If you are reading this poem on a phone, note that the integrity of the lines, a major feature of poetry, is not displayed properly. Many if not most get cut short because of the small screen.
For both a ride on me, ageless against you, and the age of the suns, I’ll be thousands of fallin’ underneath my mind, startled by the springs of enlightenment, and the cards are in play but too grandiose for my design.
Involved in the history, I’m not chuckin’ wood, but let’s face it I’m this little man in a little play. Now look, even in my beach job parking lot the herald of swift event patterned life. I saw the nuances of things to come, and I was a bearer there.
You can’t grasp this in your hand. I held the Earth in impossible lilies. I knew it was a steamboat. I handled it carefully every damn day. Can you imagine sleep without it? It held me at night, working on its intricacies.
I saw the world comin’. It held my gasping hand in its own. It was a birthday kiss. It was a holocaust of things known. I did not put all my rocks there. I had bigger plans than Earth.
Can you starry enlightenment? It will do you away. You’re not there seein’ it. You’ve disappeared, standin’ right there in the middle of it, and you’ve gone father than the world.
I know this land. I can’t describe it to you. It’s taken the world away in perfect seeing. I am not sure of its moorings. My times there have been brief, but you hear it in my gifted speech.
A whole field’s to play, famous hotel, unknown to the world. Can you imagine seeing the impossible, a world where none is, sights and sounds that not be, thoughts where none be? A whole world arise from the Void where nonexistence is. What arises now?
I don’t know if I’m worth this. I don’t know if it’ll come, the springboards of the Earth a seer’s grasp, the passive in God’s hands, the no-self of enlightenment, the end of suffering for individual man.
The floodgates are open for this puny start, a beach bellhop boy liberals through the strong right-wing the doors of enlightenment, contentment and peace, where the wild things are. I carry that trailer. I tarry there.
It’s worth it, no firecrackers in the belly. Wish you that payment. I started looking at shiny objects. I realized there was a behind the behind in every word that’s true, when you touch base with reality.
I wanted a bridge. The vehicles of enlightenment silence the world, engineer reality to make the grand crossing. Uh-Huh, there’s a reality there enlightenment leads to, the nature of reality, where we come from.
And you think you’ve stalled on enlightenment? There’s a beyond. It studies the world for you. It’s its master design. The roads ever get deep. Another universe holds this one in ours, and we go on from there.
The All-Encompassing All-At-Once is the study of the game, and we’re on flat level Earth, the first rising structure to pick up This land. How can I get this across?
No sight can show you it. No mode of thought gets there. You can sit in the All-At-Once of the sun to use a metaphor, and there you can see the dynamics swiftly over your head in a secret passage to our Source.
Now bring enlightenment into the picture. It’s stills the world for you to get to the other side into the reality beyond the universe, into the reality that made us.
Glory in the spoken word of poetry. One bad dream is this universe to cross. Right this minute, can you get the sense of creation? Can you see it larger than the book?
We went past it. What happened? We got services hello Cape Canaveral. One accident, it’s gonna be close. Till Hunter gets back we don’t leave reality to the fishes. We get out of these beach suits, the mere survival looking for enjoyment, the group mind. I’ll be right back. And it was a hunter for spiritual dawns.
Can you see that out of the routine? Bonanza, we’ve established this fact on earth again. The pilot’s license, where we start. Oh my God my head on my shoulders, this is like the bus you know.
Another life on earth, we enter that life today. Can you believe I’m 21? I sit in bathtubs and smile, holdin’ onto speech that has not come. I’m butt naked, and no one sees me. I haven’t entered society yet. I think my penis said that.
I lift my voice and sing syllables that make sense to me, and my truck, my God my red truck, it’s bigger than life. I’m a destruction derby all day long. How do you expect chaos to get along? When I pee everybody drinks it, and I’m glad that I did.
I just shouted. Did you hear it? I can turn a principle 13. Here I am in my kingpin. Wow that’s tight. What body part did they make? I am really in the ditch with you, and it’s wonderful ain’t it?
My body is on fire with the touches of life, and I can feel my own skin. I go through sudden rages, and no one even answers me for it. You can’t say no to me. I want to do everything. I love the sudden grandpa. He doesn’t practice the word no.
You know what it’s like to run free? We will find thought soon. I’m an image in my head of pumpkins waiting for the birth of thought. That comes with language you know. My grandpa gave me a new word today, careful. I fall so many times.
