80’s little horror war, what threw away? The administration of Auroville. It was surrendered to the government without even a care, and we lost our autonomy that way, at the toss of a dice, and the government rolled in.
Are you countin’ India to allow human unity to take over? What was the village thinkin’ in removin’ The Sri Aurobindo Society from the scene? Can we grasp Sri Aurobindo? The Society doesn’t, and it will block you to this day if you disagree with them. What was the Mother thinkin’ givin’ the township to this obviously irreverent crowd to love and compassion on earth and human unity.
Stupid me, stupid you, we excuse her for it, but this is the mistake that baked the day and ruined Auroville. Can anybody look at this? If ever a mistake was made here was one, and now we’re supposed to take her every word as gospel, as if she made no mistakes?
Where has she been all these years watchin’ it fall apart? Is she comin’? Yoga relies on inner seeing, if it’s got the content of its worth. I’m not talking about intuition, your intuition says this, your intuition says that, in a gut feeling, no matter how you describe it as the opening of the day.
Inner seeing’s a gut worth’s no. It’s concrete formulas laid out in time, spoken word, revealing vision, or the dream maker putting together the house for you so you can see it. That tells you where it’s at. When I entered the yoga I picked up the Mother right away in dream and vision, her signal loud and clear. That was in Auroville the first time.
She was not proclaimin’ to me her gospel, her avatarhood. She was puttin’ sadhana together for me it’s a sunny day. What made it so difficult, I just knew hell had entered my birth and would not let me go. What difference she made when she came on board. You couldn’t tell it from the outside for so long I’m ashamed to say. Look at that to Auroville. Can you gauge her time?
I’ll tell yah the Indian government can’t. Nor can it see spiritual vision or uses it to make decisions, spiritual vision as in seership, not a quote you pull out to prove your point. We are left with the Indian government in charge of Auroville, refueling the Mother’s words with their agenda, purposefully pulling her out of the picture by putting her in it the mouthpiece they wore.
You can see it happening. You just think the Mother’s responsible for it, but she did not ordain this, nor the government taking over when the Auroville Act was signed. How do I know this? I’m an inner seer, and we always live on the outcasts of time. Way out there, we question everything is this the divine?
I sit on your bench, okay? I’m a hologram holocaust survivor, and I can say my own name. I love the Mother because she saved my life and protected me all these years. I know the strength of her word, her teachings. They have held my hand for so long, but what she taught me you can’t find in a book, not even hers. Deities make mistakes, and avatars ruin, and in order to change ourselves we must see that to understand what we’re up against.
The whole paradox of creation comes down upon our head when the actual change comes about, to keep it from coming about, and you can hightail it and run back to Houston, or you can bear the impossible. A stallion of waves stampede, and you’re just everybody, and no wave can block your tide. My deep thought Auroville, can yah folla me here?
Spoken word poetry, till I get it, I leave it alone. Wow, it’s left alone. In case of good poetry break this glass. I just sit here and discover, letting the word explain itself in the giving of lines and in the hurtin’ of the world.
If I show you the pain will you stop it? Will you even know it’s there where you feel your pain? Oh no another Holocaust movie all about bein’ numb. I can’t give you this star-glow to ride the world on its tongue feelin’ people. I’m not a robot I’m free, but the price of my freedom is your pain, your wellbeing I feel like my own.
It’s shoots me all the time, or it gives me stars. I’m there with you in the delivery room of another bucket of world today, huh?
I see through all these sleeves of world maker’s art, a world upon world in the moments with mine, a conglomerate of worlds of this group of people and that, of this person alone, of all the mini worlds that make up this world that we call Earth. Can you see that simultaneously with your own? I taste you there. I know you’re there.
How do I communicate this to you so you feel it too like you have your children’s hands in your own, like your best friend’s smile, like your mother’s love? I don’t die there, but I question God all the time and Sri Aurobindo.
These are terrible times, and they get ready for tomorrow terrible too, with a past just as terrible starin’ us in the face. Let the good times roll, and my God they do. How sweet life can be in its gathered moments, how manageable, but why does it always add up to this: life is not a bundle of joy; life gets us in corners and does bad things to us. Can you understand that?
Why does the world go on like nothin’s happenin’, like it’s free and easy and clean, so standardized? They scream on the news bad news to an audience of normal, of tie your shoe, of everything’s alright here, ain’t it? Not in every bubble. So much quiet desperation it has been said.
Do you know the rovin’ hellhole? Somewhere on Earth at any given time they’re eating each other alive. It’s the worst place on the planet for a moment. Hell swallows them whole, unbelievable cruelty, and nothin’ to redeem them. Goddamn that stinks.
Alight I’m blessed. I live in a little pocket of warmth and forgiveness. I have opened the doors to humanity in the stadium of my room. I ride there all day figurin’ you out. I take great thoughts to the skies, but I must remember I’m a low man on the totem pole in your eyes. I do nothin’ here that grants you my room, that shows what I’m doin’ larger than life.
A poet of world standing I am not. I’m a poet among many thousands in the availability of today, and no poetry comes along and wallops your head or smites your heart from my pen. I just spit in the breeze. That’s the trash dumpster, and here let me give it another poem. I put my dogs to sleep, and I wish you goodnight.
