Reality bag to boot, and don’t try to gaslight me, you tin can, you person with a limited worldview. I’m a marshmallow? I’m starin’ down your throat.
How would you tell the unevolved ape he’s sorry, the animal on pedestals we’re sure we’re at? I don’t think this is off the press yet: the animals we are we don’t see. Our understanding’s dim.
Our understanding’s wrong. Everything you see is a placeholder for a deeper reality. We take the surface act as true. Hidden deep within are the origins of the outer scene. Watch them rise, if you can interpret dream.
Where does this knowledge bring us? The field today an inner necessity. My that hurts. My that’s brown, and we see the origin of evil in the clash of forces that make a universe, nothingness made alive and its answer to its painful start.
We have to see this to be made whole, to put darkness from us and bring in light. Yours is the surface view, reality in tatters, the clash of individuals that makes the human field.
You want to heal from wrong done to you? Open up the availability of Earth inside of you, and that is spiritual process, and I’m speaking from that place now. How deep inside yourself you have to go to find healing. It’s one with world act. It’s one with universal means.
Okay silence me now I am not in individual shares? I stand on the function of reality? I want accountability for reality? I see the larger picture? I think we can heal better than we do? I see healing as an operation of oneness? I don’t see an absolute separation between perpetrator and victim in the area of wrongdoing?
Is this state of the art, your method of dealing with this, your crack on the wall? Let’s break that wall down and recover healing. Is that is your mission today, or is it all about accountability and identity of the individual? You good there, or are you cutting off your nose to spite your face?
Peter Parker knows the score. He’s an actor for a larger reality than his. Buddhist reasoning throws it all away, every bit of reality. Merge in some distant Absolute, and we’re done, never mind the compassionate vow. It’s all an illusion.
Can you get healing that way: it don’t matter? Throw on the world’s shoes when faced with crisis, is that what you’re doin’ here? No, only talk about survivors and accountability.
Is this a Buddhist precept? Is it in the jaws of enlightenment? A reduced goal in this examination Buddhist wounds. What is the larger context? A path to enlightenment.
Is that an impossible goal? Has that happened to anyone? Momentarily yes me, and even people in the permanent state, more than a few, less than many. Survivors of sexual abuse, that’s the Buddha’s role, that’s everything grist for the mill?
Supposed to go back home. The ground nature of reality, the emptiness of the I, the way back in there from the world, the complete absorption in infinity, the oneness that begets everything, that’s cry wolf?
Wow, suppressed realities, can we call them in the world today? Visibility exploded into silence in this decade. I expect full censorship.
Practice ill will on people and I’ll persist, and it’s the closest thing tellin’ people to be quiet. When I read a paper, and it’s just rose-colored glasses the wearer’s wearin’ on themself, I fill my room with creativity in order that you might see better. Confounded me, I see myself better. Is that the osprey?
An adult woman went public with a story of being a victim of sexual abuse so to get accountability from the organization where she was a novice in training to be a Buddhist nun. Her alleged abuser was her immediate teacher, an ordained Buddhist nun. She shares her story on YouTube and on a Buddhist-oriented website as an open letter.
It bears noting that they voluntarily left the monastery they were at in order to live together as a lesbian couple, which they did for some time, and that twice supervisors at the monastery asked the novice about the nature of the relationship between her and the nun, and she lied and said it was nonsexual, and that she was initiating their secret meetings in the forest for extra help in her studies. The former novice is framing the story in terms of and in the language of the Me Too movement, in terms of the individuality of human actors and not of holism.
The poem above is written to the owner of that website, who answered all the comments left for the former novice. The poem below is written to the former novice, and the website owner deleted it when I posted it. He also deleted a prose comment I posted in reply to his deletion of my poem and about the restrictions he placed on comments to her story. The above poem came the day after the poem below, before I knew he’d deleted the poem below, and I decided not to even try to post it and posted a prose comment instead, which, as I explained, also got deleted, what the above poem predicts, “full censorship.”
Rebirth
Precepts open home, watch that public sharing. Are you a freight train? Whose right are you on? You’re voicin’ grievances. That’s for your benefit or ours?
Are you in the halls of social media for self-improvement? Have you gathered the whole of us in everything you think and do, in every minute of your worldview? Where is lone on moon, where you make us better with your speech?
Exploratory has consequences when it’s wanted redress for wrong and not to shoulder humanity. I’m a samsara of wrongs committed. I want to reach healing’s reach. I’m a product of fellatio in infancy. My mom and her mouth, the power was undeniable, but the demon in the room had more, my imaginary playmate I saw and felt. His reality would change the stars, and evil would have a new name: we are its boxers not its originators.
How deep do you go? You are a surface act in time? No whole moves your ship? We are alone individuals on the inside, left to make or break in matter’s wall? We all heave to the same will, and it’s only half our own. We are a collective fist, but who is personally responsible?
My mother was not all the game, but I need her help to heal, and she did that reluctantly. Oh my God was I a baby to blame? This is all torn up, what deep necessity of being causes harm. I think the religions say it: the world is a redemption; we are not here just to be animals in springtime; we have a responsibility to our Earth to overcome ourselves, to get bigger than what we are, to heal our broken wounds.
Okay there is no continuity of this self other than the atoms’ flow, or a speakeasy in time we continually visit with every beat of our heart. Even without that booger, variability of soul evolving through lifetimes, you can grasp yourself and heal, let the sun shine in, but I am a booger eater let me tell you, and I graph on a sense of humor to this gravity of being.
