Can we reach the delivery of the poem that our being intercepts? I am worried about contradictions and just pissing people off instead of reaching them. Nithish is suffering. I don’t know where to stop that. No one seems to notice because it’s not polio, but it’s heartbreak nonetheless. He misses me, a mother to him for many years, the most important person in his life for many years, and I’m not the only one saying that; his heart does.
He’s in mourning, and that’s not recognized. It’s not even mentioned. He’s not allowed to talk about it. There is no outlet for his pain. His mother knows it’s there, and it makes her very angry, and she punishes him for it. What’s a kid to do?
He cries. He gets angry. He implodes upon himself, but there is no issue from this dilemma. It just keeps getting worse. He cries. He carries on, and the pot boils over. Now he’s desperate, and when you’re 13, adolescence has given you weapons the child you are still can’t handle. It’s a dangerous moment in Nithish’s life. We want what’s best for Nithish, and if we want anything else, we are really playing with fire.
What’s his name, Pride? You wanna let ‘im shoot your kid? It might be a gentleman that gives you honor and social prestige, for a little while, but when you put it above your child’s needs, above goodness and mercy, you wreck your life in the fall you have from Pride, when it’s gotten to the point even you know you’re wrong, and that you’re treating your child badly. But you don’t have to fall. Put down your pride and address your child’s needs, okay Sandiya?
I’ve looked at soul models. I’ve looked at grief, and you’ve heard me on Facebook tellin’ about it and all over the damn place. I don’t come on this platform to insult and offend. I’m much better in the werewolf of time reading you right. You took a bath tonight. Son of a bitch! We are closed. Abolish One on the way. Who do you get to come after you, Mr. Cat Stevens talkin’ about the Peace Train? No you get a me pointing the finger at you for all these abuses.
I respond to my muse. I respond to the image of my boy. I know he’s hurting. Now can I spread this on the table? He’s really hurting. These are deep wounds he has to live with, and they just eat him alive. You don’t know the pain of suffering when you’re just a little boy all mixed up in adolescence, your body a whistleblower, and everybody knows you’re confused. You’re standin’ there with a sense of self no amount of world can resolve, and you can’t grab the world by the tail because it has you so tightly in its grasp you just want to please it, make it go away.
He’s an adolescent, in the most difficult years of his life, the most confused, the most tender where he’s sensitivity it hurts. He is already a well of suffering, and then someone took from him his support and his comfort and his home, in his mind of things, took from him his daddy, and you all know how I mother people, in a way that made it I’d died with no contact allowed ever again in his life. Oh my God that hurts in the very substance of yourself, and it’s a pain that won’t go away, even if you want it to. That boy hurts. Please see that. It’s terrible for him. It’s the end of the world. Oh Sandiya please listen. For God’s sake listen.
Yeah I know I’m studying your attention like I need to end this poem. Not quite. Transact another line. Who has turned over, that’s always a thought. Believe me, we can fix this right. Everyone would have run had he been 13, a teenager in years with their what's up. There’s enough fuel, still childhood left, to remove this pain, to take these scars out of his life, take him to his blue book.
Healing is the first thing I’d do Sandiya. I heard his manhood depending upon this time. Please, open, open up in there, and put down your arms of control that’s squeezing the life out of him, and let him be with me, and let him be with you, so that it doesn’t hurt. I’m the denomination now, and that doesn’t hurt. Do we throw this boy to the wolves or what?
A kid his own age, George, I know very well. I really know kids, like it’s the focus of my life. You know that boy’s in trouble, and you know what has happened, and you know Nithish needs me because I can make it right. Pay him back on the outside what he needs on the inside to heal, and give him me for his birthday, and give him the happiest birthday he’s ever had. Give him what he needs. Let him on his birthday be with his daddy, and here I am.
Alright he will say a child of his when he was a little boy. Do you know what it’s like bein’ in this meat grinder? You don’t have to wait; okay knock on ‘im. Think we can afford it, moms beating health care?— “I just throw you under the wheels of a truck all laughter and sunny breeze.”
Please will you help me with this: get this mother off my back, a certain father? Crushed the sun. I counted the breeze. What I was comin’ to yah to say: I really bother yah. I’m hell in an envelope that you have to read past poetry to put this on.
Well you’re not goin’. Fine. I get angry. You wanna meet some hoodlums? A gang member, he gets all King Richard, the son of like true to killin’ people like my father did.
I axe grow the taxes. You wanna see me do it? Just ignore this plea. Get too far from the ashram, my hat’s killin’ me. Just close your eyes. Ah, it’s gettin’ the footer at the head of the bed, where I go out and kill someone, a little older. You’re yellin’ at me. Cut through door. You know you need to save me.
I hear it. What did it say? The you that you’re getting put that foot down. His mother’s beating him he’s in harm’s way. The building blocks are there in the pit of a gang he murders people when he’s old enough.
That’s what I’m tellin’ yah. Stop this boy from being abused by his parents. Let’s put ‘im his grandfather heals, or are you just too deaf to see that? Get past the poetry and rescue this child. Get behind the verse.
Do you think that’s the only gang with Nazi on it? The fellowship has turned Indian politics into mud puddles. Trace the politician to the gang. Leave ours out of it; get rid of the truth we hear speaking now.
My God you’re deaf. Oh look there’s the BJP. November I’ll show you I’m talk to you years ago how the BJP came from gang member politics.
He rides books sometimes wide open to the divine say. Oh man I put you there, in a poet’s mouth, on a divine seer’s tongue.
Show his father and his family, WhatsApp, see it work in my phone too. I had the finish line. I’m giving frequencies of his house, yes? And now get to the real thing.
They’re not real. They are not real, understand? Not one person is a gift to society. This entire generation being produced by society, the families of society in India and elsewhere, gives us the skill set to journey on as society; it doesn’t change society.
Take my arm here and understand my meaning. Society must change or die. India has brokered this for generations, a spiritual consciousness, a supernal air, a soul arriving on the scene. It doesn’t get past the starting point. This is not gotten out of the bag. A few individuals pretend. Some have had experiences, but none get to the root of the problem: take a child and receive them at the door, a baby born, and change society with that child.
What would we have to do to engineer this with that child? Can I show you? I gave Nithish the principle changes, not quite at the door, but starting very early, and I could do that because I could give him the attention, and I have seen past society myself, and I operate in that mode.
Listen to Nithish where his dream maker meets the ground, and you will see fantastic. You will see the whole world changed just by this boy’s dream. Watch him have vision you will not believe with your own eyes. The Gods talk to him and soul.
This is what he took, that father. This is what she beats, that mother. His light was snuffed out by beatings and brainwashings, and you worship your family or die, and all this wonderful change we were readying the boy to give you has been ground in the dirt and changed into thoughts of suicide and killing, into about getting revenge for what his parents have done to him.
He seethes inside, and you’d have to find it to hear it. He’s afraid to show anybody his feelings for fear of punishment, because I am the crux of the matter; he wants to return to me, and his parents will not let him call my name. “I will shove that name down your throat if you say it again!” his mother says.
He can’t deal with that anger, and all his wonderful gifts get crushed, and in the place of love there is rage, and in the place of change there is hate, and he is mad at society.
Now you must see this in a simple podcast on dreams. I will show you he had the formula to change the world. I will show you what you’ve never seen before, a sadhana watch as the functioning arm of society not the family (but the family’s still warm and not abandoned), a group of people in a dream circle related by soul change and small enough to function together in daily need. We are that prototype, The Dream Company.
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.
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.
Harm's End 