I couldn’t come from the city according to our needs. A oneness organization, that’s the start of it, the city the Earth needs. The walls are coming down, it’s where we begin. This is the largest city in Heaven, and it’s expensive to live in.
How many people protect themselves from the Infinite? How many people have bibles they won’t cross thresholds with? They can’t get out of the Book or this Name says. They can’t plant infinity there, and they argue and bicker among themselves about it, the rulebook says.
Am I just a hedonistic paradise? I sacrifice even my thoughts to the divine and live a simple life to prove it. I don’t cut down banyan trees. I sit together with everybody there, and I know hard work, and I know rest and play.
I love God, and that is my first priority, not the God of this man says, the God of the banyan tree. I have seen God’s eyes staring back at me in everyone’s. I can pet a dog and feel that, rub a cat.
I am about the mountain in springtime. I know how to address the world: oh my God I love you. I have seen fire and rain, and I changed my life because of it. I no longer hurt people or cause them pain. I draw the lines everywhere to prevent that. I know the meaning of sacrifice. It’s how my thoughts meet the world. It’s how my hands meet the day.
I am an Aurovillian comes theoretically, and I shout this to the Earth. I will get bigger than my kind. I will transform consciousness inside into our greater type. I will give birth to divinity on a collective field, and our hands will salt the Earth with its great and needed change, and I am here my friend opening doors for you that you may walk through them. Auroville will you hear me? Auroville can you feel that looking?
This poem was emailed to many Auroville email addresses, most all the principle leadership bodies, and it was the object of an art action on Sept 3rd and 4th, where I and Mithun taped and tacked it up on bulletin boards and walls around Auroville and on banyan trees in the township, or it was just handed to individuals. This is the performance art a recent poem, “The Diamond”, mentioned, before, I might add, there was inkling on my part to do any.
This poem and the preceding one made the secretary of Auroville, Jayanti Ravi, mad, and she got me kicked out of India over it, personally.
In the stories of the Self, the eyes of sunshine, it’s been Armageddon. A small voice out front says no, it’s been leading to something big. I’m a hope, and a skip, and a jump away from that. That’s what I’m pettin’. You hear the ups and downs, the soliloquies harbored on the snake. I swear these muse. I’m tellin’ the story of God. I’m not coughin’ up Skid Row, but I’m giving you pencils and integers of everything, and I don’t neglect nothin’ out. We’re on a roll now.
I feel something big. I can’t get my heart out to show you. I’m bein’ pushed from the inside. Still I can’t see my boy or anything else big, like a sudden public share. I still sit in someone else’s pain and cry, anyone on the planet I hear their story loud, and join that with my own. I still see the pain of the world and not its bright sunrise.
What is this bear I speak of now? A coming tidal wave, my head upon the stake? My faith in God hasn’t reached that far: he loves me at high noon, I mean like in front of everybody, and I’m not a bad man anymore. I’m a way with him. Would you count that, or do you even see him right out here open fields with everybody? I do have that smile.
Do performance art, and I’m from there. Stay in your room, that’s me. Catch me, you are my god I announce things at the seriousness of a child, and I am hurt by one. Look at me, a fattening calf, I have golden reins. I don’t know how to handle this: you don’t put my face on. That’s how it needs to be done to God knows what. You cannot contain this. You think aliens wrote it, or a moved lunatic. Some of you know I smile the meaning of the word. Play your blindfolded world.
Did the boy end up revealing anything to us? He’s happy and content on the outside I heard that your honor. On the inside he can’t handle himself, is boiling in pain. These are irreconcilable. He can’t hold this script down. Those around him only see the happy kid. He doesn’t reveal himself inside. I am not a name on his lips, like he doesn’t want to see me, but he cries for me inside and is continually scheming to see me or make contact.
These are all along the lines of Earth. He can’t make it right. He can’t get up out of his stool. He’s frozen there, and he and I are frozen there. You don’t know how this hits me. It’s like a betrayal that loves me so impossible to understand. He won’t even call my name, acts like I do not exist, and he is finished with me. This just does my head in, confuses me to no end. I swear the real boy’s right there, but he is so earnest when he shows me his inside, especially when he calls me and cries— so much pain, so much out of control, with a rage that wants to blow up the world, and I’m supposed to believe him? I get so worried about him. There is no end to this. There is no issue from this as he grows older.
I just want to walk away, but I’m pulled back every time by divine love and my unmanageable love for him. He is so big inside me. This is all in my reality. Can you lose a child, have him kidnapped, and he’s winin’ and dinin’ with his kidnappers just down the street, sending you secret notes of ransom that say daddy I love you so much and want to be with you? This is a crash course in reality. Fuck this I want off, and the Mother and Sri Aurobindo and other divine bid me stay with him, and I love that kid so much I do.
Here’s the trick. Get rid of the pain they say. Don’t even operate on that attachment. Count the divine only you see in everybody. Don’t be forlorn. He’s comin’ back. It’s all in my muse, there or in the background of every poem I write, his name, his name, Nithish, Nithish.