Okay I’m 21 months, and I’m takin’ my time. Who wants to be thrown to the wolves? I’m just all out in front of everybody. I’m Dylan. I'm myself to please.
Spoken word poetry, till I get it, I leave it alone. Wow, it’s left alone. In case of good poetry break this glass. I just sit here and discover, letting the word explain itself in the giving of lines and in the hurtin’ of the world.
If I show you the pain will you stop it? Will you even know it’s there where you feel your pain? Oh no another Holocaust movie all about bein’ numb. I can’t give you this star-glow to ride the world on its tongue feelin’ people. I’m not a robot I’m free, but the price of my freedom is your pain, your wellbeing I feel like my own.
It’s shoots me all the time, or it gives me stars. I’m there with you in the delivery room of another bucket of world today, huh?
I see through all these sleeves of world maker’s art, a world upon world in the moments with mine, a conglomerate of worlds of this group of people and that, of this person alone, of all the mini worlds that make up this world that we call Earth. Can you see that simultaneously with your own? I taste you there. I know you’re there.
How do I communicate this to you so you feel it too like you have your children’s hands in your own, like your best friend’s smile, like your mother’s love? I don’t die there, but I question God all the time and Sri Aurobindo.
These are terrible times, and they get ready for tomorrow terrible too, with a past just as terrible starin’ us in the face. Let the good times roll, and my God they do. How sweet life can be in its gathered moments, how manageable, but why does it always add up to this: life is not a bundle of joy; life gets us in corners and does bad things to us. Can you understand that?
Why does the world go on like nothin’s happenin’, like it’s free and easy and clean, so standardized? They scream on the news bad news to an audience of normal, of tie your shoe, of everything’s alright here, ain’t it? Not in every bubble. So much quiet desperation it has been said.
Do you know the rovin’ hellhole? Somewhere on Earth at any given time they’re eating each other alive. It’s the worst place on the planet for a moment. Hell swallows them whole, unbelievable cruelty, and nothin’ to redeem them. Goddamn that stinks.
Alight I’m blessed. I live in a little pocket of warmth and forgiveness. I have opened the doors to humanity in the stadium of my room. I ride there all day figurin’ you out. I take great thoughts to the skies, but I must remember I’m a low man on the totem pole in your eyes. I do nothin’ here that grants you my room, that shows what I’m doin’ larger than life.
A poet of world standing I am not. I’m a poet among many thousands in the availability of today, and no poetry comes along and wallops your head or smites your heart from my pen. I just spit in the breeze. That’s the trash dumpster, and here let me give it another poem. I put my dogs to sleep, and I wish you goodnight.
All united and happy they think. Come here Luna. Get your head… [vision of Luna Rottweiler putting her head in a hole in the ground] One doggy at a time. Oh fuck I’m on Candid Camera. He’s just gonna go for it. Well then the surprises and bad secrets, heart is ruined on the same thing: waging war on the Fourth of July. What’s the significance of your dog growing? Into a likeness of you. What I didn’t have: put every slept of it complete. My God, they should be spilled.
What is it this time? Dr. Milk Powder— I haven’t called you; I’ve had enough, is that the plan? You know he’s lost his boy. They’re travel uneasiness way to stutter. Don’t you see? Alongside with it it’s real. You know his boy’s called not in awhile. Suffer this, and it just last of people’s hittin’.
Do you like people? Is this fruit juice? Why is it we always hate somebody, run there all the time? You really enjoy this life don’t you? It seems all fair winds. Need to pull her pregnant with the grenade. It will get you every time. Just look around the world. Just look at your neighbor.
Do you know how we get along? Do you know how we get through this? We don’t be monsters to each other. We don’t be mean. We try to be kind and giving in our painful moments. This is overcoming the world and getting better at yourself. It’s a love angle, and we need more love. That house definitely, where you put your hat off, where you sit around. Love those people, the people you’re life-in’ with. You don’t know how much this counts.
It’s all an effort I know. We have to overcome ourselves to do it sometimes, but we have to give this baseball to all the standin’s in the world, so we can have a world that works. Is that so hard to believe?
You know the world is full of holes. Even the divine is negligent and will crush you to make the world, will just stand by and watch. These are not pleasant times, but we have to endure them, tryin’ to find joy inside, tryin’ to give our children a good time.