All united and happy they think. Come here Luna. Get your head… [vision of Luna Rottweiler putting her head in a hole in the ground] One doggy at a time. Oh fuck I’m on Candid Camera. He’s just gonna go for it. Well then the surprises and bad secrets, heart is ruined on the same thing: waging war on the Fourth of July. What’s the significance of your dog growing? Into a likeness of you. What I didn’t have: put every slept of it complete. My God, they should be spilled.
What is it this time? Dr. Milk Powder— I haven’t called you; I’ve had enough, is that the plan? You know he’s lost his boy. They’re travel uneasiness way to stutter. Don’t you see? Alongside with it it’s real. You know his boy’s called not in awhile. Suffer this, and it just last of people’s hittin’.
Do you like people? Is this fruit juice? Why is it we always hate somebody, run there all the time? You really enjoy this life don’t you? It seems all fair winds. Need to pull her pregnant with the grenade. It will get you every time. Just look around the world. Just look at your neighbor.
Do you know how we get along? Do you know how we get through this? We don’t be monsters to each other. We don’t be mean. We try to be kind and giving in our painful moments. This is overcoming the world and getting better at yourself. It’s a love angle, and we need more love. That house definitely, where you put your hat off, where you sit around. Love those people, the people you’re life-in’ with. You don’t know how much this counts.
It’s all an effort I know. We have to overcome ourselves to do it sometimes, but we have to give this baseball to all the standin’s in the world, so we can have a world that works. Is that so hard to believe?
You know the world is full of holes. Even the divine is negligent and will crush you to make the world, will just stand by and watch. These are not pleasant times, but we have to endure them, tryin’ to find joy inside, tryin’ to give our children a good time.
What else is there? Spirituality’s a pole we lean on. There are surprises in consciousness if we let them. There’s a world maker’s art you can see. These are deep down inside, past the underwear, past all that gets in the way. There is strong inside, even after you’re shattered.
This world’s a dream maker’s art, so much more than show, but this is a common dream we are having that the significance of dream shows. We’re living out a representation telling a story, and all our lives add to that One involved, and all our lives keep going. We’re where time loops around itself a great big mechanism of being that has definite boundaries that we can cross and get out of here after the whole has been complete. We’re goin’ somewhere together, and yes some escape before time, but they’ll end up on another world soon.
This great big ship has a destination you know, something worth time, something bigger than ourselves and is ourselves at the same time. I’ve gone out of the universe you see and been myself on high.
Stupid me, I describe experience like you’ll believe it, but you can kill me and it’ll still be there. It can’t be erased from time. I’m a nobody because of it, liftin’ up my room for you to see. It’s got crosses on it and monkey bars, because I’m just like you, but I’ve been given a breath of supernal air, and I need to tell you about it. It’s affected my vision. I see the world.
I’m just like everybody, but I don’t live like you inside. I live with you and inner vision. I get rocked by joys that fill my noon the outside world doesn’t bring me. I feel oceans of sadness I’m not in the world about. I feel existence pain, and when I walk outside, drive my bike through the town, the countryside, it’s a wonder-weft of miracle, and I feel every person I come across. I see the One inside, and all the many representations surround me. I can’t get over it.
Now I’m here with another poem. Let it ride the day if you read it, because it puts us together if you escape, because it’s here we learn to live again after your world has been taken away. Can you see me now? Can you hear?
A video-photo-poem, my own design, on its material level this is a promotional video for the Auroville Dog Shelter in Auroville, India. It’s the aim of this video art to take that material into the spiritual realms and beyond. To send donations to the shelter, go to this link: http://www.aurovilledogshelter.com/
Is by human nature human nature changed? Let’s defeat our purpose. Let’s go around the Mulberry pole again. Let’s just not listen to our teachers. I will by human nature outcast this person, in the middle of a human unity project, where the Integral Yoga was set down on Earth, and I will do this willfully and strongly, not caring for the consequences.
This is how it’s done, if you want to protect the group from someone. You don’t give them also divine eyes, and you give them no public venue, and by that I mean you keep their voice unheard, and you ghost them forever and ever without end in your little social bubble. It’s high time we changed that, in such a powerful place as ours that holds such meaning for the Earth. Are you with me? I think not.
The opposite poles of human unity, that’s the whole way to rape the system, when we keep them apart. I’m a whirlwind of the proper material. Don’t you confuse me with panic. I have my rocking chair, my golden years.
I am the toilet that speaks one more time. I just want you to consider your own goodness. Why would you castigate me? Because God’s the author of punishment, and God’s called you to punish me? Sri Aurobindo gave this commandment: thou shalt punish the wayward sadhak? The Mother despised sin and dealt out punishments to people? The Integral Yoga hates sin? The One cannot stomach me?
Let’s look at your business. You don’t know who you are. You are not the sadhak with the name you call. You are not the Aurovillian you sign your name as. You are a person beyond time. You can’t get this right. You think it’s some far away, and you are supposed to act in human terms. The Zeitgeist says it; you carry it out.
There were times and there are places I would not be the ass among you. Your morality is relative to the times. You can’t see straight when you face a sinner your town and country hates. This is rock bottom being human. You see it unleashed on the globe, this breach of oneness. We are killing each other over it.
Oh Islamic State was a model for our eyes. They thought they were justified in bringing the hell they did to punish people, or the Nazi and the Jew. The scapegoat they made was another attempt at Nature running something into the ground in her symbol wrought her blind actions speak. The availability of the Jew as the scapegoat came to show us we wear scapegoating shoes as the modus operandi of ego-led society.