Stop the forlorn? The ache inside my breast all the time, the absence of my child and his dangerous psychological situation, how in the world do I stop that or believe the divine he’s here sometime soon? This plays with me and plays with me. Are the divine devils? I don’t know what’s goin’ on. I’ve lost my child.
You my divine reader swing with the Gods with your heart-breaths, your beliefs, your unaccountable sum. Have you seen the Great Beyond? Are you a born object of God, what others now discuss as an occasional moment in the Sun? It would change your way of life, radically transform society, because it’s there at our divinity’s base. We lit triumph with our children to bring this home to us.
Do you know the transformation of the outer life into the inborn divinity we wear? When do we put that on with our children, a radical new way of life that busts out of the husks of the old, where children can be themselves and not the uniforms they wear, not crammed down society’s schoolbook, not made to think your thoughts but open God up inside themselves? I’m a motion on that, a mover, and can I remind you here of our high aim in your classrooms with your kids, in your downtime? Nothing more to say except my time with children is that, who they are in time and their inborn sense to go beyond it a revolutionary.
How do the boatmen row? Gently and in springtime. I’m saying my worth, and I’m not a cherry picker. I’ve seen the city up high and the elephants the grass ate, the thieves that robbed bottom and the song they sang when they saw God they now with children row. I’ve counted the stars and their admonishments and protests, their gifted speech to the poets of the time. It’s all a crocodile beautifully put. It doesn’t change us. It only makes us mean towards our brother when we find them doing wrong.
Who can translate poetry the Gods themselves can’t bore? Do you know the living Ray? It comes form other shores, and we hand it in our pencils blockchains we wore. Can I pencil this in for you with the freedom of the Infinite involving children, involving Light?
It breaks on us a new path: you’re the leader finally acting, and I storybook my little boy from a full moon today where we draw redemption. Outstanding citizens no, we want radical revolutionaries with every child we write. Do I dare you? Radically I write time. I am life’s sacrament. It won’t pull me under. I am not dyin’ here. Somethin’ climbs in my room I don’t know. It’s got handles on it, but oh what they are? I’m a space nigger in time. Maybe that’s coming to an end? Maybe there’s a zombie apocalypse, and I get loved right out in the open by my boy? I think it will take that for him to act, despite this poem I wrote. Maybe I’m onto better days. Maybe I’m big stuff.
It’s Armageddon folks, is that how this is supposed to end? No we just pray there, and we get up and run the world again I lit in the face of certainty. The foreigners would wait outside folks, and the lady is a figure on trapped. Startled by his brightness, I see the Alone in every tree. It looks out at me with my dogs’ eyes. It’s in every figure of self, looking out at the world with timeless eyes. I am not alone here, even though you keep me at bay. I am a figure of Self, and I break bread with the Alone as a matter of happenstance. You can’t rob me of that deep. You can’t even see it.
Fine, I will wear your society, but I’m on revolution’s springs, and I stand there alone investing in time an uprising out of it. Now read me won’t you please? I see the Alone in every face, and you are nothing but he. Crowd me now with your figure of him. I dance on this delight on Earth’s shores just poetin’ the hell out of time, and that’s the start of it, prayfully yours.
The muse gave me a message to you, the muse rise and poetry. I’ll see it in the garbage can, won’t I? I don’t know how to negotiate this landmine in outer things. Every world has rejected me. I’m a nation to nobody, dear reader except you. This is across the board. It’s unhand me. It’s blue and it’s red and it’s gold. It’s unbelievably tight.
What do you say to no, we don’t want to have anything to do with you, and this is the entire of the yoga you follow, the city on earth that’s to realize the human dream and be alright with each other? I get kicked out of there too and in the hearts of every man and every woman who could make it possible to see my boy again right out in the open his daddy again, and that anomaly is solved: why the divine in-look on me carries his name, and it is a phantom make.
I stand here confused. Even the halls of poetrydom have spit me out. I have no place in society. I live in some little island of bright, and Douglas and our dogs hold the world together. Our visitors only want something, all they can get, and they only come here for that. We have no friends here. We have no one looking out for us. We are here alone and that’s it. This squeezes you, you know? You don’t understand when humanity and the world mean so much to you.
I’ve painted this isolation for myself. Douglas has friends and family who care for him and provide, else we wouldn’t make it. He lives in his room and I live in mine, but our best-friendship has reached the stars, but can I tell you about Paul? A friend for all the years, who is in the world at large giving me e-blasts I’m your friend. When the world rejects you, you get compensation, friends for all the world, if you’re holdin’ hands with the world, if the world means as much to you as yourself.
I can’t bear this, spit on by everyone, and I’m just diggin’ my hole deeper with these poems. They cost me so much. They tear me apart I am so real with you. I don’t know how to begin to really say it, the be there of the human being.
Oh my God I want to describe it to you, so we can join there. I want you to see my humanity. I don’t want to be an outcast no more. Oh I wish you could feel that. God does, and he’s here with me all day in bright thoughts and muse on the edge of time. Would that you could feel that.