What deep necessity of soul, or world process art, has picked up your aspiration and thrown it in the dirt? It is only a variety of evil, whatever clothes it may wear? Can you get the jump on it? Have you been waylaid in your spiritual process to find another, or have you been challenged in the depths of yourself to come up with a better plan than the ego is leader of life, and violating it determines all?
Do you hear the magic horn crossing thresholds and putting light on the subject? Will you hear anybody at all who comes up with another plan than spilling this out to the world, every detail you can think of, to give your innocence in all this and us say yes, yes, get at them boogers? Ride literary.
When you meet people, it’s said to have a book confession. Don’t you like camera? There goes my hand in. Unlimited her tools, creation mother. I am really serious about my tea. I don’t pick up girls at happy bars. I’m bigger than that. No I live and learn. I too must lift the curtain of worn-mind. I can’t go overboard. I have to go to somewhere. I can’t get there too quickly.
We challenge each other, and you hear that basket in my house: my gravities have to be steady. I can’t pull the plug on reaction until I’m right where I need to see it. I’m pretty much a whole too. I see my desires. I’m not habituating them, and the sex chakra says no. Hang on, to the orgasm out the top of the head I am loyalty tower. I guess that’s way I rise behind this consciousness and enter the Silence again.
Astronaut, I am that astronaut torn the curtain between Nursemind and Supermind. Okay, if I get mad at you for up us in Elvis, I should just poet you shut up. Is Goofy’s rig not bad for sellin’? I’m at the end of my ferter of dynamite. You are all young. It’s a bit of closed up there. Can’t touch the Gods.
It’s not me didn’t see. That’s some awesome shit. I’m half-grown. Did you bring it one possible? Here it goes. Been there done that, I need you to do that, then study me some. Boy do I look different. Comin’ here’s comin’ here; I tried comin’ here for basketball, and it left me singin’ monster. I think you should just go inside.
He’s finished with the pencil, he’s ready for the expense. The world is not there with any street signs on it, how about that? Horse please, you can’t see the world as a substantial form. It’s a bare outline. You’ve lost the world right in front of you. It kinda gets me in my brother, and everything’s silent don’t you see you’re in the background noise?
Oh God it’s principle arrangement. There’s nothing in your pockets. You’re not tryin’ to get anything. There’s no motivation on your own. The world is just there, and your oyster’s not in it. You’re stunned. You’re taller than mankind. You’re deep in the Silence, and you come upon God ways.
We’re almost there. Just shimmy up that tree and stop field mouse. I’m breathin’ hard, but I’m right there at the gun a pageantry. Don’t throw me away. I know the business, and I put two and two together. My little boy’s the land rover that principles enlightenment. He’s got the starry list, and I’m in my union circle. Is no ants get to bar. He gets held and catered to, healed, and I reach the 5th dimension. I’m a bullpen for he comes home tomorra. I’m in the Silence come home. Enlightenment is it, a shoulder's worth.
Come check your bag out through his porch. A porch explore us, the name of the explicit program, miles above the current thought, miles above the existing program. Sit by the door. You went there. I offer you holy ground. Insert I mean the new superman, a new way to Supermind.
My goodness you’ve gone over the top. We got a new thing goin’. You’ve got a brand new pair of shoes. He’s all mad at yah, Sonny— I’m not sure all the time. Who else? I’m not sure about Nithish. Lookin’ at yah. Can we get better at ‘im? Door to shopping opens in a little while. He’s your prime target. A dark smear settles keeps him in a corner. I gotta do everything to get him out of vice. These are my papers, and that’s what I’m workin’ on.
A kid gets killed, and we’re in the front lines normalizin’ it. I don’t think we understand the history of science. Our very lives show this to us, but we can’t see it: the whole society ruins children. It’s a combat zone: fuck you do your homework. We lay them in bed a manage them to sleep: oh I’m eager to get out of there you clingin’ thing. Or you test them in their underwear with your dick fingers, rubbin’ butts. Either way, you can’t get the story straight: you believe with them there’s so much more than dresser drawers in the room. Angels glow all along the edges of their minds, monsters dwell. They can see them in the corner, hear them in the closet. You think their imagination wild. You don’t know what’s goin’ on. If you did you’d run out of the room screamin’. Your sanity couldn’t take it.
But let’s get back to business, shall we? Kids glow. They have otherworldliness to them we’ve forgotten about. They live there. We see the form, forget the consciousness inside. They’re lust to us or dreadful things we have to manage, and in-between those two poles most lie. Have I hit yah yet?
My boy is in a livin’ emergency, and nobody cares. I’ve shown this to the room. I’ve shown this to Town Hall: he suffers still. We think there’s monsters there in the love of this foreigner for this boy, or we just want ‘im with his own kind. Can you count that?
We don’t know children are kings and queens of livin’ life, and they need more than us. They need a breath of God on their tops, and they need the substance of their souls to be their playmate in time. They need to get away from the Darkness in the world and not give their little boy’s livelihood to the darkness in the corner goin’ bad in a hand basket. We can’t see Hell edgin’ up upon their life. Another soul down, so many millions left to go They say.
My boy’s there turnin’ inta vice, furious at his parents and the world for making that child obey and renounce his own freedom and tear off of his lips and eyes any mention of that foreigner, who is me, and they beat ‘im until he complied. Can I guess here? I’ve seen it with my own eyes, this tremblin’ little figure afraid of his own shadow, and I can do nothing to stop him from being afraid, his fear of the world, late at night, his fear of death. I envelope him with my consciousness, but that’s not enough. That boy needs held.