You don’t have a field for this: where we take our scapegoats and make them human again. You just hate and justify your hatred by the human mass. You are not godly citizens. You burn witches.
You have been given a vehicle of thought unparalleled in the history of thought to arouse your stomach, to change your heart, to detach from this human clay the pettiness of human life, the vile emotions we feel for one another and see beyond the play, and bring yourself out of this turmoil and into the light of day. You quote these fields all the time. The Mother said this. Sri Aurobindo wrote that.
The Integral Yoga can heal anything. I have been among you 20 years showing that, but you cannot see it. You don’t want to. You will not apply the lessons you’ve learned Integral Yoga. You will just deny, hate, and castigate, and as a group you do this. What do I do to bring you to peace over this person named Donny Duke?
I offer you my home for a station of tea, and you won’t even answer me, stubbornly justified in your ill will by human morality that has no part God. I am the reason for Auroville’s fall, and I graft upon it the deception of a poet that hides his sins with godly words, wants to commit them among you if you but let ‘im, deceiving the elect with holy lore. You don’t know the price of sin. You don’t get away with it, even if no one finds your ruse. Say you’re a sadhak close to God. You have no way to hide, and you learn to do what you’re told to get out of your mess.
It does not take forever. Low and behold I have sinned and healed that sin and given the beauty of art to give you examples of healing’s ways, and now it’s reached astounding. You will not sit up and take notice. You will not even let it in your groups. No one can read it. No one can see it. You hate art the scapegoat of the day makes, the one hated among you by an agreement of the times.
Ladies and gentlemen, will you castigate me for all eternity, name my sins and how ugly they were, without ever seeing the unexpected good that can come from woeful deeds, without ever admitting that God has a plan even for one such as me? This is stubborn willfulness out of the hour of God, away from the lessons of truth. Who is the greatest sinner? I forgive you of your self-righteousness. I understand your state. I don’t blame you for being human, but we can’t stay in this state. We are called to greater life, and we have to go together or none. The people that refuse, God just takes more time with them. Are you one of those?
This poem was recently rejected by Collaboration, A Journal of the Integral Yoga, whom I have submitted numerous poems to over the years, hands down the publication I’ve submitted to most, because it is a publication of our yoga, it’s name claims inclusiveness, and it’s by fellow Americans, but they have not published a single poem. I have this theory, and I submitted this poem to prove it to myself at least, that they will never publish a poem I submit, regardless of the quality and truth of the poem. This poem explains why.
In other news, the admin of the Facebook group Friends of Auroville approved it, although the other Auroville Facebook groups I submitted it to didn’t, and it was submitted to Auroville Today and Auroville News, and Auroville Today at least replied rejecting it. Auroville News did not reply this time, and they too I’ve sent poems to over the years.
This photo-poem was posted to Twitter/X February 11, 2024. In vision it came to post it here. All photos by the author except photo one, which is by Douglas
I’m a bleeding article from your last test, a hyper-hypotenuse. I say the line. It’s a dynamic field. We don’t get there soon. We don’t even see it for awhile. I hate to be the seeding can. I’m not celebrated in the streets. I can’t get my name across to change the world, but I tell you where God’s made, Mr. and Mrs. People.
God grows distant here. I am so tired of institutions. The institutions of marriage and family break our social fabric in adhesive bonds. We can’t get away from them. They test our social fabric with what can’t be named, a guttural possessiveness that puts us all in hordes. We tarry there eating each other alive. It’s needed for our ship, a family of parents that brings kids into the world. It’s not what we need to survive. It’s what we need to get rid of as the managing arm of society, as our social fabric dies.
We can’t raise kids that way: listen to me or die. My life you have made whole by your coming, and I will rub your nose in it all life long. You can’t be free from me where you go against my purpose for your life, my need you for my own ends. Society balks at this: give that child freedom to manage freedom. Why must he live his parents’ life? Why must she be the daughter of their destiny?
Why do we have to do this all the time: uphold the parents’ rights to determine the will of their child? Can you count this in terms of freedom? Step back parent and let your child play outside no rulers present, no supervisor gag models. Alarming this is on humanity’s plate: Big Brother rules the child just in everyday parenting.
The fear of outside unsupervised doors, sex resides there, doesn’t it? Your fear of sex rules the show. Your fear of sex rules everything. They get scared of their own front teeth we put sex trafficking models on them, a child molester behind every bush. They don’t know what it means to be normal with the fear the news media raises. Add that to their own possessive accounts, the parent that raise them, to guard that child at all costs from perceiving another parent in someone else, and you just explode at the seams with a child that can’t reckon itself, and they will grow up unable to handle society.
A new institution will make the new man. A small group of people family size will orchestrate the new human being. They still visit their families every damn week, maintain those close ties, but any kid that can relate a dream, old enough to, becomes part of a dream group their dream calls them to. This is a sadhana watch ladies and gentlemen, and a handful of people call its name. They are near the child’s home forming all the time.
It’s what society does now, spiritual growth. No clogs in the machine, children will grow up to change the world. A spiritualized society comes about from its own accord. It rises from the soul in things, and we almost see glimpses of it now. No government can put this in place, nobody that makes steps the criteria to get there, and no organization makin’ people do it.