A meaningful life, that’s established. Come to terms with myself and terms deeper. This is all in the sky. I’m a blockchain. I matter to mankind. I’m significant to your notions of self. I’m good to all you haven’t seen yet. I love people and feel their oneness. I am not about the snake. I touch you with deep meaning. I am really there.
The world blows up inside me it has eyes. I commune with the Unknown. I’m about your rocket ship. I ease on you these things: the starling oneness inside us, the jumprope to God, everything we have to do with each other in our ballpark with children and the animals in the room. You hear me there petting my dogs in wonder and taking children to the sky.
I cook meals for you and attend to your business all day. I am not just a selfish wound. I have lifted up the race everywhere I look. I am dawn on you the understanding of poet, and here I am, in my most serious mood, standing up and be counted, because you’ve shunned my face, a rocket-man that knows we share meaning together, that knows my part in the world, that knows I can’t live without you.
You’ve kicked me out of your homes, you’ve kicked me out of your hearts long enough. I’m not a beggar at your gates. I’m the poet at high noon. It’s time we fly. It’s time we fly.
Everyone feels themselves the maker of things. Alone in our body’s cells, we do a branded work. We have the secret knowledge inside, and we know the meanings of things. We just can’t express itself to men. We live in our longings a perpetual keeper unable to handle stuff, but ours is the mooring to the base of life. We know no one above us in this, and even ones that we worship, they’ve just validated ourselves. We can keep them. No one else can.
I am the secret front of time. The world calls my name human. I am a draft everyone wears in their rise to fame. I can’t control fate, and the talent show, I can’t grate my time against it, but I am bigger than lost rooms, or, if I am famous, for your information, I’ve been put there by all eyes on me, and the knife I am to everyone I don’t have to please, it’s sought within, and I believe mine eyes hold all true. I’m good to everyone even if I’m not good to some. I am the eyes of life and time in my living room.
Surprise, surprise, surprise, you are not the march of the universe, or anything tall and big. You are a worm’s crawl to our Sublime, and you would spit on the Sublime now, if you saw it. You would not hold it right. You would not even know it’s there in your tangible real.
I fight this battle every day, sometimes on a horse, sometimes in the slime of morose doubt. I can count my sins all day long. I can sit and bash myself upon the head for being such an eager worm. Here’s the kitten: I sit in the arms of the divine all day. My doubt is not to its existence. I have knowledge firmly there. I see the Larger like I take breaths, but is this a whirlpool, a jolly roger’s madness ride, that has no issue for a starstruck human being?
I see the Larger like I count my face, and it’s suspicious to me. It doesn’t count humans. Oh my goodness the proxies’ wear. Everything’s for the larger good, the whole. Individuals get trampled in the stampede, and we have to stand this, because it’s all a dream, even our suffering, and we are nothing more than sinless souls putting on masks of flesh for lifetime wears. The flesh doesn’t count. The soul does.
Great Department Green, is my soul in my beating heart, the exclamation point of tears in my eyes I fight back left and right? How heavy is this pain a moral wear, how real, fresh, and alive, and yet it’s cut asunder by ideas, by momentary experiences I’ve won and lost, by a look there a breath there on God’s heights, like you throw bones to dogs?
Feel me I’m real, the character, the mask, You’ve donned. I cannot last like this, a plaything upon Your pittance. I need Your honest answer to my living pain, or crush me now and don’t look down at me again (uh-gayn). The pittance, the role and show, how do we handle it?
Time is larger than our showroom. More power to yah God. What’s man doing there with his head blown off? It inspired an amazing journey. It manufactured an attempt to find another rule than suffering, point out joy as my hunting rifle. It’s my must now. It’s where I lay my head, oh time machine, I go. It’s important that’s a carpet, not a bed of nails.
Do you hear me breathe? I’m countin’ the breaths of all of us, and I am sin, hold me down?
Yes sir those beasts are mine. Whoa, whoa, whoa! I’m a mustache fan, Johnny B. Goode. Don’t put out the secret to the universe. Move seeds, the intersection of whoever we are.
A bird from the passing by of the ships, cosmic order, it’s got esoteric wings, and you’re mesmerized. This locks you in the sky. It holds your hand. It laughs with children in the moments of their cats and dogs. It belly rubs and takes you on a journey to the stars, where it’s made.
It don’t just turn you on. We go to the transformation of society, another name for Supermind. You see its location on earth, right above you, where the heart meets the sky. On somebody’s shoulders this love. He is your friend in infinity, with a special clarity seeing that you know he’s witnessed, and he carries you there in the sweet hands of children, and let’s make it clear: never bleed a child or give them suffering to wear. They change the world into how they’ve been handled.
We have no idea how hands on this is, how intimate and caring, and how it makes or breaks our world. It’s the entranceway to spiritual change and the transformation of our world. It’s big stuff.
You hear it at noon. Wait a minute, and it will be all over the skies. It’s the role we need to see. We’ll be there tomorrow, when we use the internet for great things, examine the formation of society and not just complain about it, make its engines reformat the world and to better even for fishes and a safety net for trees, into loving homes and spiritual change, holding our cats and dogs dearly, what we week today.
