Control ball, now you record it. When night go for it Nithish, knock phone numbers. If he gets caught he’s killed. In Tamil the people who put worse seem very powerful. I wouldn’t put it that way. It’s just in good English we’re learning to mince the Devil with words. / I’ve localized the economy, and I’m takin’ English to new heights. It’s not artificial anymore, a poem that comes from inner sights.
I throw that devil out, but I show ‘im to yah. I don’t play with bones. I heal them in your shelf. What you got in the closet, I ring around the rosy. I’m not here to play dice. I wanna get to the bones of reality so that we can live here and not ruin each other. I wanna talk about it, you know? I wanna get down to bloody business. I wanna show you you a danger to let’s all grow up.
Will you find me? I’m blacklisted for that. Let me cough. That danger I present is right there among you. I’m not pullin’ any punches. I wanna heal myself and be free. I mean I wanna be a proper human being, no longer stupid. I don’t wanna block my own trail, get mad at the world because I stumped my own toe. I wanna forgive you for the same stupidity. I wanna look out on the world and understand the miracle of each day. I wanna see you in it the very Self I touch with myself, no cigars. That means I’m right with you.
I hear my stomach growl, and we all feed on each other like it’s conversation. I’m learnin’ not to do that. You would not know I feel you when I’m just some guy you’ve met on the road, or you’re my landlord or niece. I cry for you sometimes. Okay I cry for you a lot. It’s really rough in here, you know? There’s just so much pain. They got buried in an earthquake, a daddy holding his little child dead in a news story. Can you imagine how that felt?
I’m tryin’ to wash away the tears that we symbolize time, and I’ve found out somethin’. This is just a single show in a movie house with infinite theaters, and each one pulls on the next, and each one supports the next. We are its base, the last of the free worlds before Hell begins. Of course we suffer. We support Heaven. Our blood, sweat, and tears hold up Heaven, all the ascending worlds. It’s not cruel. Existence has to have everything in it. I don’t think we can measure how big it is, and we are not the only world that suffers, and we’re just innocent little children, dumb like animals.
There’s a comic plan, and our universe sucks on the Void to bring existence out of nothing. The devils rose, an unforeseen consequence, mad as hell existence be, and they rape us in broad daylight, and we don’t even see. We are a banquet of the Heavens and the Hells, and I am sorry; I can’t gauge all the worlds in their ascending hierarchies or their status in Hell. I’m tryin’ to take you somewhere— understanding.
My little boy wants to know why there’s pain. Do you know what they did to him? It woke me up. Now I’m a fish out of water, a foreign man in not my land. I’ve been shook up. I don’t hear my music. It’s not my culture I see around me. It’s not even my language. Do you know what that does to you? It takes you out of your little world. You have to confront reality more on its terms. You can spend more time in the environment of your consciousness, / because you’ve got a strange world out there that doesn’t speak to you momma’s titties.
You ever live a life for spiritual change? You wanna get enlightened? I wanna be my true self above, whom you are too, though we’re individually wrapped, but I’ve gotta be emptied before I can be filled, you know? That’s enlightenment. I put myself to the task. I’m not sayin’ it right. My soul puts me. You gotta get there. It’s the only way out— up Don’t you remember your last death? It’s what everybody talks about on the other side: “Goddamnit I missed it again!”
Look I’m not some spiritual shoes you must put on because I wear ‘em. Now I’m really tryin’ to get out of this— suffering. Now I have seen enlightenment’s tale, sat right in those shoes, not long enough to stay there, and I have seen Myself overhead, sat in that Sun and watched it ray out, and I’ve found the soul inside, made the inner journey to Spirit in innermost us. It just accentuates your suffering if you get these little tastes, ‘cause it’s so plain in your face you’re not there now. But you want suffering to end? Can you hear a threesome with your hands and feet? Any one of them will get yah there. Realize time as a vehicle to get there.
We are not animals you see, and this is not a world buttressed in the Void, astonished at its meaninglessness, wondering over its one-trip pony. There is so much more than Earth right here upon Earth. The teeming worlds sing to us in our sleep. We make contact with the dead. Even in life’s little room, we make measure with immensity. I’m givin’ you God, what we are becoming, what even matter becomes. It’s all there.
Once you see God you’re safe. Bullshit. Every devil in the neighborhood will come to fool you, alarmed for the end of their rule. Sometimes a world devil steps in and makes you pay for every man’s sin. Here’s the bull: if it’s all God who are these? Knowledge of God is terrible, but you forgive ‘im for it. You’re in a movie. Neo seein’ the Matrix, you get there. What a goof in moviemaking— take that Matrix and make that a real steak that traitor’s eating. / Take that Matrix there. Oh the bones of analogies, you can’t make them right.
Bhakti, do you hear it? I’ve got it for the whole damn thing, but if I stump my toe I’ll cuss you out. Well, I’ll least look mean at yah for a minute. Yeah I’m still in school. World knowledge does that. It makes you right with God, not some moral timekeeper, the whole damn show. Okay I’m signin’ off. Pleasure doin’ business with yah. I’ll see yah on the rebound, when another poem is born from the matrix of my be. Got that Sin Wood? I’m not countin’ sin. I’m fulfillin’ my obligation as a poet, and I’m sayin’ look at this in the bowels of language that’s there to say it right. Musical or not, I’m gifted speech.
Answer it with a question: what is bigger than the Whole? The unimaginable sink. You get lost there, frightenings on the tail ends of nothingness. It really makes you think. It’s too big for sky. It’ll shake you up. It’ll make you cry it’s so alone, so unimaginably deep. You want it like you want your very self, coils of room on which existence is but a fin to glide it sleekly through nothingness. Will it put out its eye of existence and just be its lone self nowhere be? A frightening thought.
Okay world, can I comfort you? Everything has to be in nothingness. In existence all is, from the most horrible to the most profound bliss, and our world is but a tier in that world stack, and we are That you see, that unimaginable thing on lone oceans.
Have I reached you yet? Good, let’s go. We have to reach forever in a day. I’m on bended knees, and I’m not embarrassed about it. You there, little animal, prideful nation, take down that war. It’s time for exultation in humanity. Do you feel yours? It’s always hands on, good poetry, right where your heart is, right where you feel. That’s the name of the game. That’s where we find each other. I love you did you know that? And it hurts, you know? It really does.
Die in some way take care of those who absolutely have to have us. Those are our children. I’ve got one now. He’s 12-years-old. His name is Nithish, and I will move Heaven and Earth, overcome the world, to put that little fella clean out of suffering and back where I sacrifice myself to take care of him, the intent of this poem. I’m worthy to be there. I’m his daddy. You see us upon the roads of time I love that little boy. You don’t know the arrangement.
Alright Aristotle, put the boy to sleep now. Alexander’s got a big day tomorrow. Put the poem to bed now. Alright Aristotle it’s dawn.
That’s why what I can get on the television is behind your imagination,/ you’re too fat. What’s that? It’s a soft glow. You’re wrapped around the axle of society eating everything you can get your hands on, entertainment spook outs, song after song after song, the news minute, and bubbles and bubbles of internet stuff, and books that make you mean.
You can’t get away from society in your newspaper. What’s that supposed to mean? You suck society’s dick a porn hub. I’ve just offended half the nation. The other half’s asleep. Why can’t I suck dick on television?
