I Can Touch His Own Feeling

photo by Donny

A poem by Donny Lee Duke

Yes of course you can go beyond man.
I felt the house alone.
I stood there on a bridge of time,
not expecting outcomes.
I just saw reality.
It was frozen bare,
and it challenged me to think
surpassing thought.
I was alone in the room,
and even Nitish was there
and my beloved dogs.
I heaved,
approaching the Silence.
It was an illusive prey.
Infinity stole my mind.
It grabbed me by the Silence.

I was a good day.
I cooked lunch,
did my duties
and took care of the people around me.
They were fighting their own battles
and needed my help.
I stood there and be a friend.
I listened to myself
giving them what they need.
I was withdrawing from time.
I stared at the gates of forever.
It orange glowed.

I gathered myself.
I didn’t have any pockets.
Things were to me on the shelf.
I craved no vital indulgence.
I was tired of the play.
Relaxing it was just to stop my thoughts.
It stood upon a verge of time
unaccompanied by time.
I was in that place where God was
the spectator in the room.
Sri Aurobindo held my hand.
The Mother surrounded me.

I loved myself,
faults and all,
but I was in transit from the center of the room.
I was beginning to smile.
I was beginning to hold water,
reacting less to things around me,
but still a reaction bore.
It was a principled state
that divined the reality of others to themselves.
I felt them Self with me.
I felt them safe with me
reacting less and less.
The world was a communiqué and a sound.

Still I was hated
in Auroville
and by the yoga.
No one looked at me
with kind eyes.
I understood and did not hate in return.
I continued to send them postcards:
help me
undo being this outcast among you.
It fell on deaf ears.
I was pariah.
Hello?

Great big bold thoughts,
when they looked at me,
gave them pause to think
for one second.
That’s it.
No one would talk to me,
except to brush me off.
I realized the condition of man.
We are animals in nearness to each other,
even when we have our high ideals
and so many rhymes to sing.
When you’re an outcast you see that.

We are stuck in our ways,
and change is a four-letter word
when you hit that most basic stuff,
someone’s morality,
their motherland,
their lens with which they view the world.
Can you tell me what changes minds,
open hearts
to what they are closed to?
What a position I’m in to learn that.

Our race is doomed,
and the divine has chosen the wrong race to foster.
Change is incremental and slow,
if it happens at all.
But then I look in my own eyes
and see what’s happening with me.
Oh my God we have a chance.
Oh my God we have a chance.
How do you fill in light?
How do you bring change into the room?
You bring change into the room.
It won’t come any other way.
Okay children?

The Well of Human Unity

photo by Donny

A poem by Donny Lee Duke

Goin’ through the tunnel of a poem,
I sit here and write to you.
I puppy every morning.
That’s a little boy I get off to school
or get ready for the day.
Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed no,
he’s a bear.
He’s difficult to deal with
in the morning times.
I just do my job.
Stand around and baby me!
Hold that thought while I iron your uniform.
J.A.R.V.I.S., mach 4!
And on goes the uniform.
It’s a rush to get him off to school.
And there we go.

I really like my job.
I don’t get annoyed too easily.
I’m giving the world its fresh morning start.
I’m giving God his clothes for the day.
That boy gets my full attention.
He’s my special project.
What does he think about it?
You’d have to see it believe it:
he just wants to be with me all the time.
What do I give him that other people don’t?
I give him the bell role,
and he sure makes use of that bell.
I am so delighted to be in his presence.
I cherish him
a devoted man,
hang on his every word,
well almost,
and just shower him with attention.
We’re not always there.
So much time we spend alone
doing our own thing
in close proximity.
Even now he’s on the computer
a few feet away.

Why do I give him this attention?
I can’t give you a label that fits.
Nothing I can call myself works.
Pederast, pedophile, boy lover,
I think you’d think of sex.
You don’t understand.
I love him
in that special way you love boys
when they embody to you your other half.
Let me explain.

I think we all desire union
with a person to fulfill ourselves.
It’s not always the opposite sex.
I think you’ve accepted gay and lesbian unions,
although some people still have problems with the sex.
Well here we are with a boy
representing my opposite half to me.