Do you like the sound of that? It’s comin’ on your muffler now. Share this piece of music if you want the times to wear it on the holiday of our ideas, the special occasion we need to see them with. Share these thoughts to your largest room, and that’s where we find tomorrow if you want a better world healing papa and beautiful with her children momma. Share this video on the way to our ship.
How I believe in you, and I’m not stupid aren’t I? Getting results, it’s in your hands now. The best days are yet to come. I’m cookie honest with yah. We ride children to our goal. We’ll figure it out.
This poem began where Death went off his office, and it revealed. It’s beginning to baby us, political allies. About exit, what does it reveal today? We’re not safe in our own shoes. Death is the beginning of misery.
I kill myself from the beginning I bet. It’s a written, a written piece of paper. Now I left coins of me, shekels, splashes of time, in your jukebox. They’re horrible. It didn’t work. I could not write my name in the sky.
Just how do you do? I’m small pittens for small fare, smaller than that. I just do your head in, don’t I? Come talk to me I’m worth? And you don’t. [The sound of laughter here] You’re the wrong people. You’re not wearin’ soul shoes.
This is message for the times today. We did love. We’ve lost some trying to get it in there now. What in the hell’s a matter? It’s the go car looking for enlightenment brown. Make alright boy that’s it cut the track. Just need to think your love can speak. [sing line] Freedom caring, just need to think. Some of it has been miracles in the room. [sing line] One at a shot have a world education. [sing line] He’s called a creature of a dying world job, little until tea tomorrow. You’re getting good at it. Leadership is worship. Bake down, ask about your soul technology. Become immortal.
Before my life was over, I want to find what my life was in. I’m normally ask that, if I haven’t given up on life. Would you lay with me [sing line to tune of song of that name] all over this answer? It’s not a field of stone. It holds us all in tight keeping, but it’s not the angel in the room. This is pre-God ladies and gentlemen. Can you hacksaw that?
I’m getting deep into society’s ways. I’ve just found Spirit, the first covering of the Unknown. It’s how we have being. It’s where we come from. A great big Spirit wears everything. It fashions God. We’re getting into preexistence ladies and gentlemen, when only the Formless arise. Can you imagine nothing as its sailboat?
What’s the rule of this ship? Don’t fashion nothing. Expand into global waters. Make existence be to pronounce Itself. Spirit is the first form it wear, that makes for us souls. It’s aligned with God, but it’s not God. It’s the soul, the basic who we are.
You can touch that ship in intimate contact, feel it ride the wherewithal of your day. It can take over and rubs your belly with sweetness, and you are charged for awhile with everything’s honey. You see the soul in things.
How can you do this in a concentration camp, in the worst hell on earth? That’s the soul of the ages in bare bones reality giving you eyes to see. Overcoming physical pain is one thing. Watching cruelty mark the Earth, devour babies, and we’ve gotten down to the purpose of soul: don’t let it in, the despair.
The soul can get you out of this, even in the midst of it's bear. We are a sublime soul range, God gave us Savitri reads, and this is down on earth. We tarry there. The soul is completely out of this picture, the whole fortnight of evil takes our ship. The soul is not responsible for sin. It loads up our day with the honor we give one another for being the Itself to Itself, and we feel sweetness everywhere and principles of joy.
This can break in on us in the hell we have made of our lives, or what others have made us suffer. It can even break the dull routine of the days. It can be in ordinary and lift on you extraordinary in every mode you wear. There’s no end to the soul’s keeping. It’s the basic ground of everything. It’s goodness rides the high seas. It has so much feeling for everyone. A plant is to it existence and little dogs so lovingly looked upon. It can hold matter in its hand, and you don’t want to bruise that ship either. You’re careful with everything. You have respect for the Earth. You are never out of love, even when you see society’s nigger, the people we are allowed to hate.
I can’t fashion this for you. The soul is a mystery you know, but I can tell you how to do it, reach for soul, let it in. You grasp it all the time in bridges you wear. It’s the most common thing in life, coming upon your feelings, and you feel so alive with everything, and you want no harm done to the aliveness in front of you. You feel the pain of the Earth, the sorrow, disguised as your own or your close neighbor’s, and you grasp your loved ones to yourself and be good to them. You feel ranges of Spirit right there in your baked pie.
A moment of eternity has looked in on you, and you feel sublime with the Earth. You hold them with your children, these feelings, or your best friend’s face, and you love to pet your dog with them like you’re petting moon time. You want to protect everything don’t you? And you put down your enmity for a minute.
Can we range there, take those feelings to the sky? We can sure get along there, if we try. There’s more to soul science you know, but I’m trying to get you started on thin ice. We don’t know how to handle the world. It ruins our day, even when we’re drinkin’ with it, but we are not left out of soul. It envelopes everything, and when existence can be anything, the soul is there first a witness, then a power to bring the soul round to things, and you just have to grasp it in what I’m saying now.
Is everything okay? Is everything alright? I wear society like a sleeve, and they do not worth me in it, not even my own kin. I am left apart by everybody. Few call my name. I’m treated well by Douglas and a few others. My child cannot call my name, and though he is living I cannot see him. I live in isolation, bearing pain. I look at the specter of death. I’m in danger of society’s wrath. It sneezes on me.