I’m a sadhana watch ladies and gentlemen speaking its piece, and we’ve lost our youngest member to parental overreach, Nithish, a prototype of the new human being. His stuff is on the web for you to watch. His tale is told in these crawl spaces of his life. Jealous of the songs he was makin’, jealous of the music, his parents made a big mistake. They tried to take out his soul in great abusive waves that tore down his life. No reason for this except jealousy.
It’s heartrending. Their cruelty destroyed him, and he was left a nervous wreck scared they would smother him in his sleep. In such an environment he turned off the new human being. Betrayed by God, whom he adored, he stood helpless facing time a growing rage against the machine. Parental rights determined all, why I’m fighting for his life. You hear me now, don’t you?
I can’t do it anymore, just stand by and write poems. I’m a half today. The other half is his, and we make a whole of action. Finally, inevitably, we come together on freedom. Hear us Lord? It’s Your horse we ride the day we certainly dare, the day we certainly keep.
What is the reality of love? Also whisper. Facebook items, the key story homes. Nothing else taps it. I go through generations. Hear what was going on, my falsehood— I will stop him from going into silent night, silent ground.
But the graces of life protect me, and I look over it. I’m a field study. I’m an alpha nigger, higher than perfume. I get into cars, laptops and computers, and go the distance. I recharge my phone with the very ground of being.
I am so low I see high. Humility has me by the balls. I come upon sudden mastery. I’m not about to endanger your skies, and I have the formula for world change. We can’t brag about it. It’s hard on all of us. I just sit here and die in my tin can, and then all of a sudden I’m walkin’ the moon to its orbit. I have the sun in my eyes, and I don’t blink.
I know the power of the world. I am sure God’s there. I see Him on His rounds. I am commensurate with that on the top of myself at dawn. Nowhere in my being reaches that but there. It’s a knowledge I breathe that I can’t get out of, and I’m a little man doing little things as the day wears on. I don’t pride there.
I’m never alone. My inside is full of deity. You better be careful. I’m on the standin’ line of deity watchin’ the world, because I know They’re there. We need to open up and see this in each other. We are both stations of God, you and me reader. I die there sometimes the knowledge is so heavy, immense. I just stand and take it and come back to joy before long.
I know the knowledge that made the worlds, and it tears me apart, because the power does not come to me to change one single goddamn mind, to reach out and be seen, heard, to bring my child out of trouble, to even know the wind of the day. I am a barrel of monkeys to what it takes to perk up the world, and I have seen the world from God’s eyes, in a station beyond the universe right here intimate with man, a few glory-filled seconds, long enough to know the origin of all my lives, long enough to know that I am He, long enough to look up and see more.
You would not know what I’m talking about. It’s bigger than size and measure. It’s what the worlds was made. I can’t get away from that vision now. Oh how we but little grasp our day, little doings we try to put in big pots, but I know the pot you see. Can I study you the stars? They are wonderful in magic, are the Heavens we adore, but they do not bring us to God, and it’s God on Earth wore.
Can I tell you about history? Knock, knock, God is entering every room on the planet to happen here. This is inevitability rides the sun, and the years are carrying us there, one by one, evolution’s minutes wrote. Are you startled to see this? This is not a junk call. This is the hypotenuse of time, and high and lonely seers, we grasp this with our hands and spill the beans to you.
Are you sure you’re puttin’ me on hold? I have more to tell. I’m gettin’ down to bare bones now. I’m showing you creation’s ways, and I can see the world arise right in front of me. Awesome, ain’t it?
What do we do with it? We put it in its place. We don’t let it get away from us. We know that every day can work out the formula of impossibility and solve it. I’m referrin’ to us, where we love each other and why, and how do we make that love true? It’s the danger of the years, love’s high gamble in the face of certain death. We lose each other you see, and that just kills us. We hold our loved ones we hold death. How’s that for a keeper?
What brings the salvation before we cross that gap between love and death? A spiritual consciousness that’s bigger than us, and I’m sorry there’s no other remedy. Love hurts. Enlightenment’s wings unheed pain, and we do not suffer the pain of loss.
I’m there you see, in loss looking at the spiritual consciousness. I’ve put it on a time or two, short flashes that tell me know it’s there. It’s surety that rings it, sooner or later.
Now laugh at me, slap me, ignore me; I’m on ground-field Earth liftin’ up the sky. Shoot me; I’m a real thing, a genuine who done it, made the grass match the stars. Roll the planet down, and I’ll ride it like a speaker. Yah hear me kids?
This is what’s going on, and God opens His eyes. Tryin’ to interview Pitch Thought about his character, you gotta draw the line somewhere. Ode to the line, a good friend to you, I think your security blanket, and I’m a top down answer.
I had a momentary experience. It’s all written. I had a visionary experience of every local thing on Earth realizin’ dream to catch up with God, and you had just told me look bread. Oh, I didn’t realize it was me. Anyway, look bread.
Jacob Wrestling with the Angel by Leon Bonnat (public domain)
You’re on live. You’re still switchbacks. Let’s see if I can find ‘im, wife beater. High on our side, you’re the premium. You prove the words. Put you in the dustbin. Where you think you are buddy? This is Afghanistan?
I’m gonna be sayin’ I’m really glad you’re here in the not too distant future. Agreed, don’t let him in. See you tomorrow. A new episode, Aimless By Elvis. We’re 9:30. Fresh took from the Mother they did not realize.