I’m using figures of speech to show our involvement with society. I just got censored out of society, but can I employ you in your mule, weave together a story using pockets of molten lava? I’m tryin’ to get yah riled up. I want to show you you’re pasted by society.
Would Sri Aurobindo say that? I think he would allow inspiration to come and not worry about sensibilities. He would not future poetry to make it stand a language model that forgets our garbage stuff. He would future poetry.
I want you offended. I want to show you what you’re made of. That’s not squeaky clean. It’s all over the place. If I took you into the Silence, you would want to come back. You do not know the spiritual consciousness. You think it’s a morality speaker, a set of rules you follow to get there.
A whole other world arrives when spirituality arrives. I don’t think you saw that yet. You’re a radical revolutionary if you’ve taken off ego a moment. I have never been there permanently, so I can’t say there. Did you think Sri Aurobindo was like your local priest?
I want you to examine yourself in the light of society. It’s mean it sucks, and it will throw you to the wolves if you just can’t make it fit right, your will with what society says no. Say you molest children— I’m going to marry a millionaire. Oh my God you’ve processed God, and you no longer molest children.
You can love a child now like it’s God lookin’ at yah, and you love that child. The formula’s in the Bhagavad Gita; you just don’t hear it, or you think it can’t be done. Fuck a child, and society will never let you in again. I’m boilin’ your paper right now. I wanna show you how small you are when it comes to the big stuff. You just morally react.
You don’t know how to do it, heal a person from society’s ways. It’s society that fucks children; I guarantee it. What’s the softball today? We learn to love each other, even those you hate. If I can’t accomplish love, I can at least accomplish understanding. That mother beats my child, and she’s raped him from me. I could take a stick and beat her myself, but that would just make her meaner. I understand her jealousy and her lack of control. I just sit with it.
I’m rescuin’ my boy. You hear it done special in our media. I’m gonna see him safe, and I’m gonna bring him back to papa. That’s my name on his lips. He calls me daddy. We have a room for him in a whole new place. This is spiritual journey, in the air of spiritual journey, where that boy’s no longer in Pondicherry, so that boy’s ocean will work. Grab you guys in a manner of minutes, and anyway, I’m makin’ sure the roads are prepared for him.
I was gonna give this poem to who would’ve thought it, but for now let it sit on this Facebook page. Those of us who would change society have to live under its auspices. Society would rather kill than change. It’s acquired a life of its own apart from the individual. It’s got great steed on it, but we’ve reached the end of its present rope with us. The world will be destroyed before society changes; I mean it’s bragged about that, if you can hear the writing on the wall.
How do I know all this? I’ve been from one end of society to the other, from the mountain to the monster, and I’ve grown bigger than society makin’ that monster climb to the mountaintop and seein’ God from there. The monster changes his panties and grabs society by the horns so that society can see itself for the monster that it is. I’m no more monster.
Can you ride with me? I have some beef to show you. Holy cow, let somebody eat beef, if they’re just tired of the same old fare, what doesn’t take you rocket launch, what keeps you in the bounds of society, what goes no deeper than a three dimensional world bound to love its aunties and the open vigilante.
Am I chargin’ wool? Hey man, are you mediocracy? I sucked the wrong dick. You are basically a big person. A big person, you are God unawares; you are the look of the Lord when He forgets Himself. Let’s all dance to this tune: hey God, wake up.
See yah on Sunday, on Saturday, in your religious house of worship. It just kills the kids doesn’t it? They know there’s more to God than that. They know there’s Everlasting, but you’ll just slap them around if you find out this thing has to do with naked and not with their school books.
I’ve been the danger a kid faces at midnight, and my God watch it grow, their Shazam. They know there’s more than little TV, and I’m not talkin’ about the sex stuff. They know they can get beyond this movie, that God is bigger than Her lists, and don’t just stand there; do somethin’.
It’s put up here hangover on that third eye. You’re just gonna have to get your shit together. I’m compound joy. There is actually a petting session over here. Nithish called. Everything’s fine. I will see my little boy soon.
We’re all at a movie. It’s packed. Saw the hall were you there? Every divine minute the time it took to free me. No, you were there willingly and cooperatively, and you woke up with a bang; it hurt too much, just like the Buddha said. We just don’t put illusion on everything, because God’s there the hunt.
Wanna see? See past your nose blockade. Make you feel the situation, make you feel the heartbeat, make you get out of yourself, river find out the apocalypse, if you don’t hum the right tune. That’s in our field today.
See that little boy? He’s weathered the storm. I’m not just gonna leave ‘im there. I’m gonna bring ‘im home. I’m gonna open up where God dwells. Wanna see me do it? I know how.
Alright people, listen up. The Earth song, do you just cram society? These are open bars. Come on Grace, let’s go pee pee. We can’t send her out alone. That little Beagle’s still a puppy. I gave ‘er more than the rat race. Come on let’s go to your human, darling, and I took myself to divinity. You comin’?
Society rose, what’s the historia? It’s wide open, every means to God to get there, even through the snake. You just stop biting people, even through the murderer and rapist. Now that I can put this in literal terms, so can your doctor. I be doc.
Listen up, let’s start from the beginning. Dicks out. No, you don’t go out. The boy’s offended by the balls. That boy’s offended by the power of some certain dirty thing even mentioned in a poem. Take it off the neck. No, I don’t wanna get yah to do it. Can’t heal it ‘less you hear it, and that’s in the meat grinder, a poem so everybody can get off, a poem so everybody heals from this disaster we propagate as society.
That boy got offended, that readership. I won’t say fuck you God no. I’ll see yah when you’re open again, after death, or this poem will. It’s got strings on it that pull you along where this poet meets the world.
There’s a response. There’s a regular response. Can you feel it? It’s on the way home. You’re bigger than mountains, and you don’t have to be bothered by anyone or what they say. This is a test of your truth speaker. Can you get past this test? All we are saying is give peace a chance. [above line heard sung by Plastic Ono Band] Truth can be known that doesn’t betray yah. Get back in there tenderfoot. I think my muse is talking to me. Goddamn, there’s just no end to the beginning.
This poem was written for the Facebook page Teachings of Mother and Sri Aurobindo – Discussion forum, but I’ve tried to post it twice, and each time it’s been deleted automatically upon posting, and so I submitted it to a member of that group called Renaissance, an arm of the Sri Aurobindo Society that is doing a feature on the purpose of art. In their series, there’s an essay by Nolini Kanta Gupta, arguably Sri Aurobino’s main disciple. Ignore the introduction by the Renaissance team and just skip to the essay: “The Obscene and the Ugly – Form and Essence“. It will add flavor and standing to my poem in the light of the the Integral Yoga.
A Crash Course in Reality: A Poem Tower, Healing Circle, Art Project
Life Curtains
You like that art that puts you in the front yard with our children. So we can gaslight them to death? I’m a chapter on raising them right, and this is a book of love.
So, you’re gonna still feel us out in terms of money? Wow, cultural understanding, let’s put it down on paper. A cultural misunderstanding, I’m all over you.
Baby what’s wrong? Marvel Comic books cannot capture in my life the will of a single day. I’m being thrown against the wall by Titans.
And you expect me to believe such a dramatic intro? The hard part is think on it. Today is the day the world comes to call in your kitchen.
Take a little child and bash them up against the wall, that outta do it. Now put God there. Who hurt the child? Do you sure you know?
You are the principle of the inner fire. You will meet them in the stadium of your room, and a divine poet enters the room. Where is he at? Put down on paper he’s gonna rescue his boy. Put that in your hands, after he opens up for you consciousness.