What else is there? Spirituality’s a pole we lean on. There are surprises in consciousness if we let them. There’s a world maker’s art you can see. These are deep down inside, past the underwear, past all that gets in the way. There is strong inside, even after you’re shattered.
This world’s a dream maker’s art, so much more than show, but this is a common dream we are having that the significance of dream shows. We’re living out a representation telling a story, and all our lives add to that One involved, and all our lives keep going. We’re where time loops around itself a great big mechanism of being that has definite boundaries that we can cross and get out of here after the whole has been complete. We’re goin’ somewhere together, and yes some escape before time, but they’ll end up on another world soon.
This great big ship has a destination you know, something worth time, something bigger than ourselves and is ourselves at the same time. I’ve gone out of the universe you see and been myself on high.
Stupid me, I describe experience like you’ll believe it, but you can kill me and it’ll still be there. It can’t be erased from time. I’m a nobody because of it, liftin’ up my room for you to see. It’s got crosses on it and monkey bars, because I’m just like you, but I’ve been given a breath of supernal air, and I need to tell you about it. It’s affected my vision. I see the world.
I’m just like everybody, but I don’t live like you inside. I live with you and inner vision. I get rocked by joys that fill my noon the outside world doesn’t bring me. I feel oceans of sadness I’m not in the world about. I feel existence pain, and when I walk outside, drive my bike through the town, the countryside, it’s a wonder-weft of miracle, and I feel every person I come across. I see the One inside, and all the many representations surround me. I can’t get over it.
Now I’m here with another poem. Let it ride the day if you read it, because it puts us together if you escape, because it’s here we learn to live again after your world has been taken away. Can you see me now? Can you hear?
Father I can’t take this pain any longer. It’s an illness to slam you. I am not responsible at this, but I know what I’m talking about. Open mind comes with smartness. With an open heart comes the father. It has shaken my whole world, changed my eyes. My path is on a unicorn, a big one.
I look out my widow every day and ask for freedom from this barrier. It’s a block. You just got to take another way. You can’t go through it can you? What if my path is highlighted from the others? I have my own dreams to chase.
I just found this poem in my carry bag two days ago. I had forgotten about it. Nithish gave it to me some days before he was taken from my home on March 12th. He had been telling me he wanted his muse to give him another poem to his father to explain things. He wanted me to tell his parents these things so that they did not put him to one day a week with me. At that moment, he was living with me during the weekdays and with his parents on the weekends. He wanted to continue the arrangement.
He wrote this poem while at school from spiritual vision, meaning that he heard each line spoken into his inner ear, and he copied it down. He does not record the lines like a poem, just writes them down, as he is dyslexic and has a lot of trouble writing. If you have read his other poems posted here, you can see he has developed more as a poet and a writer, and you can hear his feelings and thoughts spoken very clearly, what he wants his father to know, but the poem never got to his father. He was taken just a few days after he wrote it. Below is the poem in his handwriting.
I am Nithish a growing poet. I will write for the world and me, and I will take big steps anywhere, anytime. I am opening (muse) my marker a bag with development. If the bag doesn’t get bigger I will fly away.
Oh I am high on poetry. Get me a ride home. Hey god, how tall are you? Ha h aha I’m going to my job.
2nd Part
Exchange the world for some divine, and my marker call the muse. Will you listen to the paper it’s right. Why are the poets here for?
I have started my journey. I feel like I wanna be dead. But why? Someone have to stop this school before kids die.
I need help please stop these dictators. Kids need power too if kids to live in this world in peace. I ask myself God please help me. Forsake have you?
It takes a power in India. I let me talk of light/God I to the world. I will be in heaven if I am able to be in peace.
I have started my journey. I am gonna see my old mind, and I am gonna write till I see no more. I seen God. I need way to escape from reality. Have they heard God or have they saw a kid talk to God? Well I have a spark of power now.
I am in sea with sea monsters. His eye was bigger than my head. I feel ashamed of myself.
Chapter 2
I have started my journey. Am I really pissed off? I ask you that or do I ask me that maybe? I should ask the world.
I shall be born again in my mind. Please look me in the eye and talk to me. They shot my head off, threw me in fire, stabbed me.
I can only hear the light, but can you go? I am stuck as one. I am three, but people only see one and judge me looking at my face.