Higher law would you challenge? Listen to this bullshit. I like that medical. I like that emergency. Alongside I don’t wanna bother people. I don’t want to fucking bother people. So we pretend we’re okay. I’m the manager of a showcase word that’s totally unacceptable in society. No one listens to it, except a few who know what it means, because they write the stuff, or it’s in their hands to read.
The city of dawn don’t like it, won’t even give it the time of day, who it’s for where its record keeps. They don’t listen to it. They don’t want it. It’s a waste of time to write it. I look at the long of it, and help is on these pages I can’t get out to the public, understandings that would bring peace, revelations enlightenment.
I can heal, and I can just listen to sins. I sit here flabbergasted the world does not want to heal, and no one wants to face reality, and I’m reality’s keeper, the healer of old wounds. I can’t count this. I can’t see its shores. There’’s no end to the proud ignorance we all share. There’s no listenin’ to our faults. There is only straight ahead bullshitting ourselves we are honest and sincere, or just say fuck it screw everybody I want my MTV, a cultural allusion to I want whatever pleasure I can get to get lost in it, and some say really wanna hurt people and let that world end.
Where are we today? We can’t see ourselves. We are not there, honest to God trying to better ourselves, to make the world clean, to have a functioning society. We hate each other, and sometimes with good reason, but who thinks hate heals? It destroys our world. It’s a poison in your inner life goading your neighbor to sin, like pick up a gun and shoot people with it.
And here we are on the airways putting thoughts in people’s minds an unconscious contest. We are not ready for everybody thinks in the same pool of blood. We can’t see that, and it’s not a belief you fit into. Painstakingly over mountains of years, this comes up in dream and vision.
You see the inner connection interpreting dream symbols and see them manifesting in the outer world. You have to see it for yourself. It comes up again and again. This in itself would revolutionize society, make us kind to each other in the wheelbarrow of our try, make us join together as one people that holds humanity at stake.
You can’t see it if you’re a scientist studying dreams. Their field won’t allow it— too many rules, but take a choir and put it together, who sing their dreams to one another over many long years, and you will definitely see it in the songs that you sing, and you will change the world. God no, you won’t even get it to listen to it, and I’m comin’ from one choir. Hear me speak?
I don’t know what I’m lookin’ at. Check this out, there’s this guy on the radio crammin’ religion down our throats, the nut, magical thinker pattern picker-outer where they’re not there, magical thinking fool. We can’t get around this introducing consciousness into the picture in a world of material thinkers who bargain for the day.
AI speaks and everybody listens, or enough that endanger our world. Can I crawl this to you, an innate speaking system that spiritualizes mankind in great healing waves your own inner voice speaks? How God you have to be to get there, how many trials.
It heals humanity, like a rocket test. It won’t make the news because it’s individually run, a healing system on Earth, where the Earth loads itself all shame and everything, where we don’t want to see. This is the great test of healing’s ways.
You see the rulebook? I can’t get this across. So the city laughs at me you stupid little thing. Got no time for your poetry. We are too busy with our not see. Can I spell this out? Auroville created for great change, to create among its selves the new human being, based on oneness and I do care, that brings humanity to the mountaintops, is closed to it when it comes, laughs the poet off the pier, just wants him out of town.
Alright listen up. I’m here, and I’m not the new human being, but I got recipes children that’ll put this in our hands. There, there now no. I’m a fire speaker on your shores, and I continue with it now you know reluctantly all systems go.
Art in the nature of its see looks at us through tall glasses. We think we’re the audience. We propaganda time. Art, when it comes from its source, makes us move mountains to see ourselves, and therein lies its price.
It’s not beauty you’re looking at, or ugly turned inside out. You’re lookin’ at yourself in mirrors of our kind, so we can sit with it awhile and put the light on our lives. Can you find art today?
A little bit of Heaven is the maker’s bill we’ve lost in how it's made, inspiration’s golden ring. Would you throw this away because it wrestles with sin and vice, wrestles with the Gods to bring Auroville here to bring down God here on Earth unpunished Prometheus, ordered by the Gods no? You tell me.
Another poem declined by the private Facebook group Auroville International but approved and posted by the Facebook group Auroville, INDIA.
image by the author, photo of the Earth by NASA (public domain)
Upholder of consciousness, can I call you a name? You just got laid off, and you’ll get laid off again, and there’s nothin’ to get ready for tomorrow. You’re not a big man on campus yet. You’re an embarrassing little thing, and no one will hear you sing. This is not standin’ in the air. This is not wide enough silly in the air. You’ve got tall trees growin’, and you’ve reached the limit of your room. Things get bigger. They envelope in consciousness.
Wow I believed you this time. I thought somethin’ was gonna happen. I don’t even worry about the fish, the fallout from this. Nobody understands my shores. Take ‘im away Bob. The irony in all this, and I have the light that shines on Earth. Foiled again at the book nodes.
Where’s my superman, my help you with it? I’m not just a fly on a coffee table. I’ve actually seen what I saw. Answer your question: your art and poetry put out, look what’s happened. Nobody wants to see you. They’re all put out, and they’re hungry from guess room again. How can you say such things you measly little piece of paper? And we shut you down. You are not making us mediocre; we are.
Now let’s ride to the end of this chapter. You won’t get it, and I will stand by your work. You’ve got a major 2 o’clock comin’. It’s in your show/window now. [two above words heard spoken simultaneously] Don’t sit just there read somethin’.