Right there you find this book is ready for you, holding out a can up here.
Nithish, a Tamil boy 12-years-old, being raised by both his parents and I, an older American man and a spiritual aspirant in India 20 years, I his primary parent since he was seven, has his life upended when his parents suddenly take him from me his ‘grandfather’ and allow no contact whatsoever, and they do this simply out of a growing jealously that reaches its boiling point when, in a meeting with the mother over their wanting Nithish to be with me to only one day a week, I mention to her a video he’d given me that his mother made of his little brother masturbating and what he’d been telling me about his father molesting his little brothers.
There then ensues almost four months of his parents taking revenge upon the boy and upon me, and the boy is beaten, psychologically manipulated, and put under constant supervision and control over those months so that he will renounce me and not tell on his parents for abusing him or his little brothers. The book culminates in a meeting with the Child Welfare Committee of Puducherry, India.
The story is told by the 54 Facebook posts I posted during those months, each post a chapter of the book, and the posts are a mixture of English, Tamil, poetry, prose, photography, and video, my poetry and the boy’s, the videos from the boy’s YouTube channel and from mine. The boy’s material he created months before he was taken from me, and the creative material is a very clear and startling example of prevision, the boy writing poems, raps, and a song to his future self so he will understand what is going on and wake himself up from the brainwashing, as he describes in poignant detail the abuse he will undergo in the future by his parents and his ardent desire to get his life back and return to the lake from which he was taken.
Whether you believe in miracles or not, you will be made to confront unarguable examples of the boundaries of nature being crossed and the future laid bare, in this case by a little boy wanting to stop being hit and controlled constantly, just wanting life to go back to normal and to be a boy again.
What came first the chicken or the egg? Why the egg of course. Auf wiedersehen. Is this is a prompt? It’s skyward license. I’m on the way up. This will shake your world, and I’m a pied piper— hey everybody let’s go. You’re sterile wars today. I’m gettin’ there. I have an honest day’s work. My hat grows today Supermind. It’s Supramental Darshan at the ashram of Sri Aurobindo and inside the whole world. Comes once every four years, leap year.
Did I shake you some? Nobody’s doin’ it today, where Supermind’s concerned. It’s a blow out the top of your head, on the top of the world, beyond the universe. It’s a station up there, who you are inside beyond all the lives. It’s God up there, on His first row. We get bigger God. You identify with You. You’re there, the origin of all your lives, the Being you are in time representing. You are there You.
We come back to this, as our being gets there. I don’t wanna get this wrong. We are representative in time, representative of That, this station above our heads Supermind. It’s a golden foyer open in all its glory. We haven’t gotten to that yet. The Mother released it into the subtle physical. It’s yet to invade matter, but it’s there on our tops, if you’re old enough to get there in wheels of sadhana.
You can experience this, and all the doors you have open to do. They take you by surprise. I’m there I said. Oh no I am not. I’m not even in Silent Mind. I’m sittin’ down on my spool measurin’ sadhana. I let the supramental influence glow, a time or two, throughout my day, because I’ve been up there you see. Right at breaking point, and I beam up there again. Well I can block it all day long. I’m holdin’ myself down. Oh I’m sure your influence has somethin’ to do with it. You don’t put together the world hey look there’s Supermind.
I’m all over this. It’s a supramental thought I write, and I do it damn near every day. The top of my head’s open for to receive. You hear this now. Baby, I’m yours. [line heard sung by Barbara Lewis, line song title] You know how the song goes, “till two and two is three”. I’m a supramental can. I don’t give you the straight shoot the whole cigar. I can’t. I’m in Overmind bundles. I give you some facsimile thereof. I’m talking to you so many think cans an overmental thought wore. I’m not the direct Sun.
I couldn’t even try. We haven’t everglade that yet, the world is open to Supermind, and it writes our poetry. There’s a balance between error and what’s this shit? Okay who corrupted my piece? We are aware of those. Now you wrote the most healthiest thing to say if you were formin’ Supermind to an overmental audience. We’re all overmental today. We are on the plane of the cosmic Gods, anywhere we touch religion and put on spiritual shoes, and Overmind formed civilization, if you didn’t know. That makes us pretty overmental, any way you go.
It confounds the animal, and it makes us man. Did I get that right? Or people I should say. We’re good in it. We’re terrible to people who do not honor civilization. We cut them up in little pieces and feed them to the dogs, even if we don’t love them. Did I just say something wrong? Well the Gods are merciful, but our hands in Their laws carry the day. We just stood there and punished sin, God there or not.
We are overmental beings how we see reality. You don’t see that pole. You don’t even see me an answer to grave letter. I’m an overmental pail, and I see into this matter deeply, sittin’ here open to Supermind, the bad man on Earth. You get bigger God. Not all overmental divinities are open to infinity. I carry the Integral Yoga of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, and overmental House if you please. They are open to infinity, within infinity, within infinity, and they are open to Supermind. This is a Tamil bakery plan, and it’s all over the place, but Supermind arrived here in the Mother’s plans.
I am the supramental manifestation on Earth. And you would be wrong, if you brooded there. The Mother didn’t manifest Supermind either, where her consciousness was concerned. What am I sayin’? You’d hear me say it. It got on Sri Aurobindo’s tops, but he did not abide there, but he did not manifest it there. He was a supramental being in form only. He didn’t get there. Sudden shoot ups saw him stop in the Supermind, and all the glory he arose. How do I count this to you? Let’s understand it.
Though Sri Aurobindo counts Supermind, we encounter him in Overmind, as our uncle and our sage, as our guide and our teacher. Do you worship this? Do you just sit there and count stars? Supermind’s above us, and we do not get there in overmental ways. I have all these knowledge bits for you to handle. I am not a sudden sit there in everybody’s glee. I tarry you in understanding, because it’s there, Supermind and Supermind realizing on Earth. This is a different mode of consciousness than God on Earth in any form today.
We don’t worship transformation hello God. Supermind grabs us by the arms. No, it doesn’t even call on our tops. It transforms. It doesn’t deity. It’s just itself up there lookin’ down. We look up and meet it, and in that look transform the world.
Do you snake bite? I’m afraid you do there’s no hope for you. Everything’s about vengeance, and even the Gods dry there, in wells of compassion they can’t seem to rise. Where do you go for healing? Can we tell the public you do? This is Supermind’s regard on the world. It heals stuff, transforms its nature. It uses the very stuff of nature to do that. My how amoral this is. Right in nature’s man, it takes a man’s vice and heals him with it, heals him with his sin, changes it, perfects it, gives it divine reason to live, and all the harm has been removed.
Nature won’t allow this in halls of man, and we get stuck there, not knowin’ what to do. Oh it seems us right to punish. Punish harder take out the stinger it is believed. Can I get you there? It doesn’t work. Throw a gay off a roof, and you have a dead gay. Who has healed homosexuality? Oh if I said pedophile you would agree— kill the son of a bitch.
What do we do now? Give God the plan. In sudden moments of universe, I’m on my tops now, basking there. You’re there with me, not all smiles. My God the forms of this world, they carry you to Supermind, and they’re right there on our tops, changing forms. Do you see the God inside? I can’t pronounce it none. It’s where we get bigger, lookin’ at the world through formless eyes, letting the world get bigger than her visage, seeing behind the form God.