Okay put God there
you tell me offended by the relationship,
and that’s what I have done.
The boy’s not God for me.
God’s lookin’ at me through that boy.
Now imagine if you really saw this.
I’m not there to harm him, am I?

Granted,
it’s not easy to sacrifice sex and the romantic squeeze.
You do it because you have to.
You love that boy.
You love humanity,
and God you love,
and you don’t forget you love yourself.
Now tell me love can’t do it.

It is stronger than your hate,
what I’ve had to overcome to sacrifice sex,
your hatred.
You’re the biggest obstacle a pedophile faces
in making it right with children.
You can’t even see this.
Sitting in your buffered self,
you can’t see your hate reach the world.
Consciousness is to you a byproduct of brain,
and the hidden consciousness we all share,
you just deny.
A bubble’s worth,
it means no more.
Are you following me?
Now what do we do with pedophiles?

Now tell me love isn’t strong enough
to get them to love kids right.
You are so mistaken with your animal impulses.
You give hate the day.
A pedophile has a purpose if he could be made right.
Let’s grasp a little boy by the horns.
He needs a lot of focused attention,
and no not every pedophile would have one,
and I don’t know how many little boys need a pederast at their side.
Soul manages things,
and we’ve got so much to learn to let it do that.

I’ve made a beginning
to give you this example,
the making of a poet.
Will you hear me?
Anyway here we go.
Let's book ends meet.
He's in patterned straights.
He has the divine attention.
I just look after him.
The divine attention melts
into that he is a poet.
I keep him open to that line.
That's my job with him.

The logic of a poem,
it’s clear on certain things.
Let’s play with boy love, shall we?
Every boy has potential
to be something worthwhile in this world,
I mean in human stakes,
raise our integer.
I’m sorry girls too,
but that’s not my discussion today.
You think I’m talking fame.
I’m talking make us a better people,
and many are unknown who do that.
Now where do we bring the boys along,
the ones who have that mark
of adding meaning to our lives?
Why not a pedophile brings them,
not barring other people can?
I don’t think you know the meaning of pederasty
as an ideal mentoring us along one boy at a time.
You imagine only sex.

And where do we take this vehicle from,
in its proper form,
what brings humanity closer to itself?
Have you ever heard of human unity?
No believe me you have not.
Every area of human life
has to charge itself to human unity.
Every perversion has to find the divine purpose behind it.
This is not a communist manifesto.
God is the unity of all,
the God that brings oneness
as the guiding principle of our lives.
It’s a process of soul.

All our ships will have to be recommissioned.
Every institution,
marriage, family, law and order,
and all our means of employment,
has to produce human unity to survive.
It’s a lofty idea.
Put in practical terms it means fundamental change.
The very engines of society have to change.
Anybody who they are by nature
will have to be dealt with
in the light of human unity,
the most perverted,
and it’s there we reach harm’s end.

Nothing is done we prepare in school.
What would it be anyway different?
Look who we are
and match with that who.
Perfection comes from both of them,
the creature of the world
and the creature of God.
Bruno!
Ideology
can’t put up with this,
someone dangerous.
I don’t think an annual wait would work.
You would have to show them
the way of life to change.
Oh my God experimentation,
how you have to do that.
That means it can’t be a national field,
set about by its laws.
It means overturnin’ bein’ human.
I’m there with a camera
right in your argue belt.
We’re almost there,
where you see my contribution.

Individual's place power,
look at this.
I’m talking to you today
the very thing I’m talking about.
How do you propose this?
Well can you think of better circumstances
for human unity to come waltzing into the room,
when the lights of human unity Auroville are almost out?
The city will still be there
even when human unity is not
where it is taking itself.

You want Auroville the city of the status quo,
government-run Auroville.
You’re not going to produce the new human being.
No radical shift in consciousness there.
Rules cannot arrive at human unity.
How we’ll have to overcome consciousness,
all these formations of ill will floating around.
Tell me the outer process sees this.
It takes an inner revolution
overturning society’s ways.
We need circumstances for that.
We need Auroville.

And there you are in Auroville
arguing for land this and that,
ecological green, the keys to the office, what have you.
Something more fundamental’s at stake.
Can you see where we’re at?
We’re at the very crossroads of the city itself.
Who’s taking over,
the ordinary way of life or human unity,
and who will Auroville produce,
just more people or the superman?
It’s time for you to decide.