He hadn’t looked around. He was not just a horse in time courting sincerity. He grafted you upon the tree of life where you mattered and held count. One, they don’t know you play ball with God and life and time, and second, they don’t know there’s more than what they’ve got. This played with you, and it didn’t mean anything a thing you did, and you were not big in that boy’s eyes as you saw him lookin’ at yah. You were not important to him, as you saw him glow. This bothered yah and really made you think. Listen to her, listen to that boy in pain. You alleviate it and he knows it, and he can’t wake up to himself yet. That’ll come soon enough.
Oh wonderful thing hide in Their character, hide on Their tongue. To discover the hidden reasons of the Gods. [vision with the line of my own hand writing this in cursive on a sheet of paper] To come down on student terms and find out why They tick. Why are They a decade ago, never where man is right now? They don’t know people like we do, and They can’t gauge human life in our exact location. They are tall and kind, but They propose to us things we can’t do.
They do not understand the human state. They punish us for our condition, and there’s a discrepancy between time and fate that no amount of mercy can absolve. We are lone here, surrounded by Gods. They know our every thought and deed, climb your mind like it’s Their jukebox, but they don’t know how to understand you in the ways of sin. They say no. They don’t heal. They do not integrate the mountain with the sea. They meet each other and collide.
They are on our backs all the time to ever showcase new lore, to be an instrument for Them, but they cannot reach us with the love we need when we need it, and they will let us go down doing Their work. They will take from us our most beloved just to test us. They will treat us like human souls not like breathing men. They can’t be trusted. They will always put Their work first. In the quarries of the Gods we labor under the breath of death, and we don’t get out of it. We don’t even see it.
We can’t know it’s there, all the labor for the God, least we separate our life from our sanity. You can’t take a God’s force bearin’ down on you, a God’s thoughts. They are too immortality for us. They take on airs we cannot breathe. They give us one commandment: worship Them in time, letting Them be the light of your life. You cannot go astray from Them. They will hound you in life’s deeps, and you cannot stand against a God. You can only pray.
Why am I telling you this? The liberation from the Gods is our aim in how we count human. We don’t need Their scaffold that stops us in midair, that bullies us in time. We don’t burn Their scaffold down. We understand how inadequate it is. We accept Their help but go beyond it. We go to the back of the plan, what started all this universe and show, a whole other order of being testing limits for itself where no limits are, its growth by us into the unimaginable of its see.
We are bringing this order down now in the great upheaval of the Gods. Can you fathom this change? It’s a whole new way of doing things that has harmony as its base for righting wrong and oneness as its lookout for all it sees. It does not shy away from one. It incorporates all into its grand plan. It is the substance of itself it’s planting into the universe. It knows its great self by itself, and it knows itself as all, is not some cosmic God looking down on the riddle of creation.
This way of doing things, this Supermind, knows by identity and never strays from that. It’s a Truth Consciousness. It’s a vast Truth Consciousness, the exact truth consciousness ridin’ everything that is behind its base. It does not lie, knows not error. This is what we’re bringin’ down. This is what we are. It will change the world. It’s what we need to see today. It’s comin’. It’s here, and that’s the master plan. It’s the truth of the universe understandin’ time.
Look at it in the hours, and you are in transformation, God’s glow. I show this to you now with my head half in it. I’m movin’ forward now towards a completeness of my see, towards supramental change I see in my Lake, the figure of Silent Mind flagging me its approach. I stumble and fall and can’t keep up, and it’s an everyday pick me up, but I can see it HD.
So I sing my songs early morning vision brings, so I can look out now on what needs to be done. You’re in my field today. Hello, are you there? Auroville, are you there?
The epicenter of spiritual change, modern life Auroville, it can’t see itself. It’s bigger than the sky no. It grapples with human problems. It grows its children to grow nature in her room, to be the normal round of human being. It has high ideals that are not in the hands of the city in daily worth. Impossible to describe, the mounting towards a change in consciousness that’s Auroville’s aim. Human unity will not field show.
Where is the city goin’? Can you see ordinary where Auroville meets its road? No amount of spiritual-mongering can put it there, the spiritual consciousness. The gap between Auroville and her spiritual aims throws Auroville out the window as a city of spiritual change. It’s a city of proud belief, yoga tags, conferences, spiritual workshops, sound gardens, the green munchies. These move the city along a false bravado. No spiritual revolution seizes its day.
Can somebody tell me what we’re doin’ and why’s not the change? We’re in plans with yesterday, not the new planet in the making now. I ring this to you now. Can you ring with me and not vote me out? What’s the plan? It’s not the issues that divide us today. Are you gonna help?
The drawback for spiritual change to say nothing. We substance where we change. We tell you in the manner befitting our service. We tell you spiritual change, how it’s happening to us, when we can tell it without spillin’ it, the purpose of art and poetry when you’re undergoing spiritual change. You talk about it the inner voice, unprompted by your decision making process. You don’t let out a word, otherwise. Now it dawns on your community.
Got so many minions, so black, speakin’ in the voice of your word. This is not a mere dictation. It is a battle of the spiritual word. Great variety sees that, honed in occasions. We ride versatility to its source. Okay I choir now.
