, beginning to babysit him when he was three, becoming a parent of his starting when he was six, and by the time he was seven, he spent more time with me than his parents, living with me at the lake for the last year and some months before he was taken from there by his mother.
When he called me in secret during those first two months, he wanted me to bring someone in to question him, away from his mother, about the abuse he was suffering from by his parents, particularly from her, and I did everything I could to get someone to that house to question him away from his mother. That never happened, despite even Child Help going to the house; they only spoke to his mother, did not follow protocol and talk to the child away from his parents. Police questioned him about me abusing him and his mother, and he said no on both counts, and she was sitting right next to him, and the cops had said that they’d question him away from his mother in another room. He called me and told me about it afterwards.
The final straw came when I told him I had a new advocate, and he called me soon after I told him that, saying he had a plan. He wanted to speak to him alone, and he wanted the advocate to get him talking by asking him about the incident when his mother beat him with a flat, wooden board for saying he wanted to see. He said to start with that question, and he would take it from there.
The night before the meeting we spoke about the meeting on the phone. I just warned him that when he saw me, come and give me a hug, and not to let his mother prevent him from greeting me. She not only did that, she kept him behind her back and put her hand over his face so he couldn’t see me. This changed everything, and the boy began crying, and I was distraught. They went into the office, and I could hear Nithish crying loudly. Finally I was called in, and there was to be no meeting with alone with Nithish. The mother would not allow that.
So I tried to talk to Nithish, but he could not speak. I was very upset by this time and just began asking him what he’d told me he wanted be asked the night before, in our phone conversation. At the question of his mother beating him with board, he managed a weak yes and shook his head yes, keeping his head down, and when I asked him if his mother was abusing him, he answered the same way. By this time his mother, knowing he was telling on her, stood up to take him out of the office, and I tried to prevent that by asking that family welfare be called. I was physically held while she left with the boy. He never called me again after that, which was three weeks ago.
But I had promised him I would help him, and so to do a hunger strike was my last resort, the only power it seemed I had left to use. I will not use it now. The boy is too far gone. All this trauma has changed him, brought the worst of him to the front, and now his tab is more important than my life, and we have so many years together, so many memories, as much as he has with his biological parents, and he is able keep himself from feeling that in order to get some toy, and that toy makes him happy. His parents do not realize what they have done. They have not only killed his love for me, but they’ve killed his love for humanity. The poem above shows you how they did that.
I have the flower in my head. I just want to get it in the light. Can I just be in my life? Can I just get my life back?
I am running to the light again. Pull me up so I can join you. For next level it’s coming up.
I am crying I need sleep. They call me poison. That’s not my name I am Nithish. Why do you care will show my name to the world going down the road?
Ha! can you see that coming? That’s the new world formed. Pass it can you hear me out? Let me get back home. I am very loud if you know— your smartass come from the divine.
I am blinded from the light. Is that it that’s the start of the border? Wanna go beyond? Let’s go to the spark of soul that’s a frost fire running out of school. Run with me hear the bird. Run with me for good.
They judge me by any downfall. Well see my poem from God. Have you met my birds? To the surface we can go to New York, get the jet ski fly away from ground.
If you have been reading these posts of Nithish’s poetry, then you know he’s writing this from spiritual vision, meaning he’s not making it up; it’s spoken into his inner ear and he writes it down. This a poem he wrote while at school some months before he was taken from his home at the lake. In one fell swoop he lost his whole life, me, Douglas, his dogs, his own room, his new computer, the farm, the lake, all of it, and he has not been allowed to return or visit me since, anywhere, call me on the phone, have anyone give him message of me, or view his YouTube channel. Read the last post to see why his parents have done this, and you will suspect, as I do, that they have abuse they are hiding, and they know the boy will tell me if he sees me alone long enough, and they are preventing that.