You won’t let me do that, satisfied he’s in his parents’ hands for good or ill. Oh the woes of parental not by blood, but yah been there since he was born. You only like adoption papers to make that real. Can we be a kid again? Can we see the emergency that we have known with children all through human history but have never seen? Stop child abuse! oh you stupid thing. Stop you from hurting kids by burying them in the world and sealing that coffin with school and other blind things that have no reason why kids be. You just wanna make them grow up or be a football to play with. You’re not inta their things, their larger than life’s, their Woodstock imagination, and it didn’t rain.
I gave Nithish that glow, what he wears himself in his distance from time. I let ‘em have it, the freedom to take his kids’ reins and mount the world with ‘em. He loved it there— no rules, no spankings, just guidance. I yelled loudly I’m sorry in moments I regret now. He was just bein’ a kid, testin’ limits and naughty. Even the preacher cuss.
What do we do with children? We let them have their head in safety tips, and we don’t vacuum their room with a pain in the ass, and we let them be stars of our attention, and punishment only makes them meaner or more rebellious when we’re not lookin’, when they get out. A submissive child is a dead child, and they’ll bring dictators into the room when they’re older. See the world now? Populist hell.
I let Nithish glow with his own feelings. didn’t rob them, and that was a school for me. I gave him candy. I took ‘im to the movies in the middle of the night, when he liked to go. On the way home we played monster chasing us or zombies in the middle of the road reachin’ out for us. I put reality there by parkin’ my bike and runnin’ off yellin’ eat the kid not me! He would squeal with delight and belly laugh, after his imagination let go of him, the monster had returned to his lair, the zombie apocalypse had ended. I know how to manage a kid with their own imagination. It is prime time for them.
What is my purpose with him? Oh I want that little boy happy with himself now. The adult can wait. I want him to feel the breeze of his own freshness and what makes him so special in a world where everybody’s the One. I want him to love himself, not be afraid of time, but more than anything else he has his own destiny I want him to live for, why his soul can down on Planet Earth. That had nothing to do with small business. I’m the upholder of his destiny, and I like it there.
I’m his keeper, because he’s still a child. Why would jealousy pull him away from me and you let them? I’ll be back the daddy he calls daddy in just a little bit of room, not much time as the crow flies. Come on let’s go, gimmie your will so this can come. Do you hear me stars and all ye people you? Bring the child.
The world is paper thin really. Monsters glare. Angels sing. The world behind the world is bigger than the world. You don’t see this? Your kids do. No let’s go over time. It laughs to be alive full metal jacket. Children’s class, there’s immediately a hole in the water. It bites. Writin’ kid once in you, how far did that go? You’re with Nithish.
Quite a ballgame. I hope that’s my intestines tellin’ me I’m rush. It was one on one flavor. With no little boy here to share it with, it was foreign. Do you know the hole the world makes when you’ve lost your child? It’s like infinity in the room. You can’t understand its price. It sucks. I have to live there. What do I do to get out of it? I can’t do nothin’, my child can. In the blackness of his state, he has to get better.
He’s 12 goin’ on nine, and there’s a football in the room. He’s discovered pornography I hear and sits there with his friends, all hellions, and has them corrupt him to land’s end. He goes there to escape the wild, a single room home where he’s stifled and crushed, the invasion of his privacy a misdemeanor the boy can’t afford, the rule of his mother a felony that makes him question his sanity. She will not shut up. She will not let him breathe. The fear is he will see me, and she took him for her vice not mine, after a lifetime together his end. Insanely jealous, she watches his every mood. Is he thinking of me? Has he called me on the phone? These things are forbidden and when she sees me on his face she whips him for it. His father’s a killer who only comes on the weekends, and he’s plotting another murder I kid you not.
These are the parents you chose him be with. These are the parents you admire. Can you get any worse? I can’t handle this. Protecting children I thought was your right and mood. Turns out you only care if you touch their penis. All else is permissible done to a child. All else is warranted. All else fails to get your attention in any meaningful way that helps. I live this, your hypocrisy. I only get your likes, and damn few of those, but let’s be patient here. There is a poet I know in Israel that cares, and not every reader is a penis-monger. Some genuinely feel this, but I’m courting people right now, in the bowels of the situation, who have the power to confront the parents and at least end the blockade of no outer contact with the child I raised since he was a wee little boy. They’re Tamil and live here in positions that can help. Who says they do? No, that’s online. I am a foreign man and they are not. They don’t give me the legitimacy of parenthood, because how can I? I’m not even Tamil, and I cannot prove my worth with my tears and broken heart and concern for my child. I look like some guilt monster wanting to steal theirs, so identify they do with Tamil people.
I can’t get around that. You’d tell me to be quiet, or end the attachment, like it’s a perverted cross. You should see his song he wrote for me: "all the bad voices are saying bye; all the good voices are saying hi." They say that loudly. His whole life is on hold waiting to see me again. I’m daddy.
Can you gauge love in a boy’s heart. Unexpressed it doesn’t die. Ordered to kill it he don’t. It grows beyond the mountaintops and plays there with the Gods. They have him arm and arm with total control to keep me out of his eyes and ears and me off his lips, because they are jealous of me there, and in all this blackness more blackness comes. In the absence of me he races too see friends they’ve gave him permission to be with, who are the signposts to gangs, boys already addicted to vice, who are the real danger for him to be with. His parents are oblivious to the boy’s plight. They’re just controlling him from me.
This is bastardly sucks. Let’s do away with it. Let’s return this boy home where his heart is. Let’s give him the freedom to do that. Okay crowd, let’s have some high rollin’ here and get that boy off the table and back to his house, the American me. It’s not fun. Hey you two pass my way. I’m not bein’ sarcastic. I’m talkin’ to the two Tamils who can help. See them there? A will collective move on their will and speed this process up. They have the power. They really do. Come on people let’s ride.