Who inspires me but not the Gods? The runner up open to Supermind. To see this distinction’s life and death for the city. Crucial for the city to go beyond the Gods, the strength of Overmind. I explain to you now. I explain to you how. Lemmie guess, you’re starlight? The advent of Supermind where Overmind opens to it, you know this source, the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, their hills, a few that give us their glad tidings of wide birth. Here we establish things, put them in order. On top of that I show you a weapon master, the rays of the Sun.
Insulated against it, the Auroville that makes its bed, that Auroville that goes international. I have this title goin’ international, The Writing on the Wall Dummy’s Paradise. You don’t know you’re Belushi’d out a poet in Auroville on comic stops. It’s behavioral 9, and it’s comin’ soon to where you can see it in Auroville’s front page. It doesn’t suck they way they’re doin’ it either. This latest poem is his Red Cross, a fix it paper. You know how it ends. They’ve made their decision. Just throw it out but keep the paper. You too much for them, and they Riviera the day. Donny this looks terrible. Thank you.
Finish the job. I want a divine crossword puzzle. You’ve got branches on it. You’ve got the cookies stuff. It’s delicious. What do I do with the title? Tell God to show up a whole little ice cream. We get our pieces together. Larry Seidlitz, empathy? identity? Ah here, declined.
Do you know what spirituality is? To feel right at the zombies zone. Donny draws the neach of us. Speak a following a fluid law and love from your mistakes. It’s Auroville’s paper we need in Auroville’s hands, true points of the consciousness of God. Round house to an extraordinary boat on the sea, we can lift the consciousness of God up to new heights and stay there. Can you count Auroville’s aim here, her mission in words?
You climbed to the top of her mission with children. I know; it’s that background girl. Nithisha not there. He’s missing from action. He reads his own music a sad story, and I’m mentionin’ firecrackers, indo in human hearts. How is the school? You’re gonna help us out then admire how beautiful it is. This is his nanny, Earthen Pull.
Now we met each other in consciousness. I’m about the boy’s height, and I’ve got a poem to show yah, where we live, talkin’ about consciousness one night sharin’ pizza. Open the door. Watch how that decline button does things. You miss the table with that. You miss everything. Can we call you Auroville International, giver of gifts, provider of boons?
You will delete me for this, if I don’t hurry up. I would like to stairway your mind. Why is pretentious the first word that comes to mind? How do you talk about facts you know? Hurry, you gotta see this. I have, saw it with my own eyes in just a seconds’ grab up out the top of my head to that nice familiar form you know Yourself perpetratin’ all these lives without involvement in them, like remains untouched by the whole show.
Anyway I was up there. Let’s go. I am at the period in this poem you hear me, like really bold perfume that talks about the important stuff. Meanwhile on the ground I have reactions and do my duties. I don’t react half as much as I used to. I’m gettin’ round that. Calmness is a commodity that comes in long waves, and then it goes out again. I’m waitin’ for my boy to come home so’s I can see it. He’s safe and sound, and that removes the ants on my consciousness floor. Children come first in the scheme of things, and I’m holdin’ mine to safety. Bear with me here. You don’t know the half of it.
Okay now start your poem. Can you leave me alone? Come here mountain climber. Okay do it, behind the scenes you weren’t lookin’ for in her gala. Where you goin’? The party’s just gettin’ started. Patience man patience. You’re not gonna trip over wires. Alright put your feet on. We’re walkin’ to background love. It’s an emergency. Auroville’s dyin’ all over again. It’s not the first time. God gave her a bulletproof vest. Bet you didn’t know that. It doesn’t work sometimes, as you can see now. Roll a joint and pass the ammunition. There’s a fight goin’ on in Auroville over spiritual aim. No worries, many efforts bless this mess.
And now you think I smoke pot. It’s just a figure of speech to unhand you. It’s a flashpoint in Auroville, and people don’t like it there. The Mother said so inflexibly no. And you got her lists. Not all of them work, and she never got down to business with the master plan. I’ll tiny tiger this in myself, somebody that listens to her quickly in tales of the inner voice. I don’t believe it’s me either, but there you go.
My little boy was complainin’ the heaviness of the knowledge of God, oh for example, did you know daddy the world’s in pain? He calls me grandpa. I’m his spiritual teacher, and he’s woken up to world pain, bein’ yanked so hard by his own. You got to know consciousness as a spiritual aim.
Now let’s go to district 9 and give this poem some perspective of the deepness of the knowledge of God. He calls me master. You know the relationship, and they lesson there. Wow, kangaroos, and he really matures in that pouch. That’s been keeping me here. [heard spoken in Nithish’s voice] Gonna go soon, back to daddy and our spiritual endeavor, the node of our relationship. Where is it? In that field of love.
Now the brass of Auroville don’t stomach these waters. You have to admit a little Reagan post. Carrying a seditious act, no I’m not. You must be mistaken. You must have me confused me with the wrong Donny. The scaffoldin’, it’s too much. Find it on paper, consciousness poem.
Huntin’ to see you again, your big-eyed boy. He lays in bed at night sleepless worry, and he can’t soothe himself. Headaches and dizziness spell his day. This is suffering. Glued to him from the inner consciousness, you manage to hold him and speak into his mind where his heart meets the road. He knows you’re there.
I’m sorry sweetheart this is burnin’. Warn title, will you lie to me? A terrible story that come in the place of him? Another body than pain he had to be aroused, another program: he loves the Mother. She was something down where you lost God.