I tell them judge me after looking in my inner soul. Are we kids gonna die without living life a little? I am very strong my muse. I have to protect the light from another somebody from stealing it.
I always say goodnight, sweet dreams, but who’s there to that for me? God help I am homeless. I have opened my pen to write me.
This poem is a prevision of the future. Nithish wrote it from spiritual vision some months before the horrible situation he’s describing happened to him, when he was taken from my home by his mother, where he lived during the week, visiting his parents on the weekends. That is the journey he started. They did bad things to him, but the worst has been what they have done to his heart by doing Nazi-like things to him to kill his love for me and keep him from having contact of any kind with me, although for the first two months he called me in secret telling me of the abuse, and of course we have inner contact in spiritual vision, or I do; this also has been killed in him by his parents in their attempts to kill his love for me. He doesn’t write poetry anymore, no longer hears his muse, or very little.
I need to mention that school for Nithish is the worst thing in the world. He’s been badly abused for his dyslexia in school, both physically and emotionally, and his parents would never allow me to get him tested for the learning disability. But in this poem, school represents where he gets his life lessons, and that takes place at home too. The muse, the inner voice of poetry, uses the symbols that you know, and, if you have some preconceived idea, it won’t override it but use that in the place of what would more represent the truth. That’s going on here with his use of the word school to describe what is going on in his home with his parents.
He was not just split in two, having to have one face to his parents and another to me, but there was the Nithish alone to himself he had to try and honor also, and so when he’s speaking of being three people, not just one, that’s what he’s talking about. Since the source of his abuse came from his parents punishing him for continuing to love me and wanting to see me, not to mention betraying their bedroom sins to me, he became completely silent about me with anyone he didn’t trust, did not even mention my name, let alone say want to see me.
On the phone he told me that he had to do that because they were treating him very badly, like he was poison, because he had caused all this trouble for his family and brought shame on it, and so, he told me, he had put on a fake smile, but he was really sad inside. So he was one person to his family and another to me, and still another to himself. I cannot tell you what this does to a child, especially one that is right this very second beginning the body changes into adolescence. Mental illness of some sort will ensue at some point. If I am unable to bring him home, I believe the boy will become a psychopath like his father, who has murdered four men in cold blood for his gang.
I have the flower in my head. I just want to get it in the light. Can I just be in my life? Can I just get my life back?
I am running to the light again. Pull me up so I can join you. For next level it’s coming up.
I am crying I need sleep. They call me poison. That’s not my name I am Nithish. Why do you care will show my name to the world going down the road?
Ha! can you see that coming? That’s the new world formed. Pass it can you hear me out? Let me get back home. I am very loud if you know— your smartass come from the divine.
I am blinded from the light. Is that it that’s the start of the border? Wanna go beyond? Let’s go to the spark of soul that’s a frost fire running out of school. Run with me hear the bird. Run with me for good.
They judge me by any downfall. Well see my poem from God. Have you met my birds? To the surface we can go to New York, get the jet ski fly away from ground.
If you have been reading these posts of Nithish’s poetry, then you know he’s writing this from spiritual vision, meaning he’s not making it up; it’s spoken into his inner ear and he writes it down. This a poem he wrote while at school some months before he was taken from his home at the lake. In one fell swoop he lost his whole life, me, Douglas, his dogs, his own room, his new computer, the farm, the lake, all of it, and he has not been allowed to return or visit me since, anywhere, call me on the phone, have anyone give him message of me, or view his YouTube channel. Read the last post to see why his parents have done this, and you will suspect, as I do, that they have abuse they are hiding, and they know the boy will tell me if he sees me alone long enough, and they are preventing that.
I don’t think I need to interpret this poem line by line. It’s obvious what he’s talking about, but what’s extraordinary about it, miraculous, is that he wrote this months before the he would be in the situation he’s speaking about, so his future self could read it and understand what is going on. His ‘wokeness’ to his situation comes and goes, more goes than comes actually, if my spiritual vision of him is correct, but I do know from others telling me that he is silent about me and the life that was taken from him, does not even mention me or it. That sure does make me think, and the purpose of his poetry, why he wrote it to his future self, was to make him think, understand what has happened to him, and stand up for himself. I do not understand spiritual process, all this miracle just to go to the garbage can of his mind, be deleted. He has as yet no interest in reading it.
Ha ha ha! I have ran to the divine false— call me a poet after 18+. I have time to die.