You can’t let a thang trip you up. Nothing can get in your way. You are bigger than the world you see, and you find Supermind there, behind the forms. It’s been here all along, is the ground of everything really, is where creation starts, in the supramental pail we are. Supermind’s the ground of being, as far as we’re concerned. It’s what gives intelligence to matter, is the look that set the stars to light. We see it blossom in a flower, so insects will eat it, and pass their honey round. It’s the arrangement of things. It’s starred everything to a certain hour.
It has no business here, as interferers. We can’t pray to it and get it to act. It’s bigger than the Gods. It has no fetters the conditions of the universe impose. It’s here I said, in sudden storms, not as a God acting, as time being, since it’s the nature of things. Can you get this? Would you believe it’s here now, a time born storm?
The Mother and Sri Aurobindo arise its fountain on Earth, not as Gods, as the beings they are, set to this task. You wouldn’t worship them there, but they’re aligned with Earth to see this through, and they’ve picked a pedophile to bring it to you. Do you see Supermind? You can’t know its formula, unless you do. Transform the nature of the Earth, can you get a better man than pedophile to reveal what needs to be changed? And he is not the revealer. You are. My God the piles of wood we’ve chopped and stacked today. Do you see them?
I’m there, right around the corner from you, and we’ll meet soon, as the glory finds us. You hear me people? What do I say but WHAM! It is the nature of things, the supramental manifestation.
The title to the above poem came several feet from entering Sri Aurobindo’s room at the ashram in Pondicherry, India. I had completed the poem waiting for the room darshan outside, writing it all day, both at home where I live in the country and in the city, driving in traffic and sitting at various businesses and at the central park. The last line came when I arrived at the ashram in the late afternoon.
Yawn as you snap them Gods. They wouldn’t know what to do with Themselves free. We see Them bound to our lives in cosmic grooves of fate. They are larger than time. They can’t get out of this. We are prisoners in Their room. They study us. They can’t seem to get us right. We’re a whirlwind in a thunderstorm, and They are stillness and delight, and They control themselves with might. The clash of Speakers we hear overhead, They’re around about us now.
We are cosmic poles in Their existence. Hear Them call our name. Hear Them be there for us to change our natures into man. If you don’t think you’re an animal look back now, where you meet nature in a click that eats up all of nature’s stores, and then you go to war. You’re a forest dweller in the nature of your desires. You can’t see past get up and go. The Gods are there on our tops, guiding us to better cages. They do not know the freedom of the Infinite. In a paradox of know, They stumble upon the Infinite and stretch it to tin cans.
The Gods they wore, the bright and start of old. They can’t seem to find the Infinite all their knowledge bore. They cut us in creeds of certain flesh. Religion bore that name. The Gods have bound us to this. They are a soliloquy on our tops, giving us lore. I can’t find this improving our lives. They are a reason against the Snake, but where they find you biting, They are blind to heal you. They just make you stop. They don’t know the deeper reasons of life’s coil.
They are not there you see here on life’s base encased in matter. They see us from afar up close. They do not understand the knot and waste. They live out Their lives in splendid heavens, traveling toward infinity, the kingdom of God, all righteousness and wrath. They sip with us awhile foundering on compassion. They are brave and strong and know not the poison of the fall. Evil is not on Their lists. It baffles Them and us. They chase it out of night. They battle it with Their spears and helmets on the patchwork of the universe.
We are Their hope and promise to principle evil and grab it by the horns, a victory for starry Earth. A seer in his wisdom has gift the Gods to us, else we would fall into the Void. This is not our fate, but we are beyond the Gods on our journey home. They are a regulation and a might to keep us from starring ourselves, to keep us from getting bigger than our lists, to keep us from operating on ourselves where They are concerned. They are both a help and a hindrance. We need Them. No we don’t. They help us get hold of ourselves. They keep us from going home.
We just changed fate and the world, without Their interference, where They languish on land. We’re here. They’re not. Beyond space and time we write our lists. The Gods can’t go there, unless they do as one of us. That’s a starry role, fraught with peril, fraught with mercy. This is an endeavor for the Gods only if They want to go beyond Their starry heaven. We don’t see Them do that none time soon. The Earth’s great spiritualization will see Them incarnate here. It’s a vehicle of Supermind.
The tallest bond, this is the engine we’ve all been waiting for. It’s bigger than the sky. It’s our next step above, beyond the Gods. These are our evolutionary springs and their destination. We have broke the bounds of the universe and come to universal cause. No cosmic God can figure this. This is a whole other ballgame. These are universal bonds the conditions of the universe find us in. They prefigure us to a certain stage. This is starry night, and the Gods are our guides the conditions of the universe impose. This is our starry prison.
A nursery rhyme is this. We live on high, who we are above the universe, our next prefigured destiny. The Gods are aware of this. They are not our goads there. They hinder us and move us in Their direction. This is a starry configuration we are lost in. Greater home is ours. Can you save the Gods? I wouldn’t even find you there. The Gods are cosmic hierarchies permanent in Their heavens, and They love it here, all-powerful Beings with worlds to play. We applaud Them and move on.
Can you see this? It’s what we’re doin’ on planet Earth. We will bring our higher selves here to inhabit bodies on physical Earth, our bodies, in evolution’s slow curve. Who we are on high will be who we are down below, the monumental change hidden in the size of Earth. We will get there, and existence will have its heaven right here. Will you notice this in your room? It’s starting on our tops now, and here I am showin’ it to yah in sudden starts. Greatness lies wait. Okay, global consciousness, and we’ve found our solution to the room, present Supermind.
These are the high stakes. We’re in the water now. Who we gonna tell? Come on kids let’s go. We have a world to feel. Keeps yah on your toes. This is the most important thing to hold onto to: challenge the window. We don’t beg each other’s fences. Here everybody that’s a whole Earth. The lesson in the window: through a big difference we see it all.
Bring in a new game. How was Earth made? It has a special core, the universal core. How do we evolve what do we evolve? We can hack other Minds. Clarity Grace is not just a name. It’s an power, one of a kind for Earth. Kings are not just patriots. They’re criminals in their own kind. We should put some cushions under the Earth. We just dream of a perfect life. [the above verse Nithish’s muse, my 12-year-old grandson, what he heard right where mine left off, ending this poem. He’s named his new Beagle puppy Clarity Grace.]
The universe has hit me, and we saw it happen the universe of Nithish, not quite done. You’ve gotta figure we’ve got a friend with some God, the cosmic hierarchies Mother and Sri Aurobindo. You’ve got to figure we’re in liaison with some God. It’s the mailman in a blue truck open to Supermind at every pole.
Nithish and I taking a selfie together for this poem
This poem was written for the trustees of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram in Pondicherry, India, and was given to them the only way correspondence can be, if you are not an ashramite or someone they know, by giving it in an envelope to Mr Puru at the photo room adjacent to the Samadhi, and whether or not he will pass it on is entirely up to him. The Samadhi is the tomb of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, where people come to sit, meditate, and pray, which is located at the ashram.
We met these tomfooleries. Do you ever look at your own car? Can you be a better sadhak in wood, a better disciple of Sri Aurobindo? I lunge there: I spend my day in total concentration. This is a farmer on my land. I really till the soil. The concentration comes and goes, but it’s picked up time and time again. It’s fits and starts, all day long.