The Indian government can’t do it.
It will just produce the Indian government.
It has no means to outgrow itself.
You’d need a charter that says what it needs,
and we go from there.
You have the charter in your hands
the Mother wrote.
To listen to superman,
he's always on time.
Where are you gonna get a map?
Look right here.
Can you see the way?
If you're like me,
it'll take you awhile to see it.
And another little baby child is born in the ghetto. [heard sung, by Elvis]
There's just so much at stake,
and we need to hurry.
So race to human unity on itself.
Alright news, listen.
Cause man help.

A Mixin’ on the Cosmic Two Yard Line

photos by Donny, gimped by him

A poem by Donny Lee Duke

Alright let’s look at yah.
Amazing tornado,
it fixes the Yoga
right along its seams.
He reveals the Yoga.

No one’s ever done this before.
Wow, enlightenment.
It’s not possible to ignore ‘im.
He is delivery man.
This upsets the applecart.
Do you admire this or tear it apart?

A nice, safe and comfortable high five.
They’re just startled.
You manifest.
It’s beyond their pale.
If she has it she gives it to yah,
American house maker’s exchange.
You know what?
Put the dog in here.
Nitish bring them all.

Heat—The Inevitable Word
look where he’s wired.
We found him.
He’s in the city.
He’s around the ashram program,
an independent speaker of Sri Aurobindo.

Take him down.
We’re sure this is not the Word.
Who made frogs talk to him?
I was not prepared for the length of his contribution.
I can’t believe it;
he’s put so much out there.

My God the Word.
This is what it looks like.
Where do we put him?
Just leave ‘im alone.
A revolutionary speaker,
a speaking prophet,
are you kidding?
That’s for us.
It’s instant thrown away.

Down, down, down, up/down/up, down/up/down.
Down, down, down, up/down/up, down/up/down. [Heard this strum for the guitar]
I’ve write a song for you.
I collaborated you see,
from the bottom of my heart.
From there to the world,
from my touch with the world.
Even indicate a Spirit itself,
the whole planet.
I can’t see it—
an audience speaker.
It’s so close.

Consciousness saving devices
led by Sri Aurobindo.
I drew up the Alamo.
Drew up by popular mechanic.
I will besiege their house.
I will besiege the Alamo.

The divine comedy of Snob Owens
received poems.
You’re composed too much to be mood.
Your life is mood.
Don’t you know you are a shooting star?
There are other universes, other universes, other universes.
Across the universe across the Self.

What?
Every accomplishment will be made little of.
Is that where I piss?
They don’t understand.
No one understands.
You’re gettin’ a medal for bravery.
I’ve been calling this for years.
All you have to work on is the technique.
I give you the words
I give you the song
Mr. Inner Ear.

Talk and oneness are the same.
I do believe I’ve said my piece.
61 minutes
it’s on the way.
All these poems
the way you bring “Above National Commitments” out into the public?
Hear the radio.
It’s comin’.
Put your hat on boys it’s comin’—
right on the two yard line.

My God the Attitude

photo by Donny
A poem by Donny Lee Duke
Where is that tambourine man?
They don’t let you know everything.
A prime example
of so many things I can’t tell you.
You hold a life of noble purposes but it’s there behind you,
the ominous, foreboding nature of man.

I don’t think there’s cause for alarm
you generate goodwill
all in divine purposes.
You’re healed from your trauma,
from everything outside,
when you surpass yourself.

Can we say rock-bottom
has brought you over to freeway?
My God that smarts.
I don’t know how to tell you divine intervention
puts up with it for so long.
It’s a rock-bottom nightmare.

Divine intervention thrones above.
It has you by the hand.
You’re pulled out one by one.
This is grateful
hasn’t found a home yet.
You’re just stuck in the breeze.

Unfortunately you care,
and it just keeps going off.
This is rock-bottom nature
has overcome yourself.
It’s all in the plan
you come out of this alive.

God really cares.
It’s all over His face.
You just stand there and stare at it.
You wait for the world to show you a way out,
all eyes on that exit.
You’re in a harmony with the world.
It seeks you out.
Finally you find it.