I call myself the poet for my life through the end. I am what do you call me, what the godfather? Oh no, that’s not me. My character is at the lake, aka the divine.
I have asked the god to stay. My life is always sour-like.
My mind turn the lights for my room, draw the lights for my room. I am going to wait for you through the light.
Nithish was taken from my home and subsequently brainwashed. I record that here, the eye-opening of Nithish. All you the pictures are aligned.
I will show his mother this, a mother mentally unbalanced in the possession of her boy, and all the abuse that has ensued from her possession. Find myself giving him the blanket he deserves. He will not look at me I know.
You’ve got, the people that are helping me, cosmic kitchen. Show him what he needs to see. Show him himself in the mirror.
The first poem Nithish wrote months before he was taken from my home by his mother because I mentioned to her a video she had made of her youngest son doing a sex act. It is not just a prediction of the future, what will happen to him as a result of showing me that video and telling me its context, but it is himself talking to his future self so to overcome the brainwashing, gaslighting and abuse his parents have put him through because of betraying them to me in regard to that video and the sexual abuse of his little brothers by his father. He told me very private things about what was going on in the bedroom of his family when his father came home from Chennai on the weekends, and they have made him pay for that betrayal and for his love for me.
“The divine false” is his parents’ rule over him, him turning away from God and spirituality and putting his parents in that place. His mother has said he cannot see me again until he’s 18 or over, what “18 plus” means. When he speaks about “time to die,” he’s talking about not only the death of his former self, the real Nithish, but his thoughts of suicide, which he has had in all the trauma his parents have given him for loving me. He disputes that he has to wait until 18 to be a poet, what it means when he says he calls himself “the poet for life through the end,” and to understand the poem, you need to know that being a poet and me being his daddy, or really, his spiritual master, his inner poetry teacher, are intertwined. He’s also talking about not having to wait until 18 to see me again.
In spiritual vision I have seen that his father plans to have me killed and wants Nithish to approve of this, but Nithish has not told me this, but has called twice to tell me to go into hiding without explaining why, not recently though. His father has officially murdered four men in cold blood for his gang, a gang of Lawspet whose leader is a notorious man named Sironen. The gang now feigns to be disbanded, but it is not, and Sundar, his father, feigns to have left it, but he has not. That’s what he means by people calling him “the godfather.” and those people, the you referred to, are his parents. He is very familiar with American movies, and I don’t know if he has seen The Godfather, a movie about an Italian mafia family, but we have talked about that film together. He will not approve of this murder of me, because his “character is at the lake,” where we live, at Usteri Lake, how he refers to the location of our home, which for him is synonymous with the divine because it’s here he is coached in sadhana to realize the divine in his life.
The god he’s asking to stay is me, his spiritual master, and we are in a union of consciousness, on the level of soul, and if you don’t believe just read his poetry and mine, and I have the power to see inside of him, be there in his consciousness, and he can feel me there, and he’s asking me to stay, despite his outer self seeming to have forgotten about me, which the phone call I’ve described shows is not the case. He’s told me he can feel me inside when he was calling me in secret. It is a divine power, a power of consciousness, and you will only believe me when you question the child about it, but no one will question him, and no one’s allowed to.
Despite the special treatment he’s now getting from his parents, he still feels his life “sour-like.” He knows his mind is the key, as I’ve taught him that what he thinks he becomes, and here he’s trying to turn his mind to the light, and he ends by telling me, “I am going to wait for you through the light,” the light being all his poetry, and mine, that is trying to free him from the abuse and Nazi-like control his parents have over him.
Today morning I saw a car. Its name was sunny. In my I saw sunny. In my pen I saw sunny again.
And my friend, he wrote something in a paper, and he gave it to me. In the paper it said sing, sing, think.
I saw a sun shine in my life. One, it will happen again, right happy I am. I told you can I have my rights back? My back I got my back I say, and you say haha haha.
Are you the Joker? No I am the divine power of the God. Wanna see me fly?
Nithish is writing this poem to his future self, as he is in the video-poem “Edge of the Game”. The poem was written some months before he was taken from me, when his life was taken from him, his daddy, his dogs, his computer, his room, his home, and the lake, all in one swoop, and he was taken to live with his parents and given no rights, supervised constantly so as not to try and call or see me, controlled to the nth degree for the same reasons.