I’m countin’ on Syria to kick out Islamic State. Can we get there? I go over the mountain. All I know, judging from your path, I think you’re right. You keep raising your voice. You’re grasping at straws to get him back. You let me know anywhere loaded on ‘im, some trapdoor to sex. My sympathies then, and I’ll call child welfare there in India and get him taken care of.
Okay choir, would you settle for ruinin’ his life? Oh my God chop me to pieces. You’re comprised by sex in Texas. Do you know where the dropbox is? You’re wonderful, and another one’s kicked off the Earth, no tongue. Someone sent me a message. I’m just gonna read part of it. You take unborn babies and make them king, but kids themselves you beat, and punishing them is your right. You want the submissive child.
You’re lookin’ beyond graves, if we can, beyond that boy has a penis but thinks he’s a girl. You’re gonna take it seriously kids need to be protected from abuse. Now “The Use of Animal Freedom” really identifies with kids, what’s about to turn on in Nithish full force. the fact that he has a dick and wants to use it. I can’t get you to see this in a children almost teen. What do you do with their puberty, make them wear church, make them put a sock on it? And if she’s a girl? Is that the one you need most to no button down there? Why of course ring maker. Kids go to perdition so easily when they’re buddin’.
Kill it, kill it inside them, their natural born feelin’. Transgender wars hell, you’re workin’ to make a warehouse of kids to not even look down there to check out what they got, and you are so worried about them in the womb. You’re so cross fingers with them in the womb, but you pull their pants down and spank them just for bein’ a kid. Texas you’re the vice I’m talkin’ to. Hey Texas leave those kids alone! All they are is another brick in the wall?
I liked the sound better with a mouse. That’s great. That’s not acceptin’. Gotta get some lunch bags too. Outgoin’ calls, the hammer is no. I’ll let you feel safe. You’ve lost your mind. You give kids no sexual expression at all, and you think this rides their freeways. It rides their hidden vice. It used to be in your desk, overcoming desires. Did I hand it to yah? Come on, what do you needed to do it? Looking at come here Bruno, come here! (vision of Bruno, our Doberman, running away from me to the front of the house, and I’ve just let him out the back door) Get your pumpkin right. Self-control, self-measure you teach them.
Fit there she goes to sleep. You don’t give her any room to breathe on her own paper. You deny reality and with it the child. You’re underage a God looking in on Himself. You put conservatives in the White House, governor of the state, with your kid’s vote, and you stand around and watch children die. Here he comes. You’re too big to get the world to see my child. You know how it goes. We murder children in their sleep so they are zombies all life long.
A lot of this good agency, what I’m giving you now. Follow their lead. Even playing with themselves they’re bringing in a better world, when it’s not porn-play or adult hand in there. Even thought about kicking themselves up, they’re watching themselves up. When we allow them to get dressed in personal animal freedom, the cops come, depending upon who you are, and ban everything. Oh Texas and my world, you need Freedom School. [a school in the movie Billy Jack] Hello napkin, I wondered why I was burnin’ down there. Such large members, such a tiny space we fit them into, such a large package. Oh my God world see this.
We go hand in hand with proper sexual expression, and that’s not with an adult, and it’s not only with their own hand. I just stepped off the world and into a better science, as I’ve just entered your living room, and I must be polite and leave. What the hell do you want?! Thy peacemaker. Give the kids their genitals, how they are when not one’s lookin’. Let child know they can control themselves how they are around dog: napkin, grab that fucking napkin! And you’ve situated one of the building blocks to peace on Earth.
I’m fresh and alive, aren’t I? I study reality, but I do not rank there. So be it, but I’ve just written into the ether a better way of doing things, a better Nithish brought home. I’m on a rollercoaster can you feel it? And I’m not there to make you scream. I want the end of the world that puts kids in prison boxes and sends them to school, that puts chains around their necks and sends them to school, that pits them against their own bodies. Why do you wanna cut your dick off? Don’t you see reality? Talkin’ to a transgender kid, made there not by gender diaspora, by no one accepting his genitals growing up and givin’ them release. When you slice your dick off, sew up you’re vagina, you’re not expressing need; you’re all wrapped up in society’s handlin’ of your food, and the table’s sexuality. Did I just ruin my poem? No, I just ended it.
You better run, run, run, run, run, talkin’ ‘bout a revolution. [two above lines heard sung by Tracy Chapman, “Revolution”] Move through ideas the city of human unity, why did you do that? What did you just do? What did I just do? I gave you a whole nuther head on children. I gave you a whole nuther head on sex. Read this thing so you can copy it fast. I met too many here Guests and Newcomers. [social divisions in Auroville, India] You think the divine is divine labor on which you source, rules and how to get there. It’s not that honey it’s more. Rollin’ in agony upon the hills you end up later. Hey picked Asiya and the house is comin’ down. You’re Indian. What right do I have to speak? I’ve been asking my fat emotional body this. I know the score between children and their parents, what you do with a divine in the room. I’ve got expert topics, and I’m not afraid to use them.
This is all prewash. If you’re candy was Disneyland, what was I? They would tell you if they’re at. They would threaten. I talked to ‘im. It was on his computer. He’s a down and under hope dispenser. He makes virtue and art Hitler’s birthday. Down at that office, we’re gandin’ from abandoned puppy too. You don’t know how to lift up the race, but we don’t lead you astray. You lift up the biggest name in evil too, not to condone them, to rectify them. We’ve lots of him. I don’t see him anymore. I got my check balanced. I’m rose in the room, and it just took me away.