Have you ever seen the sun and the mysteries of existence? I’ve pulled them out of my pocket. I’m a crash course in reality. I write this to you now in poetry that has never been seen before, and I’m a black bag. Society won’t read me. It spits my name out, never calls it. I want you to recognize this pavilion. I want my boy back and safe, and I want all of you to be safe.
How can one man’s love change the world? If it opens up the eyes of God it can. It can bring us to soul. I rabbit there and show you soul moments, a day or an hour, I can see because I wear. It’s close to enlightenment’s springs, and I refuse this honesty just as much, feeling my pain, my isolation and the loss of my boy, who tells me he’s walking in a void, in secret messages, and he’s lost on himself no light he can see.
I bear these days not as a guerrilla. I return again and again to the house of soul, what I’m lifting up for you to see in a certain light that give us release from pain, and I love you there, even though you give me the cold shoulder, again.
Rushing through a path of ambulance, I participate. I don’t promote my own story. I hand it to you because it’s how I found out things. I’d rather not tell it as honestly as I do. This does not do me good. It gets me ignored, not a poet in good standing, and no one will promote my work, except a fellow poet in Israel I can count on to call my name.
Just at the home of mankind, I’ll have the day at some point, and I’m in your picture of what everything means. For now I want to pass ships. I’m on a mission to get past my own boat. Come get me please. You’ll like what you see.
photo by Lydia, Dylan’s mother, ban image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay
I tried to find people of substance to testify with me. I just heard my bottom line turn not which but for my soul. “Yeah I’ll be right there.” He was to make “me, I don’t care.” He is at this stage the little boy. He’ll bring him in in another place, and that boy cares about his room. It’s been set up for baby. Ohhhhhh, as in that’s an amazing fieldwork with the little in the house. God cares. He snuck in the lunch. Yes that was weird: a sudden host of angels lined the room.
Angels, when you are in a film, they see what you’re doin’. I’m happy about that. I’m not wrapped in golden chains. I love the highway. I love the freeway. I’m not mindin’ my own business. I do a lot of lookin’ in the inner chambers of people, all who’s connected with my room as they star in their own show— breakin’ bread together, and it’s just the outfield in my room. I put on my clothes.
Now I’m a witness of tomorrow, and I don’t think you’ve seen that yet. Look with Dylan. He’s about to turn two. I spend the day with him a time or two a week, really in soft with his mother how to do that. You walk on tippy toes around that kid. You let him lead. You follow, and you just see him all together soon. You focus, concentrate, on that kid, right where he’s developin’, and the voice come out “I am so glad you’re seeing me.”
You give him everything he wants that doesn’t hurt him or make him mean. You know you have to balance this with society’s rules. It’s what we make them for: we need a functioning society. Now what happens when he’s off base, a naked kid in a mud hole? Clean dirt don’t mind, well water, and there are no snakes and spiders around, biting insects. You let him enjoy himself, makin’ mud pies, smearin’ mud all over himself, splashin’ and a splashin’ and a splashin’.
The Rottweiler near him smiles. She understands mud. I am making sure he has the freedom to do it. Money from Heaven, I love to see him play. It’s a stadium room. We are bound by so many witnesses. I can feel them in my sleeves. I wanna get at the new creation, and I see with children we do that. I study them, hopin’ to find tomorrow. I am bound and limited in my time, and someone else owns that kid. I can only do so much.
I gave Nithish a brand new room, for a day, a kid now 13 I lost last year. It all crumbled. The new creation fell apart. He was reamed viciously by his parents, until he lost all his Heaven. They punished him for his spirituality, and he lost all sense of it. He’s told me he has no feelings now and would like to kill people if he could. That’s very far from grace, and I accuse God about it all the time, the Mother and Sri Aurobindo.
What we did cannot be repeated in a laboratory. It’s too much where we put spiritual influence. Laboratory conditions can’t copy that. Because I’m not there, on the ground, the kid is just in a black straight jacket, and I can’t get near ‘im. I can’t get this across to anyone. There is no need of me they see. I’m a foreigner in India, and that’s all they see. This is a racial country I just sit and bleed. Even if someone would turn him towards me, I’m a police major. Write it down hey I like kids, and I’ve stepped on their shoes in the past, and now I know what they need?
It’s a honey table, and the most skeptical person would find me right with kids if they followed me around with one. I know what I’m doin’. But I would not like the interference to tell you the truth, and we wouldn’t be focused on child development. It would be watching me. How do I show you this honey dog? You can’t blame me for tryin’. I want my boy back so he can grow up as tall as his destiny calls for, and I want Dylan to be assured I’m there, and no one will take me away. These are troubled times.
So we play eggs, these hot air balloons I sudden you with so’s you can see I’m not red in my room. It’s a feelin’ test. I’m givin’ you the means to look in there wide open feelin’. A seer would see a honey perch, laughter and commodity for the child. I arm there. It’s not a black bag.