There is no celebrating,
no noise you make
of victory.
You don’t even breathe,
least you draw lines in the sand
you get kicked around by.
Hey everybody I’m done!
Oh yeah?
And you fall again.

The unconsciousness of the mental life,
The mental battle,
The mental drama,
they confound.
We tag along
around the silence.

You have reached a divine rescue
in conjunction with the Earth.
You’ve penetrated the Earth,
and the intelligence behind Nature
moves into position.
You just let it happen.

The harmony that results from that
takes you out of harm’s way.
It’s wonderful isn’t it?
Glory hallelujah I’m saved,
truly.

No American
is that on the ground with you.
They take themselves with a grain of salt—
it was the trip
and all the interconnectedness about him
that gave him the pause—
you’re their bogeyman.

I’m okay I’m blind:
I don’t see a reader one interested in my story.
What do you do with this poem?
It’s the dawn of the day.
We’re gonna be right there where it grows.
We’ll give everybody fare warning,
and it shows up on some bulletin board,
the freshest in line.

A New Years Party Resolution

Poems by Donny Lee Duke

Photo by Jake Weirick on Unsplash
Photo by Avi Waxman on Unsplash
Photo by Timon Studler on Unsplash
Photo by Erik Witsoe on Unsplash
Photo by Dan Asaki on Unsplash
Photo by Alex Lvrs on Unsplash
st Photo by KMA .img on Unsplash, 2nd Photo by Ravi Sharma on Unsplash
Photo by Jaric Swart on Unsplash
1st Photo by Cash Macanaya on Unsplash, 2nd Photo by Jaric Swart on Unsplash
1st Photo by Tani Olorunyomi on Unsplash, 2nd Photo by Susanna Marsiglia on Unsplash, 3rd Photo by Donny, of Lisa, Nikon FM 2, black and white film, self-developed

The Minister Everywhere

Pope Francis in Rome, photo Credit: AP/Alessandra Tarantino

What is it about to see a priest?
Be reviewed by God
doesn’t happen.
You’ve just been given time off
from that urge to find God.
It satisfies your religious sense,
nothing else.

That’s the big lie:
popes and priests grapple for you God.
They are the wellspring
of our inability to find God.
You must believe in them or else.
Have I mentioned the clergy?

We think they’re holy men and women.
They don’t know how to tie their shoe:
be a system unto God.
They are a profession in a bank,
are not knowledge of God.
They can show us the way to enlightenment
very few.

What do you do with them?
Helping men and women for causes just
we give them credit for.
Something in them has a calling
they’ve mistranslated into religion.

They could go deeper,
and some have.
I don’t think you would find them in today’s textbook,
but I’m sure there’s one or two out there.

So are they obstacles to God?
In a manner of speaking yes.
Desmond Tutu would not find for you revelation.
You quote man’s ways
on his greater path.
You are not a stark naked outlook on God.

So, do we just find God ourselves
unaided from God?
What is a seer?
They’ve opened God unto their lives,
can express the spoken word
they hear from on high
or from their being’s core,
the hidden speech
that labors out the world.

It is not God talking,
but it is the sound of His voice,
clear with His meanings dim,
for God cannot inhabit human speech,
but revelations still come down,
and the mystic word gives us bright hints of God.
This the seer does.

You have heard him spoken in cities,
heard her upon the mountaintop.
Can you find the inner Guide?
That’s the clergyman in every home,
the minister everywhere.
Can we come to this?
Can we be unto God?
The minister of the Earth
God everywhere.

The Pupil and His Divine, a Harmony in Five Measures – 1

Sri Aurobindo

 

The Listening Post

[Although formatted to fit your screen, the poem was originally written in 2014. It’s in the form of a dialogue with multiple speakers: the poet, his divine, various people in the audience, including children, and even a hostile being. Paying attention to punctuation and listening to the poem read, the voices dramatized, play key roles in interpreting it.]

You can see whatever you want.
I’m eraser not found you come in here.
We’re a friendly service.
Pull on it make sure it’s there.
It revolutionizes
your whole universe.
Wisdom is as free as doorways,
long direction movement
wrapped around your skin.