What Intelligence writes your stuff? The one that makes the flower, the one that sees Earth a testing ground for souls. I’m supramentalizing. There’s a harmony in my pen, not law and order or we make rules, but I talk about the important stuff and reel you in with it. My God this is not enjoyable. I gotta put rings around mountains: man is, you have to do it man. Now my little boy’s gone. I would almost boycott poetry but that’s not the flavor of this writing: hey Luna, come to yourself any discussion. [Luna Rottweiler] I’m tryin’ to show you somethin: we are not on Mars. That was a habitable island destroyed in such a long, orbiting time ago. We’ll see how it goes with Earth. We help you.
One of your favorite, one of your favorite teams, I’ve tried to photograph me close relationship to understand principles and stars, to go beyond them. I’m divine heavy in your room. I’m tryin’ to lift you up to see the sky beyond Mind. I don’t get to go until you do. We are a connected lot, but I been up there before. To say it’s the writing on the bathroom door, it’s not; it’s just there. I’m a field take, and I’m tryin’ to get you out there to play a roaring game of baseball so we can sees each other, put our guns down, stop shooting people.
You don’t know the price in the room for hating anybody, even those who hate you, and I’m workin’ with Nithish’s parents, who refuse to even speak to me. You’re the judgmental party. For Nithish’s parents, the hatred just comes out of the woodwork, suddenly picked. You’re almost there: understand their stupidity and don’t hate them for it. Gwen, okay? An almost businessman came up. She hates me I’m her brother. She may even read this poem, someday.
I’ve been hurt by hate too. I have this social stigma, and I’m the most hated man in the crowd. This stigma’s hated; people don’t know me. I’m wish I’m done with speaking through alleyways in your hole, but I do feel better doin’ divine will. No one reads me yet, or damn few. The audience and his poet, do you have to have one to have the other?
I did ninety pushups and sit-ups each day. I’m exercising wholeness and healing. Will you give me a hand? We gotta see the wholes, and it’s a together report card. I really need help with my boy, get him out of trouble and onto victory lane. All this dramatic poetry, this is a bank. I’m writin’ poetry for my boy so he can sees himself an inner poet. I pass this onto him in the inner consciousness. He gets it.
The help of Robin, it can help when David, who puts landscapes together, afforded my report. Will they put you in jail? Not your question among you. You just unload this poet on a public conveyor belt. Anyway I got room to grow and so does he. He’s a contact Earth named poetry. Accessible he would make me. I love your fine wine.
Okay let’s borrow mine and get down to Earth poetry. Believe your death you must navigate. I was making a significant Boomer’s salad when I made this for you, when I bear this for you. Let’s see how fast he gets here, once your will’s a ridin’ him home. Yes, yes, it takes a long time just to roll up your sleeve. Gotten Aidia’s attention, hopefully in wheelbarrows.
That’s a great poem. Why thank you, a fresh fish in a factory. It’s got labels on it this time. Great vehicles on Earth the poets are. The print out, it’ll be cave free. We’ll do it in the mornin’. It’s the head of the whole thing. How many wheels does a truck driver have? A collection of poems published in India in a book see. I hope you see there. Can you say large collection?
Even a little bit apart, he’s been us with the whole time. Is what facilities you may use. Him coming home, and he gets not that shit from me, a bad policeman. Three times as big key presenter, I asked the cinema to work it out in peace number 9. I wanna hold your hand. [line heard sung by the Beatles, line song title] I’m expressing need. You need to see this. It don’t feel like something we just said Auroville Press made real— I’ve encountered basically the tune of the ages. I suppose you lookin’ at ‘im, the whole prophet of Auroville, nine inch skin. I am constantly created. Only in summary is he wet behind the ears. On Old Galveston Road he went into the nature of Supermind.
Your heart in your ears, your ears in your heart, oh there you are. (vision of Nithish sitting on the floor one knee up, he running his hand through the bangs in his hair like he’s a bit frustrated) He’s comin’ home soon. I gave preference to The Silmarillion. Gonna detail now the Samadhi. [holds the bodies of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo] The Samadhi— hey how’s it goin’? Tryin’ to watch he’ll come be here soon. I love you, my beloved teacher and master in time. Trapped his voice on this recorder as he measures time Sri Aurobindo and thank you Mother. I’m an anomaly. I look at my boy and smile and look at God later, and that’s where I put God’s eyes, on my little boy lookin’ at me. It’s so we kosher together and have fun. That’s how you manage time.
Let’s go down this road. Look, there’s the really afraid. You do not boy blue darkness, step over him, in how you hold God. You hold God in that boy. He’s not your image of God. I look into your little eyes, speak the account God has with me. Did I say that correctly? We’re on Earth, and we’re here to stay. God on Earth, and we are Supermind, the supramental manifestation managing its creation.
Did I blasphemy? I gave you a measure of God in the balance of His show. God is always bigger than any robe He wears, any riding car, bigger than those little boy’s eyes, and we’ve arrived at the end of the poem. He’ll be home soon, and thank you God, down lower, gettin’ inta those eyes.
Okay you ready? We got that thang fixed. Okay yeah. Everything watch manners— there’s boats in the car. The problem is with the Silver. Take somethin’. Take this over the top of your head. Can you growl with me at cars? A field of stars show all this morality. I’m in business for good, and that’s how I pull your pants down, get away with it. I’m showin’ the Mother her feelins when she was a little girl, and my eye is ever on what was made illegal in India: offend people in their religion, and they put you in jail.