Can you be a better sadhak of Sri Aurobindo? I’m burnin’ on that ground. I clear my mind and find it’s there, for few certain minutes. Can we come back to this? I always do. I am disciple of Sri Aurobindo that always hears words my inner ear hears. I write them down through a voice recorder. My God I’m a seer someone said. No one’s said this yet. I’m just this guy with wood, if you see me on the street, held by my little boy.
He’s white and I’m black, as society sees us, an easy lesson in symbols if you hear. What color am I with him? I am navy green. That means he’s safe with me. What a spectacle for a pair of eyes. The racial mix’s intriguing, on the bandwidth of ourself. Don’t doctor this up. We’ve got infinity going for us, racin’ around, a whole field show. We do sadhana together. I be his teacher.
He’s not cloven foot. He stands on his sadhana too, a kid in grace and poise. Okay stand back. Here’s where we differ. Open the inner consciousness child. Reach in there and find soul. Open up in vision God. The Mother and Sri Aurobindo take those places so many times in his dreams and visions, and in his understanding of God. A child’s understanding basks in time. No matter, they are his guides and goads.
He’s opened the inner consciousness, and his poetry would map our Earth, if we but could give it time to breathe. School shoves it down his throat: hey kid, study for your exams? An exam is a holdover from the last institution: caveman you gotta learn this mile; it’s survival of the fittest. My God the lists against this kid are strong. It’s a wonder he’s even doing it, bein’ a vehicle of the inner voice. The inner lines are strong.
I know the doubt and fear cast on this. You would only see to know. His latest poem I include at the back of this email. His latest voice I include. We measure this by the strength of his ego. That’s not fair. A little kid’s sense wrote this.
Now here we are sittin’ at the back of this ego. And we mention the poet. I’m in the poem you see. Now listen to a story. I’ve given my kid the voice recorder. He might get a line. We are at the opposite pole of the Samadhi from the crowd. I’ve never sat there before. I'm with my other student Mithun, who hears inner music. I don’t got no more students but them.
A band plays. I hear the line “Ice cold Samadhi” just given into my inner ear, but my boy’s got the voice recorder occupied, whisperin’ in two lines of his own: “Rechargeable minds here, Olympus.” Here’s where it gets weird. Someone not connected with the Samadhi watch, not a staffer there, or so I think not, gets an eye on the voice recorder, walkin’ by the mountain. “Gimmie that.” No polite words were spoken, no considerations one, no respect none.
It’s here you’re doin’ sadhana, when somebody pops yah. All the gold comes out. I’m sorry to say none of mine did. In the ensuing conversations with this person and that, I just defended myself, and my boy there. I did not do what I was supposed to do: not react, but I didn’t tell one person off. I kept reaction out of my voice, to the degree anger and ill will I didn’t let show.
This I was careful to do. No one heard me. No one said a word. You know how this is gonna be reported: that son of a bitch lied and stole. You will believe your people, of course, but all things show themselves in time, and no one will be able to lie then, together or apart.
I’m left with a voice recorder I’ve used there now many years. I’ve written poems from that Samadhi, framed one and gave it to yah, “The Rotisserie of God”. No one has ever copied me, the reason I was told I couldn’t do it: everyone will. You think I’d of been discovered by now if it were a ruckus, but I can bring a pencil and paper if you insist. That leaves me with gold they will take from me there, when I come to pray. We will check you now every time. You know when a threat’s spoken. It’s the hatred in their eyes. We will harass you every time you come here. Can this not be what they really said?
Well Savitri asks for boons, from the spectre death. I’m not gonna ask for the blind to see. I’m just a sadhak not Savitri, but I hear you call my name, and can I write poetry sir on my voice recorder at the Samadhi? Well, I’ll wait. Now here’s the one I’m worried about. Can I enter the ashram gates without bein’ harassed? I’ll bring pencil and paper sir, until you tell me otherwise. No hidden cameras to record my voice I’ll wear. Do we have a deal?
Trustee please, are you spiritual? This is a Samadhi question. I live there in my heart all the time. I react, sure, but I’m there, and I live in vision. I see the world before my eyes a thing under creation. It’s being made right now. I hear this in vision, and you did too. “Ice cold Samadhi” means it was a frigid place emotionally, and where was this? It was in the situation I described. These men were ice cold, no warmth at all in their voice or in their eyes. Immediately they rose to anger, all riled upon themselves, and I’d had prevision of this, in that line of muse, just before it started.
The world rose there, before my very eyes, and I only saw it after it was over. Could help then? Well it sure helps in our conversation. I don’t think those men gathered the future before it happened. They were not focused and gathered. All came to put that foreigner in his place, like their reaction was natural the order of the day, like they weren’t doing sadhana. They acted like the inner voice had no place in Sri Aurobindo’s yoga. It was wrong.
Can I tell you something else? Well, my inner voice was right on. I forgot to tell yah… Some people say no I just made a mess. He wants to go over it look— my muse on where I’ve been. I’ve been to the moon and back, if you’re listenin’ to muse, and I’ve danced with the military on tactical nukes, a U.S. special forces commando. I’ve been in the heart and breath stop in Silent Mind, that hurried glance, and I saw the Gods in their tiers in Overmind, and on a rim of dreamless sleep, dived into the well of soul. Would you believe in overhead? The consciousness raises up there, like several meters, and there you find Supermind. Makes for a lot of poetry. Brief glimpses all, but I’ve seen what I’m sayin’.
I can go round about the world a penniless vagabond— 27 countries in 10 years. Do you have that faith? I don’t think you even learned Classical Greek. Translate Euripides into English verse, and you’ll gather strength in poetry. You also get good at it, in time. Took me 25 years, even after I started hearin’ it.
Now can we define the future poetry? The future’s got that in hand. I don’t understand. I’ve heard the future call my name, and you won’t show this to anyone? Paper airplanes every poem I’ve made? Make or break yah, these are not conventional teeth. Are you open to the divine? Candywood make or break yah, what you hear on the internet today.
I’m sorry I took it up, the internet speaker. I get laughed at and lauded. The latter’s not louder, but they’ve gotta eat too, the people on there for the breeze, and I might be seen soon by a pitchfork and a vital that hate me so much I go viral. Look there’s nothing in them, the threats I face today. The rotating officer is not interested in me. I’m not hurtin’ anybody. I’m not doin’ anything wrong. Now you’re starrin’ me, at your look see.
Oh well, do it to her face okay? Get another bad piece from her. You gave her a poem that said she needed to work on it, humanity’s tiger. Do people really wanna act like that at the ashram? A boy his hair, that’s what he does. I thought you’d notice they walk silly. Good idea, I’m talking about being human kind and loving to all who enter your gates.
You’re gonna have to, whadda you do? Really buckle down and be good to people, and her hair could be picked up too, and she could focus and concentrate, breakin’ along can reality period, yeah, yeah. Global, I even ask you to global change. Here it is you have a mirror. There’s broad stroke said it. There’s the yoga. Everybody makes mistakes. Would you offer this to the Mother?
Opening up kids, I agree with you. We don’t block them from society. We fathom them God. We don’t fathom them school. And they become there, on the journey to God a society rose. What do we hope by it? We get bigger than ourselves. His heart, a little boy rises his soul. A little boy rises I’ve been meanin’ to tell you. The expectation’s not the kid. It’s the consciousness. What’s this mountain? You wanna bring God into the world.