You know what I mean: you were born in my commitment. Now I need yah to look up and sound off the important test, a poem in your stadium write that helps us all to be feet to the Mystery who cares, balancin’ time on a rainbow, the supramental transformation in children, what is on your tops, I kid you not, waiting for Hollywood to get with the lesson plan and surpass Disney there’s a child in need of imagination. Get it ate at the light of the new world you’re figurin’ in the verse you’ve already written. Hold on I’m comin’, my sweet, beautiful boy.
Town’s end, and miracle show up, wonderful ridin’ spiritual love. Honestly, this is brand new eyes on God.
The above poem too was declined by the admin of the private Facebook group Auroville International. My muse wrote a short poem in response, suggesting what picture of go with it, “A picture of a rainbow,” before I even found that out, which I posted on their page and which will, no doubt, also be declined. Postscript: it was declined.
In Sudden Splendor Facin' Rainbows
No one has ever done this before. I'm a threat to everybody's system of order. I want a new world see, and I want it to work, and I want it to plan. You delete that in Auroville, too ordinary to let the world happen there, oh you bunch of men and women blocking the Sun. I'll tell everybody. [a link I left to this post]
Auroville International
Auroville International (AVI) is a worldwide network aiming at the support of the development of Auroville in all its aspects. Founded in 1983 it is legally registered in the Netherlands, with a representation in 34 countries around the world – nine national centres, which are registered associations in their respective countries, and twenty-five liaisons, which may be smaller groups or single individuals.
It must be said that the Facebook group Auroville INDIA approved and posted this poem, as they have several others everyone else has declined.
We have that place where, yep, you need to turn on that character light. I would say he does not deserve the title respect call him. Thank you sadhak. Nat started a story. It was obscenity of being, the crazy what’s up nails trauma a bunch of us go through. Are we on your calendar?
You’re nice and pretty. Does that mean you’re good in the sense of good to all of us? We’ve got a world here in a tin can. It hurts everybody. You would not like a story that makes you mean. Is that transformative?
Watch movies that’s all you see, a blight of entertainment “televised from the gulfs of Night” [from Savitri, an epic poem by Sri Aurobindo] that tells stories to pit you against one another, to make your blood boil, to let the demons in.
There isn’t a place on the planet it’s not on your local TV. This is what we’ve gotta get out of, get back to our dream maker as the one we watch and write. Is that a perverted slam?
You would boil at the inner consciousness because it pits you against your morality papers: don’t say cuss words; don’t mention sex; don’t talk about getting your dick sucked when you were five by your mother. What have I just done?
I let the inner consciousness in in language that grabs you and moves you, that has the day on it, that gives you a porn whereabouts so many faces are into these days. It hits you where you’re at if you can’t tell right from wrong, if you’re lost in all this sleaze. We’re tryin’ to reach people not preach to them.
A dream comes out from someone who suffered this in the language that it felt like, and the elect can’t take it because they don’t know how to deal with it. They’re into quotes of Sri Aurobindo and pictures of deity. They look at spirituality as the cure and not addressin’ what’s wrong in the language that needs to.
Everybody just be nice. Make your concentration daily and let no wrong movements in. Be cheerful and happy. There’s no end to the advice in spiritual seeking. Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty of life. Let’s use those quotes to solve problems. The Mother and Sri Aurobindo are a wealth of that, applied in ways you haven’t imagined yet, because you’re religious and one-sided.
We need to heal, so many of us. You can’t imagine what it’s like where hell has opened in humanity. This is all over the globe, terrible stories that’ll make you cry if you had your empathy on.
We need to heal the world first, then spiritualize it, and spirituality will be healing, because that’s what it’s made for, if it’s the soul involved. You don’t know this. Soul healing’s to you a preacher wrote. It’s not test the limits of humanity in making healing the order of the day. This soul is wide and free. You don’t know that either.
You look at the Gods of Overmind, the lowest rung. They’re moral and straight. They have seen God in passing one time maybe. They are closest to us in the ways of deity. They make rules and regulations, put experiments on vice and get rid if it not heal it. Our whole world is taken by Them. It’s what we need to change and bring a new order upon the Earth, soul healing in the dynamics of Supermind.
You don’t know how wide God is, when it comes to the personal growth process of wholeness and healing. / That’s been my path all along, and it’s gotten acute where I show it to you, all Sri Aurobindo’d. What else can I do? I’m his disciple and a seer of his wisdom, and I’ve been told to talk to you.
I’ve spent 25 years learin’ my craft, a lifetime before that as a poet. You can’t fault me in preparation, all prepared for yah. Grab me by the balls will yah and throw me to policemen, or at least try to shut me up? God’s will be done.
One editorial board member, Dr. Alok Pandey, who is listed as a “Member, Research Advisory Council, Sri Aurobindo Society,” replied to my emails, three times, the first: “May Her Grace be with you,” her meaning the Mother, the second: “What is tormenting your soul so much dear child?” and the third: “You are quite right. You seem to be an angry and arrogant brash revolting angel. I don’t find your poetry tasteful or even poetry. It is a blurting out of things stirring in your subconscious, not mind nor higher, but inframental forces. That’s my view about your poetry. By the way I am not part of any organization nor have any access to publishing poetries so you could perhaps try some other place or person. Good luck. May the Grace be with you.” No one else on the board or in that organization has replied.
Harm's End 