Can a reformer speak? We wanna change things for the better, and we have to challenge religion to do it. Religious sentiments need to change so we can get past this stumbling block. Alright I’m right there, holdin’ my penis and showin’ flowers. Where did you go? You think I’d said the n-word. Oh, wrong culture, but you can hear America from here, Indian. We put everybody on trial. I bet you don’t wear your genitals properly. My God they’re beastly things, all wrapped up. No one wants to hear them. I’m gifted speech, a seer of divine wisdom that has the sun in his sights.
Oh Supermind, we can’t see a difference from Overmind where our morality’s concerned. Supermind will stay right there by society in where it needs to change to bring harmony in the situation. It isn’t fight with rules. It breaks them, and that’s how we change our lives to get so much bigger than any rule can make us. Alright overmental keepers, listen up. I harmonize.
Well that shirt go to the other side. Look at my fuckin’ numbers you mean. There’s just a second before I change in poetry, and I bring so much literal verse into a symbolized meaning. You hear me cars? Don’t run off. I’m just tryin’ to explain things you don’t wanna talk about. You should’ve seen ‘er. She fought that tongue, but it didn’t bite ‘er. In India— I figured it was you. I hold off more than I can chew. So many open-minded Indians I’m not mentionin’ in this book, but I know you’re there. I’m a seer of divine origin, and I’ve got some thumbnails to put out to the public.
Just wait a minute. How often do you think? It’s been a year I’ve threatened you with green leaves. This is the baseline, where we genital one another, talkin’ about the social consciousness in our arisin’ morality.
Gonna get you there. Does it stink? It’s not a baseline of spirituality, but it’s standard there. We deal with these things as we follow some yoga or put on our sadhana. They can’t be ignored. The genitals are a loud gun. No one deals with them properly. We stuff them away even evil to look at, like they snake. We have put them in marriage vows so they can express themselves without poundin’ the social fabric. That was a temporary measure made a long time ago by the Gods to control us.
It’s tearin’ apart the social fabric. We have genitals when we’re not married. They reach out and bite us if we deny them expression and we are not mature enough for brahmachari, celibate in our wears, especially kids. Do you know the confusion they feel to have these little toys with handles on them, and they get punished with they do, or made to feel so ashamed? They grow up a sexual question mark that puts pleasure in the wrong place: it’s not right. Or they just go balls to the wall as an adult doin’ what was denied.
Let’s put the genitals in the right place: they’re not ugly or mean, but they need to be handled properly. Just say no doesn’t work if you haven’t worked out your sexuality, experimented with its measure, looked at its price. How do we do this and heal from sexual disorder? Would a homosexual say that? I don’t think we’re ready for soul process. It comes on mastery in the ways. It’s not a well of permissiveness, but sometimes that’s the order when all things are arranged.
Can I call upon the difference between soul process and divine process to go under morality and show you this? You’re just put in situations where you work out until you mastery. No, the soul hurts no one, but it’s open to the play, urging you, guiding you, leading you to right relationships between people, and here in the well of eternity that takes lifetimes. We want the soul pressure up front, the psychic being to take its seat as the leader of the life, and all the worlds dig this process where we have evolution at stake, but can I tell yah everybody’ll be brahmachari when the world turns to spirituality as its profit motivation? When you hit maturity for that, like in your early thirties. Some will be called earlier.
We’re headed somewhere. We have a spiritual transformation ahead, the whole damn world. It’s headed towards Supermind, right there in its soul change. The genitals have to be put in place. We have to wear them right, and that’s not always covered up. Can you see this? We have to remove harm from them. That’s not done easily. It’s not done at all by making them taboo. Sri Aurobindo and the Mother put their pencils down here and left us all hangin’.
Oh the glories of the Victorian age they were in. It stuffed sex, and neither one of them liked it. Were they prudes? The perverse habit is so natural to mankind. What do we do with that? Do we call our teachers liars? They’re right there with us now. You can hear them in my words. I’m sorry I said that. I know how that makes you feel. Who am I? I’m a seer of Sri Aurobindo. I’m a poet of the Mother. This bake— I don’t have the clout, and I’m a foreign man.
You don’t like foreigners. You don’t understand. It’s not something you look at. I don’t think the collective sees this. They wouldn’t admit it. It’s such a feature of India when you’re a foreigner living here. You get it all the time, discrimination. I can’t show you this. You’re not a foreigner, but can I show you your attitudes to me? They suck. They’re not right.
Okay dosa flavor— you’ve got to incorporate mankind, and all the idiosyncrasies of the Indian psyche, the ones that block evolution, have to be fielded and tested and made to change. A foreigner does that in the Yoga of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo— of course. I just hear you praise yourselves and look down on everybody else. You can’t take criticism, not even in the spirit of a sadhak. Can I change? That’s what I’ve done among you, taken a horrible disorder and India’d it. No other place on Earth could do that. The soul of India is wide and free, and it is here Supermind came down, and I’m right there in that cradle.
Now am I makin’ sense? You see me. I gave you the truth of my being. It’s all in order, settled down now, a fit receptacle for the word, and you hear it now. My little boy’s there too, trainin’ mode. I’ll show ‘im to your shortly, when we get ‘im back home.
Seen moved realty, but no one’s lookin’. Can you see guidelines? We’d have to spell out each and every individual situation. That can’t be done, but can we understand our genitals have us in prison? And when body parts get handled, or even measured, and it’s not get up and go that wedding ring, we have a conniption. Put a kid in there, and you make them think they’ve been killed. No this is not permissiveness speaking. I’m just sayin’ don’t react like it’s the end of the world. Don’t hate the genital player and want them dead. Heal them. Put ill will on the situation, and everybody dies. Let the genitals be free from only sexual expression. They can be out in public, if they’re not horny. Don’t be so uptight about them. Give them room to breathe.