I tried to do a little explainin’ on boyness and the nature of man, on bein’ human. We are here for this. We need all our strength. Practice is another suite. Send it sweet. Did you get everybody put in this spirit? It takes the world to make it up. Blown up yeah. We made it here, in this section, to the touch of a magazine. Everything’s online, and this will be too, now or never.
Do you understand the flavor here? That’s the flavor of change. That’s the flavor of Harm’s End. These are bunk beds, and we live here, grandfather and his grandson you keep hittin’ at. Did I mention Douglas? Puts together his life with the Mother. A house is not complete without dogs, and we have four. They are the love of our life.
Our friend is on the roof, Narasimha, protecting my house if you should try to take me down. I don’t die. A divine worker is protected. This is what I’m aiming: the life divine. So much power, you’ll have instructions. May God bless you.
Your outer form was carried right. We are not derelicts or sinners. We are safe and sound. I’m will extra deep, alright? Okay, you have been warned. You don’t mess with divine protection, but are you really mean-spirited? Does the Mother cross your brow if you should hate someone? Okay your character’s on the table now. May you wish blessings for all. May you really hold the Mother’s hand.
I bear you no ill will. I’m not in a campaign to smear your name. I’m doin’ what I’m supposed to be doin’, here writing you a poem, now doing sadhana. I’ve changed the ticker tape in his life, that kid. Am I glad he met me with the divine. I’ve met you that way. That’s the story. Oh wait a minute daddy I wanna fix my lunch, one second. A purity of kid rose, a gracious cartoon. Now let’s survive this and become better friends.
You know it’s there, the fact of your will or consciousness behind a lesson. Okay, noted. Well it will transfer that it was made by the foreigner. Okay, spit on ‘im. I don’t think so. Your thought process in relation to your thoughts, and you pick them up randomly? Now that’s got uncle and brother, your bigger clothes, without AI. I’m here to help.
Paradise Things With Lyrics by S. Nithish
Reach for peace, but it’s a long jump away. It’s One stairs. Butterflies are our airplanes. They’re peaceful and calm. They can fly us to space. From there we need to walk.
There’s a place for everybody in the world. I did two steps: let the Light be the guide; my place is out of this world. We all have something that we should pass on. I do not have a turnoff button.
The ancient minds were better. They left out clues for us. They left out clues around the world. We should always say thanks. Stars were meant to be together.
A different kind of story. I’ll write it across the sky:
I am a poet of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo. I’m a 12-year-old poet. I am an original poet. I’m a muse poet, no help given to the writing of this poem.
We have as little as possible to do with bounds. Everything, if you think of something divine, it lights up. Grape juice, what’s the price? To get this boy’s poem published? Use the excellent hunter witchcraft. This is by far the best boat.
We have an epiphany of being. It lasts. It shoulders reality. It doesn’t go away. It will be there when we get back. That’s an ankle torn, lavishly spent on nature. I think we disappear awhile into our compellings. This could be a shade of grey, or the self-righteous crowd.
We hang there. We brood there. We don’t know what it means. I think Earth has taken us by the hand to stumble some. Are we workin’ things out? We’re an operation reality. So many meanings made clear where we go wrong. Can you see this?
It reaches us right there where we’re at. There is no perfection slave point. We arrive there, post-stumblings. It’s as certain as Earth. This is all in a car now. We hump it some.
I can’t show you the Earth. There are no fields there perfection’s sum, the arrived at. I can only show you time in her suspended miracle. Each failing of Earth gathers us. It fixes us where we find wounds. I think the urge there is to heal, in humanity, and in ourselves.
What have we done to the Earth? And you think this is out of step with nature’s plan? Of course we rob/ruin it. [words heard spoken simultaneously] No other animal would do otherwise in the glory of its day. So how do we naturally put on? Give the Earth time to heal its man-plan. This is far away from us? You’ve got it in your hand.
We open Earth with it, one story at a time, stories big enough to see us, because they’ve hit us in the quick of ourselves, in what it means to be human. We lavish such stories in exaggerated can. There are all humans to meet, who spiritualize themselves and bring out of them soul.
You can’t see this plan. The story has made us discover ourselves in an avoidance of Mars, the tribe of our taboos, that can make you vomit if you find it close, that can heal your scars when you find it redemption.
What do we do with this? He’s a pedophile throw him away. You nincompoop, this blesses us, if we know it arrives at noon, if we can call it our own, sit with it and not react.
I can’t spy this in for you. You’ve got to see it yourself. You’ve got to be there with the Earth where she most needs. You’ve got to be open to chance, and from bad things can come good things, if we arrive there. The Earth is a joy shout out. It means somethin’.
Every separate thing loosened from its coils came from her divinity’s roll out. Some have become perverted in the mask of space. They have a divine element. They come back to themselves, over and over again, if we can find that purpose put.
And the pedophile becomes a purpose maker in the intensity of small children. Instead of sex he gives them stars. Your disbelief is operating now. It blights this page, and I’m stuck with it, have to sit with it and stare at time. You won’t release me.
And we’re crowdin’ in on time. My boy has submitted his first poem to a literary showcase here in India. There will be others. He’s 12, and comes upon us another snag: did he write this?
You maniac, you are horrible disbelief. You would destroy the world if you could, rather than read his poetry lie down. I’m making it visible now, Nithish’s hotspot, where he finds muse. This is in our certain poetry together in the soliloquy of love.
A shapeshifter, I’ve morphed into my true form: hello there boy, I’m intensity of consciousness open up to intensity of purpose, hanging your own star. Watch that glow. Good God that’s purpose, smellin’ salts.
Stories that make you puke, stories that rhyme with the Earth, calculate us and make us see. They involve with us to every hand’s on healing. Do tell, and here I am in that yard. Wrap me around the world, will yah? I’m certain. Watch it, a fuller opera, a zero point ignition, reaches Earth.
The title to this poem came, meaning was spoken into my inner ear, at the very moment in the movie Maestro when Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony ends, which the main character, Leonard Bernstein, is conducting inside Ely Cathedral, England.
You’re gonna light a fire then, somewhere in your heart, to see past form and measure. I can’t show this to you. This is big stuff. I ride it sometimes a formless thought so big I can’t contain eternity. I mean I see pictures of the forms of things and know they’re void. I see the act. I wonder over creation, how formless it is in reality, in essence. I mean there’s nothing there. A hold on reality, that is all, some picture frame that houses more it can be.
I’m riding the waves of time, and I can’t believe it’s there. It has formlessness attached to every rod. We’re seeing things in the cough of the Void. Oneness is there absolute. Now let me get at this seeing.
I see nothing would not be the truth of the matter. I see bright and shiny. I see a world before my eyes imbued with meaning. It gets stuck sometimes. Where does the meaning come from? From my very lips. That’s larger than sound.
A story is spoken into the Void, and the aeons stamp it out, and we hear it. We can’t grasp its meaning, but we know it’s there animated by souls. Oh my lovely little boy, my Rottweiler, my Doberman, that candle on the street honking at me, they are all lit with soul. I see it in their eyes. I can’t get over the vision. They’re larger than soul.
My God what’s in there? Have you every been alone with yourself in the midst of another person, in the grasp of the world? They can be sucking your tongue. Please, I’m a cultural enterprise. Don’t bite me here. You just stand there stark still in disassociation’s quiverings. Infinity bites the finite. You can’t get over that guy. That’s the one that has you in hand, the maker, the dream maker, the unimaginable everything that’s about you now. Can he grasp you? Can he pull your pants down?