What the hell is going on?
That facility to hear playback,
all the universes spinning and you got a sound.
We pop in your head.
It arranges things,
continually adds to your bank account.
Completely unborn children
spend all their time
(Alright then I got plenty of time)
warming up to this sound.
It’s their pleasure arrangement.
Like packed honeycombs they are born.
I’m sorry you’re not very easy to control.
The baby knows a greater TV.
It’s his home channel.

We see our voices,
images in the air on the notebook of sight
the inner eye sees.
They’re often read.
Language can’t describe their variety
unless you had infinity’s notebook.
You can open up this vision,
this paper weight of silence
in the magnet of your thinking
that reaches beyond itself.

Large voices will attract,
entertain your ear.
There is no limit to its development.
You can construe it,
order it around,
when you want it to say something.
There’s mixture there,
an unaffordable see.
It costs dearly vision.

This eye of sight
can see the world in view
and work about to change it
starting with you.
It habits this land,
makes it build bridges
to further understanding.
Low and behold a new bridge is built.

We widen our view.
It goes without thinking.
We are in the cockpit of a larger plane
I’m going to fly around.
We silence our music,
give it greater strings to play.
Then it listens further
than the frontiers of time.

I see the images:
a waterfall of words that pressurize silence;
large freedom hills
naked as the Sun;
a camera that reads music.
Those’ll get yah warm.

A greater life is calling.
We seem to think we’re fine.
I’ll destroy your music
If I can’t stomach your thought,
so the Pied Piper says.
Wouldn’t want to hear about it first.
We’re not living.
We’re dead ants.
We suffer our measure
and drink it as wine.
Come to think of it,
we’re fine.

Can we escape?
We have this infinity’s ear
that helmets in the sight
to what larger there may be.
I’m giving you airplane.

I mean what stopped it?
It’s not broken.
We can try to remember it
some close to a dream.
It slips in like a spiritual thought
and says something new.
The listening is active but your father can’t come in.
Thought will override the program.
You must keep it on its knees.
We wait our season.
Right in the place where people are talking,
you give it an in-look.
That means you wait for something to happen
in the beginnings of sleep.

His day would go quickly he was trying to clean up.
Not a hat could be found.
He reached into his vision.
Just take that other one.
Just take His one.
I’m not going to talk to you about it
off guard.
A teacher does my thinking in moments of silence.
He is my vision’s partner.
We dock a few lines.
Ever hear of the master worker.
I’m the arrangement.
He’s actually there.

One hundred:
I can hear a reflex pointing our research first.
It aggrandizes the dime.
This snake has many things
at its garbage disposal.
Open your eyes and smile.
Village your truth.
Do you hear mouth here?
I hope you’re able to separate your hairs,
I mean lines.
A rough text point,
this signals your thinking.

We infinity our truth.
These are infinity’s guidelines.
I hold them out straight.
Infinity would never believe it.
You’re supposed to catch on.
I’ve rounded your thinking
with the history of milk.
You must be a pauper to drink it.
It orders only silence.
You listen in need.

We pull the kid out.
I’m about your thought,
your merry-go-round.
I follow the leader
of what you drink.
There caution sorrow,
disappointment’s ring
if you go off on some tangent.

Listen to spiritual practice.
You’d need to listen wide.
A dream fashions from this same fount,
and you can take us anywhere.
I come from a higher place than that.
I come from infinity’s window.
I’ve ordered your thinking
along these lines:
there is a listening post,
your higher heart.

Good word.
Sit in there
come clean,
Recover.
I can get richer,
but I’ve spent all my dime.
Listen again.
To be read over,
listening silence.

Original Sin

My must suggested the subject, and I made the shot and developed it

Original Sin

In a sunny corner of remote earth
the bite of it all
challenged orthodoxy.
This was in Nature’s plan.
Green-gold it moved.
This conducted harmony
operating on discords –
not a packaged plan,
neither from the stars.
It brought in cities beyond the universe.

We bask in its revelry –
a riot of God
on lone isles of trust.
Wonderful it wore shoes.
Naked impulse did not light its lamp.
A renegade,
it brought all to bear on noontide.
Light held its room.

Yes, we sing in darkness’ lair.
We deliver anthems
without knowing on which we rest.
It came to us unclothed,
and we saw naught but sin.
What distance orthodoxy
from all that abounds in this place.