I don’t think I need to interpret this poem line by line. It’s obvious what he’s talking about, but what’s extraordinary about it, miraculous, is that he wrote this months before the he would be in the situation he’s speaking about, so his future self could read it and understand what is going on. His ‘wokeness’ to his situation comes and goes, more goes than comes actually, if my spiritual vision of him is correct, and I do not know if he is reading my Facebook page or not, but I do know that he has sold me out for a tab, promised his parents he wouldn’t contact me, wouldn’t even look at his own stuff he wrote while he was with me, this and I told him that I was about to do a hunger strike to make good on my promise to protect him. He loves his new toy more than even trying to prevent my death. That sure does make me think, and the purpose of his poetry, why he wrote it to his future self, was to make him think. I do not understand spiritual process, all this miracle just to go to the garbage can of his mind, be deleted.
Ha ha ha! I have ran to the divine false— call me a poet after 18+. I have time to die.
I call myself the poet for my life through the end. I am what do you call me, what the godfather? Oh no, that’s not me. My character is at the lake, aka the divine.
I have asked the god to stay. My life is always sour-like.
My mind turn the lights for my room, draw the lights for my room. I am going to wait for you through the light.
Nithish was taken from my home and subsequently brainwashed. I record that here, the eye-opening of Nithish. All you the pictures are aligned.
I will show his mother this, a mother mentally unbalanced in the possession of her boy, and all the abuse that has ensued from her possession. Find myself giving him the blanket he deserves. He will not look at me I know.
You’ve got, the people that are helping me, cosmic kitchen. Show him what he needs to see. Show him himself in the mirror.
The first poem Nithish wrote months before he was taken from my home by his mother because I mentioned to her a video she had made of her youngest son doing a sex act. It is not just a prediction of the future, what will happen to him as a result of showing me that video and telling me its context, but it is himself talking to his future self so to overcome the brainwashing, gaslighting and abuse his parents have put him through because of betraying them to me in regard to that video and the sexual abuse of his little brothers by his father. He told me very private things about what was going on in the bedroom of his family when his father came home from Chennai on the weekends, and they have made him pay for that betrayal and for his love for me.
“The divine false” is his parents’ rule over him, him turning away from God and spirituality and putting his parents in that place. His mother has said he cannot see me again until he’s 18 or over, what “18 plus” means. When he speaks about “time to die,” he’s talking about not only the death of his former self, the real Nithish, but his thoughts of suicide, which he has had in all the trauma his parents have given him for loving me. He disputes that he has to wait until 18 to be a poet, what it means when he says he calls himself “the poet for life through the end,” and to understand the poem, you need to know that being a poet and me being his daddy, or really, his spiritual master, his inner poetry teacher, are intertwined. He’s also talking about not having to wait until 18 to see me again.
In spiritual vision I have seen that his father plans to have me killed and wants Nithish to approve of this, but Nithish has not told me this, but has called twice to tell me to go into hiding without explaining why, not recently though. His father has officially murdered four men in cold blood for his gang, a gang of Lawspet whose leader is a notorious man named Sironen. The gang now feigns to be disbanded, but it is not, and Sundar, his father, feigns to have left it, but he has not. That’s what he means by people calling him “the godfather.” and those people, the you referred to, are his parents. He is very familiar with American movies, and I don’t know if he has seen The Godfather, a movie about an Italian mafia family, but we have talked about that film together. He will not approve of this murder of me, because his “character is at the lake,” where we live, at Usteri Lake, how he refers to the location of our home, which for him is synonymous with the divine because it’s here he is coached in sadhana to realize the divine in his life.
The god he’s asking to stay is me, his spiritual master, and we are in a union of consciousness, on the level of soul, and if you don’t believe just read his poetry and mine, and I have the power to see inside of him, be there in his consciousness, and he can feel me there, and he’s asking me to stay, despite his outer self seeming to have forgotten about me, which the phone call I’ve described shows is not the case. He’s told me he can feel me inside when he was calling me in secret. It is a divine power, a power of consciousness, and you will only believe me when you question the child about it, but no one will question him, and no one’s allowed to.
Despite the special treatment he’s now getting from his parents, he still feels his life “sour-like.” He knows his mind is the key, as I’ve taught him that what he thinks he becomes, and here he’s trying to turn his mind to the light, and he ends by telling me, “I am going to wait for you through the light,” the light being all his poetry, and mine, that is trying to free him from the abuse and Nazi-like control his parents have over him.
Harm's End 