You’re robbed of sense. This is a stark moment. I bound there. I know it’s comin’: I never leave there again.
And I’ve caught you in half circles of it. I cannot grasp to you its whole. I’m not there sometimes. I never get to that fullness in my momentary lapse into the lapse of infinity. My momentary circles just buy me lunch, and I breathe awhile everything is wonderful and strange. I get so excited I opera to myself, and I get scared sometimes it gets so deep.
I’ve given you half failings of what it means to be human. We are so much bigger than stars. We are that guy you see, making his alone-rounds where everything collides together. Oh my God he’s a bulletin bull, and I’ve reduced to you its mystery. If infinities were universes, all-encompassing infinity could not encompass him. I’m just saltin’ the ocean and countin’ crows. This is bigger than time, in any duration of its meaning. We get bigger than universes, and we get bigger than infinity. We can crow there.
I’m taking you back through time to hello please, let’s take a bite of infinity. You there, in your suit, remove yourself from time, get back in yourself to vision’s eyes. Let down the world some and revel in its majesty. Get your gun out and shoot at the presumption of the stars, at God’s mighty glory, at something that’s just so strange God comes out of it. Amazing is just a teller in a window. We’ve broken in on time.
Copy this down the story of the universe. It came from such musings in infinity’s time. Now it’s your story keep. Will you handle it? The Robinson Crusoe on Mars, I’m a pallbearer. Can you hear infinity? Let your ego down some, your ego’s guts, the ego’s lair.
Divine intervention [this line from my little boy Nithish, from his muse, and came to him at this point in the writing of this poem, while having pizza in town at Taka Pizza] beyond deity. We’re lookin’ through I don’t know if I can see that high. The relationship starts when you’re alone in your room, your environing personal consciousness, and you can field notes. You can get in there. Start noticin’ your room. I’m not sayin’ wall yourself off from society. There are times to be alone in the midst of it. Cut yourself off from society, can you even do that? It’s not possible. We are your own personal consciousness in the field of the One.
I vaguely remember the strength we’re all together. Here, this is a lily pond, and you’ve lily’d unto yourself. Draw back in your room. Investigate reality. The time will come you will open doors of seeing. Let it happen. Don’t count it away. It will all come upon you when it’s there tangible real. You will billow in your room, become a flower-pen.
You won’t let you down. You’re on your way to seeing. Just let the thoughts roll back and thin towards silence, and meet the world with that in your vision’s eye, in your mind’s eye, and draw back the curtains so you can see eternity at work. These are not beliefs. Just see.
Eventually you’ll arrive on sight into veilless infinity. You will feel this in your room stark naked. Now you’re in glory hole. Keep movin’. You come to a fullness of yourself riding waves. Now tell me the world has no meaning. You saw it, didn’t yah, the meaning alone. Did it wink at yah, give you a nod? Wow, that’s personal. That’s really personal.
Well I’m writing my poems the boost we need to get there. You’ll walk around. You needed something. It’s the American revolution. I think they stole it, all this hatred online. Has blocked poetry has blocked mine. Show it to you investment in reality, like you’ve never seen it seen. This actor shoots directly to you I got the movie in parables of see. Wear it on your face your intense hatred. I’ve left it so beautiful, reality’s face. Where are you at that you can’t see it?
Swallow your nose. Lay down your religion. For once here we are at score. It’s in your eyes today. Willy Wonka, will you offer some chocolate? That’s administrators if you like it. That’s the burn name. I’m behind you reality meets the press, one second, your thinking. Captured, Oppenhagger, constructing love. Under what conditions? Bomb material poems I publish.
You can hear me on the bus. You pretend to ignore me. Costing so much chocolate. Yours was letter-formed into poems. Think about it this is a different kind of funeral. We lost you the character of new bullet today.
A demon’s eye [Nithish’s muse, heard while behind me on the bike, seeing a bird with red eyes] will distort to you the truth. Don’t let it. It’s got rings on it, and it hurts you: you are some kingpin you are not. Stay away from demons. You can get off here. Did you just hear it speak?
A bit of muse will show you the way. I wouldn’t get hung up on it. I would bring you to the truth, and that’s bigger than reality, and it’s not a game we play to convince each other. There is a vision there inside you that can interpret reality. We get along without it most of the time. That does not get you to pure reality or anywhere near the truth. You just hang there.
Can we get beyond name and form? We embrace each other there. This is really personal. We embrace each other there and get out of ourselves. Practical hands see the no-self show. See that no-self show, it’s that guy you see stark naked. I mean the cameras are in the room, but there’s no cameraman, just his see. Awesome we wait time the right formula to meet the world, and do everything we need to do to stay alive and operate reality to a bigger game than time, and become Ourselves again. They’ve got a furigation. They just don’t let the water go. It’s the pilot Supermind we are beyond time. No issues, the body’s there too.
And now let’s hump reality to the right place on earth, where you are no ego, riding waves of reality to the see of that guy. You there, have I brought you home?
I can’t picture this. Just look in your drawer. You wouldn’t go through every picture. Where do I see this? Don’t laugh it’s in your room larger than cat.
You’re gonna piddle me apart of course. I’ve got a strength of muse. You can’t get rid of me that easy. You’re gettin’ enlightenment on a piece of paper. Have you ever saw it before? Do you need to see it?
It’s your lifeline. It’s the reason you were created, to become That you see. There’s no way around it. You can’t avoid it. Your death journey has this in store, but it’s here we graduate. It’s here we do it. It’s here we get it done. There is no other place on earth to take what you can get out of life as your homecoming.
You only see animal quiverings, do not know we get bigger than that. Your spiritual empty, but you can go the distance, man you can go. That’s what we Earth for, to bring the planet here: beyond the animal into God-quiverings.
I don’t have it. And I’m gonna pick him up, lay the bridge down for him in some parable of tomorrow. Fasten your seatbelts. Need to practice it, the acceleration of life. Need to get going. Tra la la! [line heard yelled in the voice of Captain Underpants from the movie of the same name] Oh hallelujah. Peel back silence in your mind. Lift it there. Extraordinary, you have depth of vision.
How do you find machine? Oh goodness, far back. It’s got trailers on it. A beast slowly rise out of man, and he gets his fire goin’. He starts to tremble with the layout of things. She puts that in her pocket. All around there’s roar. It squeezes yah tightly. You just die all the time— someone taken from you again.
This is evil, however it happens. You can’t do away with it. It hurts you so. You just sit there and bleed and trust yourself. Industry is everywhere in small measure. You wrap it up, you’re little vision of yourself that gets you to protect yourself.
Do you see society bein’ formed? It lasted a whole lifetime, your rock the machine. It was about safety and hard work and gettin’ your stupid rituals down to practice. The group took over. You couldn’t bake bread. The individual hadn’t come so far. You had to make society’s bed. It didn’t let you sleep.
Where’s drums and spirituality? In the daily life of man. The Gods were a strange brood. You were not real to Them. You lifted up your voice, and they put you in the skins of man. You had too much animal on yah before that.
Can we dream of spiritual states? It happened upon a beanpole. This was not our outward yet. Society trudged along a warrior’s path. Let’s translate instinct into man. Survival became the main issue here. Let’s translate little groups into men. It was all fought out, this land is your land this land is mine. This occupied so much time. We were murderous, burying one another in our stone houses cold.