Now what’s the commodity in my room? It’s soul change. I’m learnin’ the soul take over, and that’s the honey for the child I want them in contact with so with their souls they stay in touch; they don’t lose that sweet easiness that makes them joys at life, and that’s our leadership with children, the soul ever takes presence. Can you find that?
It’s too abstract to you, or most of you, or it’s some made-up notion we force in life’s cupboard. It’s the contact with life at its most basic. It’s what we deal with as children that never forgets childhood, and we love bein’ a child. It’s what we lose when we grow up that we call innocence and candor and silliness and so on. We lose that touch with our souls, the sweetness that can forgive everyone, even if they’ve just whipped your butt. You remember that?
I’m all about it, and I meet the souls of children with my own. Funny how you do that. You just be kind with them and ever present, as the big dog sittin’ there that just wants them safe. That’s what you do with children, open up their hearts with love and make them feel safe and special.
Dylan doesn’t respond yet to anyone to get out of his own mood, but he comes when I call, and that’s what we spent the day doin’. Self-Absorption do you see that dog sittin’ there? Luna baby loves you. And Self-Absorption looks up at me in play and gives me a smile full of eye contact, grinnin’ from ear to ear, and it lights up the sun and gives me the joy of the world. And he comes and takes my hand and leads me to what he wants to do, and he’s developin’ friendship and social contact. We have fun together.
Listen, you can’t fool an angel. What’s on with you when a child is under your care, when you play with kittens?
Where autism rides, nobody believes in it, and the vehicles crash. Madness in America gave us this lay: autism comes from television and screen time. I laugh at every little thing. [sing line] This is the public mind. Where do we go with it? We can’t take it anywhere in the fundamentals of ourselves where we’ve encountered the unknown.
I’m dancin’ on thin ice. I think this is the public construction of our ego today, or whatever you call that we are now, how it’s made, where it comes from. Everybody’s ignorant here. Nobody knows what’s goin’ on, and nobody cares. Too many other concerns crowd the show.
How do I introduce you to you? Let’s take your dream last night the closer you are from waking up, when you’re patterning on dreamless sleep. You’ve gotten down that far. This is really weird. The forms bite you. They do not contain waking life in anything recognizable except maybe a sandwich you’re a part of, that you’re being eaten by. They are larger than machine. They swallow you whole. You were merged with that odd substance, weren’t you? The separate self was hanging in thin air. You didn’t recognize it yet. You were the forms you saw, and you are all mixed up. You couldn’t tell yourself, but you were there.
Have you ever woken up from this merged dream content? It’s oddly familiar. You feel basic with it, like you’re on a slab of reality you’ve know before, when you first woke up from sleep, somewhere in womb-time, but I think after we’re born the show begins, when we hold the world tight indistinguishable from it. We are merged in our identity with all around us, but the body localizes us in our surroundings, and we are so bodily there. Mommy and springtime, that’s the season we wear. Her face, her touch, her smell, we know those are safety measures, and we don’t know much else. It depends upon the daddy. Some are right there, and it doesn’t have to be a parent. I can’t give you the lists without breakin’ ‘em up. We’ve got to talk about the thing.
I think slowly we wake to the blows of life, its insistence on its kin, and we separate ourselves from our environment slowly, little by little. You can see this happenin’ if your look’s engaged. That sense of separate self is precious a wee one becomes a person in. Are you three when you’ve balanced life and can give a wink to other people here I am, here I am, how do you do? [sing line, popular nursery rhyme]
I’ve just studied your rabbit. You think you’re localized in space a separate consciousness in time. No, that’s learned. Now put all this in a TV show, some stupid video, and you see what you got. I can’t distinguish myself from time and space to begin with. Now add another layer, the absurd, the inane, the chocolate freeze cake, and some children don’t make the match. They can’t distinguish themselves in time, and spectrum autism makes them their relationship with the world.
One in 36 is it? Anyway it’s huge. I can babysit a two-year-old, and I don’t have consciousness breathin’ down my neck. I make contact with the kid casually. I understand his price. I see him there pullin’ himself out of the world, tryin’ to make himself work in it. I dream about him, have him in vision. We have open lines of communication, and I don’t wanna mess it up, that delicate balance he has with the world as he’s findin’ himself in it.
No extra touches when I wash his penis, no emotions in my hand, and I’m careful with that anus. (I have no sexual desire for the child.) I think these are where he is localized now as the body reaches the sky, right there at the birth of thought. No they are not the majors in the room that determine his life. There’s just so much feeling there, and feeling’s what it’s all about when you’re two.
I’m crowdin’ in on your crash course in reality. I’m tellin’ yah how it’s made, our sexual preference, our sexual alliance with the world. We can become gay or straight, pedophile or necrophiliac, and the list goes on, and we can this and that or just someone who harass women, touch them somewhere they don’t know where it’s at, respect, and if you wanna rapist touch them more momma. An old movie, don’t worry; I’m taking it to see daylight. It won’t take long.