The sun that he is talking about is Supermind, and before he was taken, he was a serious student of Supermind. His parents have forbidden him spirituality and to follow Sri Aurobindo and the Mother. The friend that he is talking about is me, and I’ve been writing on Facebook just what he says I’ve been writing so to get him to sing and think, as he’s been almost completely brainwashed by his parents by this time, two and a half months since he was taken. He does not want his rights taken from him, being made to feel like the Joker because they say he’s brought shame to the family, and here he is trying to wake up his future self so he doesn’t lose himself.
You might ask why won’t his parents even look at these things? Do you know they won’t let him read his own poetry? Just ask them to let him, and they will tell you they don’t want him to remember me and change his mind, someone that has been there since the day he was born, parenting him for half of his childhood, giving him years of memory he can’t completely erase, and their answer shows their intent, and it’s not for the needs of Nithish nor is in his best interests. It’s to take his memory of me and to get him to only love them, despite everything, simply to possess him. His mother told me over the phone she did not care about his needs; she wanted him, and he was hers.
Just this poem alone show strong evidence of prevision in the boy’s poetry, and there is much more, where he’s also talking to me from the past, giving me instructions for how to deal with the situation of him being taken by his parents and abused by them in the video-poem “Menu of the Gods”. Then there’s his song, “Big Time Song”, a general prevision about how it feels when they take him from his home, take his life from him, and the process of him coming to understand that, and how “date is in his life, working for his life,” the time that he returns home to the lake.
Yesterday I found a stack of poetry in his drawer in his room that he’d written while in school, and he’d shown the poetry to me when he’d written it, and I’d just filed it away, telling him the poetic quality wasn’t up to pare with the muse he was getting for his YouTube channel. Now I’m reading them, and I’m humbled and blown away by the fact that he wrote all this to his future self of some months hence, to himself now, to guide him to wake up from the brainwashing that’s being done to him by his parents to kill the poet in him and the spiritual seeker, the boy that wants to stand up for children everywhere and have some kind of neighborhood court, he told me, where children can challenge decisions their parents make concerning important things in their life. I must tell you now I’m not really his daddy; I’m his spiritual master, and that’s the secret relationship we’ve been having, what I tell him not to tell anybody, although I am not a master; I’m an adept, but you understand the relationship.
We need strong evidence of the soul and the divine active in humanity today, like more that at any other time in our history, because we are on the brink of destruction. Here we have that, and this is a miracle. We need miracles, ones that can be clearly seen, and what is a miracle but Nature when she has been stripped of her plain clothing of ordinary and shown to possess powers we have suspected all along is in her store, but ones she does not show often enough to believe in nor to very many people at a time, powers that show us her secret divinity and close bond with the soul and God? A miracle, people, I give you a miracle, where the whole wide world can watch it, on the world wide web, the inner poetry of Nithish. We are watching the boy fly.
Can you really stretch two mountains? I don’t need to jump off. I can just fly through space. I met Neil Armstrong. It was his pride to do that can’t you see? I do something from the bottom of your heart. Mine is poetry. Why can’t you speak your mind? Because of those evil touts control your mind. I learn to fly. I see another world in the pond. I can’t be right, but I can be truthful to the world. I can feel the change. The world is changing once again to a bad turn. Do you really want to let them in with yourself? No way I am gonna let that happen.
This was sung to Nithish on the inside as a rap while he was in school about two months before he was taken from me. It was one of two raps he wrote, or, I should say, his muse wrote. The other is at the end of the video-poem “Edge of the Game”. This rap comes from spiritual vision, and he is seeing what is about to happen to him, that “bad turn” coming. In the second to last line, he is speaking about his parents when he uses the pronoun “them”, who are psychologically manipulating him so that they kill the poet him because they think poetry is a waste of time and because they are suspicious of the lines of poetry that he hears from the inside because they turn him towards God and spirituality and not to them, his parents, and I’m paraphrasing things they’ve said.
They do not see any talent here, but, dear reader, do you see no talent here? He has a talent that maybe only two or three kids on the whole planet have, an ability to not only write poetry and song completely from inner listening but also an ability to tell the future. Do you really want that destroyed? Maybe he has this talent to help us not to destroy the world. I might ask who the two mountains are. Would you laugh if I said he and I? I write poetry from spiritual vision also, and it was me opened this up in him.
Harm's End 