 

This poem came complete via the inner voice while I was sitting and waiting for a room darshan on Mother’s birthday at the Sri Aurobindo Ashram in 2015. It was originally posted in the old blog of Douglas and I, The Chipmunk Press. It bears mentioning that I went to the Samadhi the next day after writing the poem and inwardly asked where I should put the poem, and I heard my muse answer:

To the question in Sri Aurobindo's room:
are you there?"

Mahakali On The Wall

Recently here at Harm’s End we were able to finally do something we’ve wanted to do for a while which is upgrade our satsung room with some dark blue carpet and a fresh coat of white paint on the walls. We also got some nice meditation cushions, and the final touch was some nice pictures of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo to hang on the walls.

To get the pictures Donny and I went to a place in town called Harpagon Workshop, which is a department of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram, and which has a very large photo gallery with thousands of pictures of Sri Aurobindo and the Mother of all different sizes. In addition to shopping for the satsung room, I was also on the lookout for one more picture for my room, one that would be directly across from me as I’m sitting in my chair. Shortly after we arrived at the gallery one picture really popped out at me of the Mother standing at the top of a staircase. I was drawn strongly to the picture, and thought it would be good one for my room.

Later on, as Donny and I were admiring the picture newly hung on my wall, he told me that this particular photo was the first image he ever saw of the Mother. It had been on the cover of a book called The Sunlit Path, which is a compilation of the Mother’s writings. I was also already familiar with the photo as well as that book, but Donny told me something I didn’t know about it, and that was that it was taken on the Kali Puja day when the Mother came down the stairs, and then gave blessings to all the ashramites. I found that very interesting since I had drawn the card that represents Mahakali1 that day from The Eternity Game, and I took it as confirmation that this indeed was the photo that was needed for my room. I also thought this could herald more involvement from that particular aspect of the Divine Shakti in my sadhana which is good news since the name of that card in The Eternity Game is ‘Power’ and its aspects are ‘Transformation’, ‘Rapidity’ and ‘Height.’ In the description of the card Medhananda states that:

Her way is a rapid transformation by the sudden and immediately effective removal of all obstacles opposing her divine will.2

For that to happen though:

she insists that we take our seat on the highest heights of our consciousness; only then can she shatter our limitations and smallness. Only when our aspiration mounts like a flame will she remove the enemies from our path.3

So getting Mahakali’s help isn’t easy, but maybe I’m nearing the point where that sort of decisive and irrevocable help is possible. I hope so. I did have one experience of Mahakali’s help a year or so ago on a day when I was caught up in a strong movement of anxiety. I had drawn the Mahakali card for that day and remembering that prompted me to call on her for help. It wasn’t instantaneous, but shortly after that the anxiety quickly lifted leaving me feeling peaceful. That wasn’t the end of my trouble with anxiety, but it showed me the possibility of Mahakali’s intervention.

It bears mentioning as an endnote to this post that after these events occurred I saw they would make a good article showing synchronicity, and had been planning to write it over the coming weekend. On Saturday I also drew the Mahakali card, which prompted me to follow through on writing the article, and I also took it as a sign that writing it was timely and fit with my process.

Notes and References

  1. Mahakali is one of the four aspects of the Divine Mother referred to by both Sri Aurobindo and the Mother in their writings and talks.
  2. Medhananda, The Eternity Game, pg 53
  3. Ibid

 

A Film Camera For Mugu

About nine months ago or so I was still living in the USA and corresponding via email with Donny about one of our young people at Harm’s End, Mugu, who is 17. The issue was Mugu had dropped out of the class he was taking to prepare him for what in India is known as the 10th Standard examination. It’s the equivalent of a high school diploma in the USA, and is a difficult exam requiring a long preparation, and Mugu didn’t have either the initiative or the discipline for it.

So we were wondering what to do with Mugu, and I brought up as I had in the past that Mugu seemed to have a thing for photography. Rather than putting him in some kind of class, Donny put forth the idea of getting him a film camera and teaching him film photography. My response was that nobody uses film cameras anymore, and that they’re a major expense compared to a digital camera, which, after the initial investment in the equipment itself, can take thousands and thousands of pictures. So I basically vetoed the idea, and as I would find out later Donny was actually okay with that. He thought a nice digital camera would be fine as well.