We need good parental hands with everybody who handles them, our genitals. The equations will reach the sky with anybody who touches them, or squeezes them against ourself in diaper rub. Add some kissin’ on top of that, real romantic feelings with some male role model, and if you’re boy you’re gay. Watch and see. I just let the cat out of the bag. Can you see it?
Autism spectrum disorder, it’s not the only thing that comes out of our threes. Every touch counts. Every moment’s involved with us. A screaming parent, two fighting parents, and that’s joined in our identity don’t you see? You got it all wrong. Those years count the most, and they’re the hardest to bear, aren’t they? Hit that child and see you’ve got a child there the world has slapped by, and they’ve been betrayed by everybody. Can’t you see it on their face? Don’t you know it’s in their pain?
I love you Dylan. I really do. Anyway, there, I’ve done it, showed you reality. Can you get my dig? Cryin’ all the time, [sing line, from the song “Hound Dog”] no. We wipe their tears with our love, always addin’ to the world their place in it, and the roles are clear, and that’s heavy, ain’t it?
I can bring understanding to many roles in your life and to horrible times. I can do that. When you even begin to walk, we’re gettin’ some stuff done. We’re gettin’ some stuff done put well on you. Like what can you do if nobody wants to be well? Kid you know travel love, and make that the aim of life the immediacy of this moment.
May all your memories and all your steps, may they be easy. Okay, I’ve tuned you to the ages. That explains it, what went wrong. Daddy, daddy! [vision of Dylan standing and turning to look at me and saying this] Come there even for your own purpose. You know as well as I know the movies, trauma is almost illegal I’m carrying to bring Dylan through this touch and screen of madness, someone experiencing the world his play bubba, his romance, his mastery, and we all look for spiritual change, don’t we? Evolution, it’s what’s you do with a kid. It be like huggin’ sha-la-la, la-la, la-la, la-la, la-la tee-da [sing line, song “Brown Eyed Girl”] and never gettin’ caught in it. You’re free. Why would you want to take a child anywhere else?
Real life forum for the discussion of school peace, a brick, that brick has something to do with you. We don’t wanna do it, continue, and we face certain destruction. Death is ever on our knee, and the world fail is in the picture now. A sudden storm could kill us. We are never safe, and we just explode all the time, come to hope and then crash, come to bay and then sink.
If you are left out of this loop, eventually your cross will come. We are not safe from crisis, and we are manipulated to star’s end over the avoidance of such. Some have good fingers, some no. Just look out for what’s right. You have it all the time, in some speaker in your room.
The avoidance of death is not possible, but we can make peace with our time that comes. We can ground ourselves in reality, and we can even see what’s ahead, and if there’s disaster ahead, well this is the crux of the matter ain’t it? We don’t want the suffering to kill us. We have to find a solution, or chaos reigns.
And what of prolonged disaster? I have been rejected by society like men on death row, and there is no way to climb out of this hole. It’s pleasant enough. I live in a bright home, and no one will see me there. I’m not value to anyone except whom I can count on one hand. This is deliberate and mean. It’s not the normal social isolation. So shoot me for it and let’s move on.
I’ve measured humanity in my bare hands. I have been to the top and the bottom of this old world. I commune with spirits and the impossible. I have seen things you don’t want to see, and I’m not talkin’ murder and mayhem. I’m talking about the fresh expression of the universe ploughin’ us down to make its see, how the Gods sit in their homes and use us as dice in their gambles on the world, and we get crushed, and how God watches too big to help. We are at a certain level of universe that pay the price. We sit on Heaven’s back the sustenance it needs to survive.
I have found a way out of this. I have found the truth of who we are, and it’s a slow movement’s crawl to the goal, when this is time on earth. I’m not filling you with hope I’m filling you with seeing. We are bigger than all that. We are outfielders from another universe that encompasses this one. We abide there now on our tops.
I’m speaking from there in the knowledge I give. It’s clear and certain knowledge, and it will open up the whole world to you one step at a time. It will mitigate disaster, break in on it and help you rise above it. It will sit with you at night and hold your hand. We are a dream weaver’s store lost in our dream, and it’s a collective dream that we share together, and we will wake up together when the time comes. That’s the certainty of dream.
Now can I honest myself here? I’m a pauper when it comes to Earth’s stuff, but I’m rich in meaning’s worth. I’m a brink in the wall that is us, but you can take me out and see time, remove me and see beyond the universe. I crumble in my own hands, and even in my tears, if I cannot feel the joy on my tops, I know it’s there.
I have given formulas for world change, and they go by unnoticed. I have laid practicality at philosophy’s door, given psychology wings, and taken the big questions and answered them right in front of your nose, and the mind meets understanding, and I’m just this existence worth that has no place among you. You think so?
I’m gonna dictate mission impossible. With all due respects, can we land society here, I’m conducting a sense of sacrifice where I meet the world? I’m writing this with a déjà vu. Even if you have not had your lives torn asunder, do not find yourself in hell on earth, or smell that awful stench near, can you make ends meet, support yourself and your family and not have to struggle all the time?