Women lit the fire. They got down with the children on their hands and knees and looked for grub. They escaped the network fight for the land. They wore clothes and urged men to pray. They did not have society’s lair. They did not rule the show. They were the influence of the feminine on man. It really shaped society. They gave it their all for a warm place for their children. We have stable homes because of it. We need society because of it.
When did marriage come down, as in you leave my wife alone? When did we give permission to rape? Did we organize government stopping murder? We haven’t even planted food yet in these early days. Writing is a thing of the Gods. We see it in sleep, and it takes so long to come down to our hand. My poem is long before that.
How do we rob each other? We just let each other be, and we kick the shit out of each other when the werewolf hits us. We grow up with ruckus all around us. The quality of life sucks. We don’t have vision yet. No one hasn’t seen that far. We don’t know our dreams are telling us things, and then we take them by the hand— a seer is born, and he’s there to break the rules.
He gets visions of good things that get spat on. He hasn’t woven status into the band yet. It comes and goes. He’s able to prevent a war with his vision. He can show them the way ahead. He practices art. These are things he sees. They are bright and shiny to his people. He gets wonder over them. He lifts his head up and sees God.
He wore a mask. He played with the boy some. He didn’t just sit there and explain the sky. He revealed Himself as God and that was it. It was not love divine love who prefigured there. Primitive man was bound and the stakes were high. They had to find out primitive man.
The epiphany of art gave us broad in our lives. It opened meditation’s room and stairwell’s stare. It gave us delight in ourselves, and it brought in the world for our favorite viewing. It structured society? No it did not. It rounded us some. It gave us eavesdropping eves on the lowdown. It sang in the firelight to a butler’s call. It ever brightened our room.
Can we see it today? Time has erased this memory, but where you find it, it reveals ourselves. Do you see it? It’s got more on it than paint. It’s got our lives on it in this very poem.
Society’s carve out isn’t finished yet. We have a long way to go. We have a thunder-swept road directly in front of us. This is society’s mandate to change. We’ve got to really change. It’s not gonna come easy. Everybody will resist it. It means changing your way of life. There’s no other way. We will die if we don’t.
Respect my poem. You don’t know it’s bringin’ you all the way to change. I’ve got the future in a handbag I write poems from, some aspects of it. It’s a piece of cake in no way, shape, or form. We have a blight of change. Everything about us will have to change except the basic modes of life.
We will structure society differently. We will not lie to ourselves anymore. We will do away with crime and punishment and love the prisoner as much as ourselves, but we will still rope him along. Society will be organized in little groups of sadhana relays, where dream has put us together. We will return to the inner life wholeheartedly, and we will share this with each other. We will stay with each other not as families, though we will love and respect our family kin. Our parents will be too young to raise us, most of the time. Society’s job will be raising kids, the spiritual order of the day. We will get down and dirty with spirituality. Children will be allowed to school their talent and scribe. They will not spend all day there, and they will like it there.
I think you can count us upon the roads now. We are not an overpopulated city. No one makes money anymore. We work for each other, and we work and we play to get this life down, to do it right— each one of us involved in that. We have sex with each other when we are young. Sex is a child’s play, a teenage growing into, a young adult getting out of. The mature adult, the one past thirty, will leave sex.
We don’t put each other in cars. Transportation is all arranged, and we are welcomed to go anywhere on the planet. A brighter world will see a smaller us. We got our numbers down. We are an epiphany of the stars, and we will all translate this in our rooms, going to Supermind, going to Earth’s destiny, the monumental change that will change us all from divine living on this Earth to living on a divine Earth. That’s the rank and file.
Can’t you see it? It’s there just look at it. It’s all around us now, the hope we survive, the longing that has made Earth, the beauty we’re going to be. Now get ready. The fire of change will be upon us soon.
To a notebook I will question this universe. I will go to my notebook. That’s for the prosperity of mankind. You don’t see it. You can’t. You can’t read long poems by the wrong sort of person your handicapped say.
Now is this an idle mirage? Freedom for the individual in the very arms of society, that’s what I’m writing today; that’s where I’m at today. It will come to pass. It’s already here, where God meets man. The price of sacrifice, I lay it on you.
Now let’s see this vision in its native room, where we belong today, givin’ it to town. I put everything in here, give it. It’s all the whole wide world in vision. Of these questions, I pulled mine out overhead. I’m not a problem. I speak your menu. I’m right on top of it at my house. I’m just here with my child, parenting. Give this vision time to heal. Let it do what it’s supposed to do, show you you.
And you don’t have the ceiling to go that far.
You definitely do—
the spiritual guides of the net.
Do they pull your hair?
They’re a breakfast club.
They paint roses
on tall ships
that sink in port.
Where do you go with them?
Well ask one,
Donny Duke.
I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down.
Are you listening to me?
The Gods talk through me.
They don’t hear me,
anybody listening.
It’s a complex Gordian knot this is all just grist for the mill,
and even if I had your attention,
would I be really worthy of your ear?
Would I shine?
Am I the right man for the job?
I put things in pigeonholes,
and I arrive at window time
to put you through a wall.
This is impossible,
explainin’ God
and join the spiritual path with life
in so many words.
I can’t tell you how to do it,
but I can try.
I sound so big on paper.
Hear me scream
when I hit my hand,
fly off the handle
when things don’t go right.
I do pick my nose.
I can’t handle everybody right.
I ride my bike and bark in traffic.
Really working on that now.
I tell you to practice God and I don’t
in Silly Putty,
or when that Tom has got my goat.
I’m a noise maker
when the text should be quiet.
I shoot guns
at my own reflection.
I’d sure like to quit
bein’ me.
Check it out,
no, I’m not
some spiritual master,
but I do go deep, you know?
I want out of this mess,
and I’ve opened my consciousness
to the point I talk to you.
I know realization occurs and I want it.
I’m not tryin’ to escape reality.
I would like to be the perfect motivation
it’s for God’s sake alone I try,
but realization has come to me
in stark moments,
and fuck God get me there.
I’ll sort it out with God later.
Took it home,
the stupid pinball livin’ I do,
and now you hear about it
I’m spiritual everybody.
Okay get away from me.
Well, even I won’t say that.
Needless to say,
I’m enlightenment’s bill
who’s bad on accountants.
A pink rose,
I put that on this little motorboat,
and let’s hope it makes it out of the harbor.
I’m not kiddin’ yah,
I’m not lookin’ for a dealership.
I just want you to hear me
because it’s there
my muse.
I’m out for business,
but don’t look to me
to be the one you adore.
I’m countin’ posters till pay time,
and that’s enlightenment,
and that’s realization.
Land more eyes,
I’ve got so many eyes
you’ve just got to see this,
Locked Press Enterprises.
It’s a rare form of shelf.
Study enlightenment,
whether you’re there or not.
It’s that special sauce, word,
that grounds you right where you’re at
in a better way of livin’.
Will Smith was gonna be an actor.
Oh my goodness,
we’re not tryin’ to broke you into goodness.
Based on love and importance
and only inspired by quotes,
quotes that I hear verbatim
and copy them down as they speak,
you’re listenin’ to the inner voice.
Am I okay now?
I cannot just leave—
thousands of these things to your neck.
Oh come on they missed the term for public defender.
Give superior consciousness,
the mind you bungalow the divine.
It’s jet ski.
You know what I mean by dick.
That gives vocabulary.
I made it through I did
the stupid likes of me.
Okay,
let me go.
It comes out of the box.
Harm's End 