Give them room to grow into a true genital opening. That’s beyond touch. It’s an esoteric chakra opening, with no field play. My God they’re good. Are you tall enough for that? It’s wonderful. It’s ecstasy, but it doesn’t touch another person, and you don’t touch yourself. Orgasmic in its intensity, it flowers you there. This is abstinence without denial. It happens to the open vehicle.
You’re too prude for that, adult Indian. Did I just knock your nationality? No I’m countin’ sheep, and not just Indian, but you can’t tell me there’s not prudishness here, all over your rules and regulations and moral reactions involving the least little bit of nudity not on ancient statues or on some naked sadhu, rare though he is today. What exception makes you liberal? Now let’s go to town. We need to start the day.
One see how ugly it is, even if there’s a divine calling rock bottom potential. What’s that supposed to mean? What about that in your own bill? Do you touch the stuff? Spiritual technology shows you how, gives you that medicine ring on your finger. Try to do it without fantasies, glued to no one, no other genital involved, not even lookin’ at another body. You’ve got your mind’s eye in the pleasure of your own hand, like a kid does it not teened yet, remember?
You’ve got a blank white horse, does not incur any wrath, and it’s perfectly natural and clean. That’s the way to do it if you’re horny, and you’ve haven’t achieved mastery yet. Do you hear me Steve, Gwendo? Would you call that sex? Feels good doesn’t it? And that’s what you tell the child you find them doin’ it. It’s not a join hands. You don’t rob them of their pleasure. Okay sweetheart? We’re all innocent here.
See if you could let a poem come, inevitable in its rose. Do you hear me? Pardon my English paper. Language is on the floor. You would write your need. How’s that done? Holdin’ back the thoughts, an arrival comes. It pops in a sudden keeper. You don’t hold it open with your thought. You wait for the next line in blank mind. It comes along the edges of your reason. It surprises you with its intensity and its forward motion.
I could’ve just gone walkin’. I lifted my voice and gave you a song, with intent/purpose in it. [above words heard spoken simultaneously] I could’ve just given you a paper the walls of the motion picture write. You see it glows. It wraps us all around in the society of little business, but you see the form of its arrival from print-wood, where it comes from the inner Void a miraculous light in time. Don’t just stand there, write.
This is a tender box. Well it is, and from that well comes the world all on fire with the mystery you can’t solve: from where does the poem arise, if it’s bigger than your piece of paper, if it’s greater than your pen, something bigger than anything existence owns? You want to touch it. This is beyond consciousness. I block it anywhere I position myself in time Monday through Friday. My little boy will get here a sudden epiphany. Impending arrival— everything now it’s done. Captures the wallpaper of the mystery behind time you never even heard of, the mystery that wears a face, giving this film a package delivery. I wanna see it on the wall. In a little while I’ll have you in my arms, in a little while. [above three lines heard sung] It was a soul wrote.
The attitude was small, featureless in Auroville, a flip cart. It was a place into the opposite half, busy with sex and let the world fall, everybody who had arms in their pants. There were very few celibacies. It gathered there watch the old house where sex was concerned. Abstinence was a penance imposed upon Puritans. Nobody flowered out the top of their head an ascending orgasm, what you waste when you masturbate or cum. You don’t even know it’s there, but let’s look at the spiritual consciousness, Silent Mind in Overmind, a way station along the way that has to be done. Do you know it’s there? I’m sorry it’s not about the cells. Abstinence will show you when it’s not abstinence but integration, and you desire can be right there in bed with you, and you’re holdin’ your desire tight, and you leave the genitals out of it. Can you control mastery? If that’s where you live you go. Finding partners to sleep with to test mastery fails.
We remain in place and be that bigger than ourselves and our surroundings, and when desire no longer has your toes, and you’re not bleedin’ reaction but stayin’ calm, still the mind; in quiet peace comes. You don’t even have to tell anybody. Just do it. Goddamn it feels good. Let’s open ecstasy, shall we? Now you’re in your room, and Auroville can’t bother you anymore, and just a few of you can change it, just by being receptacles of the new wine Auroville waits. It’s a mountain now.
Photo by Douglas, celebrating my latest (62nd) birthday with him, Mithun, and Nithish
Evil our times. It’s all our jail. [vision accompanying first two lines of one of the questions on the Together We Served Service Reflections interview I just re-posted on their site, as if this was an edit for the beginning of the answer, which one I don’t remember] I said it right on Amazon. He’d like to name you a place where we could find ourselves. It’s growin’ to war. Delete that. Don’t stick your fingers into your reflections. They’re good. They’re history, of your own personal. You just need them read. Well let’s see how big men are, how soft on the board counts.
Life is a divine work until it’s finished. It’s great in jars. How much pepper spray? We get lost here. It’s not a divine moment in everybody’s underwear.
And you said it: we have to hate sex. No, one just talkin’ while we stab each other with it, or a hole grabs us and leaves. You take care of man. We beat each other with it, but that’s not my lifelong toy. I play with myself because of it— some child grabbed his gun.
Now, if we’re just a folded joy, we can get along better in the streets. We can cash in on tomorrow. We need to get rid of sex— I think the mature person said this about who they have become. Do we get rid of it?
It’s just a football field. We learn to outgrow it. We put it down. We do not condemn it. It’s a mature decision we make. We expect no one to follow us but us.