Then nothing happened for a while after that. I didn’t bring it up again because even though I was okay with a digital camera, I’m a cheapskate, and it would be a big chunk of change for a good digital camera with multiple lenses. I also know how irresponsible Mugu is, and was worried about the camera being lost or stolen. Then Donny brought up the film camera again, and again I argued against it. So he sent me a formation he had gotten from his muse on that matter, one that he felt had come from our teacher, the Mother, which said:

A digital camera
not the appliance he needs.
A professional camera
with lenses
develops his creativity.

Don’t mix tobacco in it.
A digital camera,
there’s a
camera
ain’t a camera
his art would say,
his art,
not mine, yours
or ours —
his camera.

 A boy and his needs.
He needs a camera
just to help him
become a good man.
Become a good man,
that’s our field.
Creativity lost his show
there’s no camera.
Digital not included.1

Now as clear as that was I still wasn’t ready to give up my position on the matter, mainly I think at this point because I didn’t want to be wrong, nor to be overruled by someone’s else’s guidance. My vital also has some problems with jealousy over the fact that I can’t get a formation like that from my muse, can only get some lines here and there or small groups of lines, and that also made the whole thing hard to swallow. So I continued to argue, pointing out that what might be spent on film alone over the course of a year would buy a very nice digital camera with multiple lenses. So Donny sent me another formation that had come a while before but that he hadn’t shared with me. This one said:

Professionality
a camera,
a camera
professionality.
Digital camera
is the wrong lens.
Now get it
Like you’re supposed to
a lens camera.
Douglas don’t want to buy the camera,
Don’t want to
Because it doesn’t make sense
to his practical
intelligence.

 Creativity deserves a chance.
You’re not thinking how involved he’ll be
with a professional camera.
A great occupation
color
photography.
Develop sway talent.

Would you listen?
Douglas has his own opinion.
How are we doing today?
Develop his own opinion.
That’s roll call,
Orange wares. 

Grand market
shopping
must be in town.
Oh it is.
Professional camera
with lens,
telephoto one,
wide angle,
and the one you use mostly. 

A lot of creativity
has room to play.
Amsterdam
doesn’t take him home.
Creativity rules.
What do we do for money?
Trust sweetheart,
just trust
and work.
There’s sadhana.2

Well after reading that I gave in, though the vital didn’t like it at all. By that point I was planning to come to India, but I wasn’t sure when, so Donny and I started looking online for a used film camera in India rather than waiting for me to buy one in the USA and bring it when I came. The search proved much more difficult than either of us were expecting and when we finally ordered a camera we didn’t read the fine print in the listing on ebay.in, and got one that was sold “as is”, and was basically broken. At this point I thought I could ask my mom if I could have my grandfather’s Canon AE-1, which had been sitting in my dad’s closet unused for years, to give to Mugu, and she said I could. So when I came to India back in December I brought that camera with me.

Then we ran into more obstacles. Both Donny and I had assumed that in a country as large as India there would be websites where you could easily buy the chemicals and darkroom equipment, but that didn’t turn out to be the case. You could find things scattered around on amazon.in and ebay.in but a lot of it seemed to be coming from the USA. So we went to a website in the USA, and could find everything we needed, but the shipping was almost as much as the cost of the chemicals and equipment. We had decided to just eat the cost, but then it occurred to me to call Auroville and try to find out if anyone there had a dark room, and knew how to order the supplies in India. From Auroville I got the name of an American man, John, who has lived in Pondicherry for many years, and was formerly an inmate of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram. I gave John a call and he invited Donny and I over to his house where we had a long talk, and he also gave us the name of man in Mumbai who could supply us with everything we needed. The way it all wonderfully worked out was just more confirmation for us that we were indeed doing the right thing with the film photography.

So we got all the chemicals and equipment to start Mugu with black and white photography. All that remained was a dark room, which is almost completed. Once it is John has offered to come over and give us some pointers from his long experience with film photography. There’s every reason to hope this will be a very positive thing for Mugu, and give him a much needed focus and creative outlet, one that will help him, if Donny’s muse is correct, to be a better man.

Notes

  1. Copyright Donny Duke
  2. Ibid.