I’m talking to the great majority of mankind. Oh my God, poor people gonna rise up, get their share. [sing this and above line, tune “Talkin’ Bout a Revolution”] Can I sing to you another song? It’s the only way to be human on this planet, whatever your religion or creed or nationality. We temper our hearts with a sense of sacrifice. I’m talkin’ to the captains of business and all who make a profit sting.
You can tax the rich all day, and you haven’t met them in their homes, where they need to see their lives are propped up on so much suffering. Cynical people don’t need me I know, and people that run over other people to make them pay are not interested in changin’, but do we have to back them up in society and pretend it’s not happening, the great rape of mankind?
Yep there is. It’s everywhere apparent, and politicians take off our shoes and show us other stuff. Can any responsible journalist hear me, concerned teacher in school, professor? Preacher from your pulpit look at this, temple master. Can we talk about sacrifice in business as a way to heal humanity, / discuss this every day where politicians get our vote, where the rich see TV and governments listen?
Why is world fail? No matter who you blame it on it always comes down to this: somebody’s getting rich at the expense of others, at the expense of the environment, at the expense of us. It’s not a hole in one each time, and there are other factors, but tell me this one has no bearing on today’s world. Tell me it’s a trivial matter. Why aren’t we talking about it where we rise up and make social change?
I’ve put this in your hands right alongside the transcendent, how we get by in this place. I’ve put it right alongside social justice, without mentioning punishment or the price of beer, I mean sex roles and how you spend them. I’m givin’ yah things to talk about in a voice that matters. I’m showin’ you what’s up. Thank God I’m lost on social media. Just think if word got out. Mainstream do you hear me? I’m lettin’ the cows out. I’m lettin’ the rich hear me. I’m taking social justice by the wings.
What is the formula for world change? C-o-m-e t-o t-h-e t-y-p-e r-o-o-m. Your typewriter to write it. Eternity is a crossing reference for the that’s how the book of love. [sing line from the word that’s] So much more beyond our horizons. I’ve been up there you know, on our tops, and I’ve failed you. I just kept goin’ in an old movie and racked up my isolation today, again and again. Bless you I’m sorry.
Sacrifice is the only way to meet these things: you have to have it, and it hurts other people. Nothin’ you could do but give that up: boy I hurt you. This lasts a long time, where you find others lookin’ at yah funny and suspicious of your every move. You will not be rewarded for sacrifice.
Get that through your thick head if you’re making a profit on people’s pain. Turn philanthropist I’m sorry, and you’re givin’ till it hurts because you love them so, well that’s tough idn’t it, no one believes you. You’re still around money.
But you’ve come a long ways, and you’re not doin’ this for the praise of the crowd. That’s hypocrisy. You sacrifice your Wall Street for love. I can’t tell you how to do that, fall in love with everybody, and with some people it will never work, but you at least learn to identify with them. It does start with empathy, and then it goes through spiritual change. You see the oneness danglin’ everywhere, and you want to make it right with all there is. I guess that’s the stoppin’ point for this poem: let’s begin that shall we?
All since childhood I went busy with it, the message I’m supposed to give of another. It makes for short poetry. Where are my feelings for me? It’s been the subject of my lifetime. Self-centered rides there, but so does a vantage point to study life, the name of existence on my lips. I can only see me as the protagonist of this drama, only imagining what it’s like to be another. That’s not self-centered fact.
I live here: watching the world go by the center of myself. You do too, and I’ve found this out myself: our integers are the same. What makes a person a person fills both our bottles and crashes them at the same time.
The social hierarchy will not let me poet to you the discovery we are the One. I cannot wear a poet label because I have not yet been given it by the crowd, and I bleed to tell you things.
I’ve been all over this place, climbed the mountaintop, sojourned in hell. I have been on broad rivers of mankind, and I have suffocated in stinking swamps. I have entered duality to wear them both till kingdom come, and then I get saved by the bell. Reach inside me and see I’m writing the papers of existence, and I help existence be.
I’m fighting for my room. You cannot harbor the truth, the truth of anything in its bare-bones reality. They will get you for it, the powers that be. Reality is being fed to us on a silver platter with cyanide, and we all believe the lies.
I’m easy to take down. I’m the most hated scapegoat of the day, but that opens up truth in a man, having to face himself to society’s mirror, and you are sincere to the test. It can open up worlds of seeing. It can make you love humanity when your self-love has joined the same.
We stand on great big tests today that eat our lunch. Never a lie’s been told, the dinjins will tell you and mothers and fathers all over this land and governments and snake pit operators. Oh my little child you are safe in how we rule things. You must dog eat dog and get out there and compete for bread. It’s greatness of your kind. The devil dance on a great mankind, and we will go to war to prove it.
Now let me tell you somethin’. It’s all subterfuge. We are avoidin’ what makes Tommy safe, Wendy grand. We have to flower in our room to humanity my dear, find the Self in everyone, and let that be our guiding light to discovering God lookin’ at the world through our eyes in the fullness of his vision here on earth. I just told you the truth, what’s happenin’ in the evolution of time on earth, in the world play we’re all a part of. That’s the secret that all existence hides. Can’t you see it yet?
Harm's End 