Well I think I’ve sowed my wild oats. No one’s ever blocked sex from me. I’ve had partners all my life. I went from childhood memories about our lust room we had fun in to a teenager doin’ it right. I was a young adult party sex. No one stopped me. I never got punished for it. I’m clear and easy on sex. It’s not a hole in the ground. It laughs in the breeze, and it really feels good, you know?
We take it off now. What am I, 30? You’re not a kid anymore. You’re at that mature age where life makes sense. You don’t go screamin’ down the street if you cut your finger. You’re not a nightclub in the kitchen anymore. You’re free from have to be with your buddies. You’re doin’ sadhana. It’s become the aim of life God realization.
This is not boring, religious, clap trap. You get long lasting ecstasies in your body at times. You’re inner life has opened to the Infinite. You see visions that represent things that you need to grow. The inner voice has taking you by the hand and introduced you to life where God leads it.
It’s an offer I gave you a wall but nobody’s comin’. Your mind can stay silent sometimes, and you love the world. It bothers you less and less, other people’s behavior. Even your mistakes are no cause for alarm. Patience is painting your room, and kindness drapes your social interaction. You’re a strong person that knows how to look at things.
You’re gettin’ trapped by sex now. It’s spills you. It does not hold your hand. It’s a life force squeeze. You’re tired of its pursuit. How did we come here? From all walks of life. It’s an everybody does, when they get old enough to only pursue God.
This changes society. Nay, this reinvents society. We are bigger than machines. We know how to handle ourselves even in love. We’ve grown oceans bigger than anything we look at. The world is ready to evolve. We can do this. We can be free from sex, if we know when the time has come to do so. No premature ejaculation. It has to be the right time. It has to be real. It has to be what we’re doin’ in life to find God, and you will hear it in your soul to give it up now.
You are the soul of society. They’re uneducated, anybody who denies this. They don’t know what’s goin’ on. They just want to stay kid. How do we handle this with them? With patience and honesty. We don’t force them to comply. World force does that, as the soul force it truly is.
We’ve got such a long way to go to reach our evolutionary path mountaintop, millennia, and I’ve just given you a key ingredient to get that done. It’s wonderful you know? free from sex. You’re unhampered by life in its sticky points. You stand tall, proud, and free, and you know the other half and don’t have to mate with it anymore.
You are as much male as you are female in the essence of yourself, as you meet the world. The gender of the body leads you, but it doesn’t rule. You’ve achieved balance in time. This is cool. You’re Hercules and Diana. You are fit do some dangerous big knife or stay at home and take care of the kids. Now can I counsel you further?
Oh I’m around, even in narrow we meet. Come to my other business runners, how the tackle game plays with children, or how dogs become human, or how enlightenment speaks. Join me will you, on some other poem battles down life to a node.
They got a skinny little net, the literary art house, so you won’t find me there. I’m on blogs and such in my room right here in front of humanity. Let’s see this through: no sex when we get old enough to drop it.
Asses the future risk of poetry. It will just sink. It won’t even cut corners. It will just sit there unread. It’s just a bunch of words in a blender. I don’t know what he’s talking about. And now we’re in our teens. It’s not innocent here.
They do it despite we want them to stop. It unbalances them. Makes them crow. It changes their minds. It gives them a safe outlet for their demands. Now we’d need to stop pregnancy and disease, not have them harm one another, make it slightly difficult to get to but not prevented or prohibited. What have I said? Teen sex.
We’d account for this by all the kid sex they had, where they’d learned to take turns and be nice to one another, before their genitals became armed. Now I’m a roll in a hat. End sexual hangups please. In all this here we do that, got it figured, got it right.
Now you’ll blast me with everything you can throw at me. Now hear me out. I’m in wisdom’s barn, but I’m not settin’ down rules. I’m understandin’ the animal we are and seeing how we get beyond it. You got it all wrong. It’s not hide the genitals. Let them play, where appropriate does its measure in the right age group, where we are not keen on sex; we just wanna feel down there and have fun with ourself or with friends.
We grow out of it you know. You’ve seen it in this poem. Has it terrified you? Has it done anything at all but look at you? Can we get over it. Can we just make sex the plaything it was before don’t do that got ahold of it and put it down when we’ve gotten bigger than ourselves?
Now test me please. See how this works in public. Under the right conditions we are healthy human beings. Some people are still reading this. Some people have thrown it away. Are you just afraid it’s a masturbate cushion? If we stop right now we’re at the end of the poem.
A risk teenager said. Is it better to freeze? We’re gonna try hoppin’ a poem on Earth’s wheels. The SF engineered a better to see me with well together we served. Let’s see.
A military airlift, hands brought me the breeze. That’s the shot fired. The bulwark of the law has to undergo a transformation in order to fit this into place. Can you imagine the changes involved? They’re bigger than sin. They make us right in our social relations where we see attraction laid eyes and mounted genitals and hands. It changes us at the core of our manipulable social relations.
We’re there stuck at a roadblock, women screamin’. men peein’, and everybody mad at one another. Can you see that? It’s right there in front of you on communication.com, on the nightly news. It grabs the literary page and hits up movie after movie and theater television. It’s a regular guest on soap operas. It’s everywhere we look anywhere we got eyes on the society of us. It’s too tiring to see, and we still keep it up.
Can we take it down, when we get back to our old self that has other gauges for life than sexual sin? Pretty much all about Eve is a sexual trauma notebook. I don’t think this is smart land, and here we go again another scandal in the news this present poet creates. I could’ve just stayed offline, not bothered with dense matter, and do my thing. Am I stupid? I’m not dumb. Transparency is the easiest way to finish the world a miracle on earth enlighten us.
