In a large distribution gap saw man,
a wide, territorial spree.
A trouble on islands,
they could not chapter this.
They saw each one to blame
or if they saw their faults
they didn’t recognize them in the field of play.
This screamed solution.
No power on earth could stop it.
Everyone saw themselves the leader of the play,
even when no leadership bore.
Listen to me I’m human—
social media post after social media post.
And they all cried:
I’m the development of man;
listen to me.
Nobody was a warehouse
of the exact thing in ourselves we needed to see.
This was how we play ball.
The game itself had no meaning.
We were Earth flat.
Nobody spoke our language
or could write up their own,
but they kept speaking.
Well the only thing I could do was cause trouble
with the abundance of you and I
in such a routine I told you so,
in such an abundance of I told you so.
I don’t think you understand this.
I think we are all spokesperson for humanity,
but what we are speaking we can’t say.
It’s all void of meaning,
not big enough to show the problem.
We nosedive into it
and break apart upon the seas.
It’s terrible inane,
and we can’t get past chapter 1.
Take it upon yourself to show this to us,
and no one sees it.
Everyone is a brick wall
when they need to see something
they don’t want to see.
Can we see nationalism in India?
Can we see Sri Aurobindo?
And we see Sri Aurobindo?
You read the Torah?
If God Himself told you to change it,
tell me he’s not
Kill people because he is,
and that just puts us down.
Everybody see the Son of God?
Everybody see the fatherless God
born from sin?
And that’s how I believe in miracles,
Are we alright with atheists?
I don’t want God to exist;
therefore He doesn’t.
Now let’s just start with standard room.
I hate bad people,
and they should be punished.
Oh great we saw man,
and wanted us to rub our nose in it.
A holistic reality isn’t a thing among us,
and here we are at where we’re at,
and no one could care less about reality,
and that’s my thought for the day,
where this poem sits in your lap.
Can you grasp inside it?
Can you get behind it?
Tear the whole thing apart.
I’ve been writing all of my life,
over a lifetime’s hole,
the orange and white.
I shake my hips and sing.
Some call me indecent.
Do penises shame?
Do they dance and sing?
It's so down to earth your control program:
nice and cool
leave the boy alone.
We can get over matter.
The most gorgeous boy in the world’s layin’ beside me,
and I’m writing a poem.
Now where do we do business?
That goes there. [vision of a TV screen in snow static]
Walkin’ to Sri Aurobindo’s birth anniversary.
I live it down.
All this interest he’s generated is not sincere.
I don’t know how to tell you this:
Grab his pants will yah?
I’m awfully strong.
I feature in lit fests,
in everybody’s alter ego.
I liberated India
and will the superman bring.
I am bigger than the world,
but I’m only in Indian subcultures:
tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet.
We put the energy abounds,
the mesmerizing of a name.
Okay take him apart.
Where would we put him?
I don’t think we can find him
in his early quotations.
Do you know the fullness of his thought?
He wasn’t a barnstormer.
He wasn’t even a nationalist in the end,
where so many put him.
He got bigger than stars.
Would we say Supermind is an Indian thing?
He’s callin’ the shots
for the whole damn race to change.
So pigeonhole him
the nationalistic spirit.
Be a lie unto yourself
because you vote for Trump.
I’m sorry, I’m crossin’ lines.
Can we say Trump’s Modi?
They’re not identical twins.
It’s a time spirit phenomenon
all wrapped up nice and pretty.
Nations are heaving with nationalism.
I don’t know which one there is victory or defeat.
I’m not a time spirit reckoning.
I just came to say Sri Aurobindo
is not a nationalistic voice.
He saw Supermind on earth,
and that was his evolutionary aim,
and that’s what he showed us
much better than we think we saw.
You’re all wrapped up in particulars.
Let’s look at the Sun, shall we?
I think he built a bridge
from here to there,
there beyond this field of stars.
It’s bigger than the universe,
even if you don’t understand it.
I’ve studied there
in one great big moment of my life,
the only way you can see there:
I’ve offended everybody I know.
It’s not that you believe me;
and tell me I only know here.
Now can we get past a name?
They trip us up every time.
Okay put a pedophile in Supermind1
for one sudden moment in life,
and we’ve found a way out of name.
You got it.
A spread of humanity
in Indian business,
that’s the way.
Everbody’s calling cards,
their race card,
caste or religion.
I’m tellin’ yah the direction is up.
We’ve been clannish too long.
Hear what I’m sayin’?
What would govern us?
Some say love it is a fountain. [heard sung]
I can only quote love,
give it divine wings.
It’s the psychic fire in us
recognizing the unity all is,
and with this soul lamp
we will argue in favor of God.
It’s not the God of Hindus,
however many you may count.
It’s the Supreme in each of us
bearin’ out Its world.
I can light the fire
in my own soul’s keeping,
in the middle of my own life,
to bring God closer to me
when I see your face,
in any face I see.
This is not popular.
It’s not the rule of the crowd.
It’s God on earth my friend
manifesting His reality among us.
We need to get over the divisions among us
in our heart’s call to the world.
Can you see this in India
and still love India,
and still be a Hindu, Muslim, or Sikh?
Does God count rainbows?
Each one is His smile upon the world.
God’s on earth you see.
That’s the epiphany.
I was born yesterday,
and I’m pushin’ the envelope now,
just blinding speaking his piece,
a foreigner causin’ trouble;
would you handcuff me this way?
Let me make myself clear:
God I love you,
I’ll put it on the freeway
and drive that idea across country—
and keep your eyes on the roadway at all times.
Gentlemen of the jury,
how do you find the defendant?
We find the defendant
They stay in formations,
humanity takes a picture of these.
How do you say avatar?
Oh my God it’s God on earth
dressing up in human.
And a God takes form as human yes
in the cycles of the Earth,
but let’s go beyond the universe,
where cosmic Gods are not.
We can get higher.
Let’s go to who’s manifesting this show,
and here you are an avatar.
You are That you see.
It’s the greatest football notion.
It’s right here in my poem.
I’ve arrived on land.
It thinks in your thoughts,
but it’s not you thinking.
There’s a rift in my understanding.
This is a riddle with a master clue.
Just get information.
No one has the drawing gun.
That would be interesting,
knowing who we were.
It would revolutionize science.
It would be the biggest thing on earth.
It goes without saying it’s commentary
I’m larger than science.
I can’t figure out who I am.
And science ensues.
It goes on and on and on and on
and gets trapped in the original question:
that’s not a real question.
It sees no representative show on earth.
It digs around in the dirt for nothing at all
and can’t get out of itself.
Let’s show this around:
at we might be part of a larger process
than everything in front I see.
You get the picture?
There’s a larger you looking at you through you,
and the world is a symbol for us to see that.
That’s why it all matters.
You’re getting bigger you see
and bigger and bigger.
All you have to do is evolve.
There's more along this show.
That’s an evolutionary wear an I,
the idea of the human take.
I have founded a world for you,
given you the idea supreme,
shown you an idea of Supermind,
an idea among us.
Where is your identity wrought,
in your home or office,
nation or religion,
in your people?
Take off those identities
as your crowning achievement.
You’re being so little you see.
Now let’s go to war.
Throw morality into the frying pan.
It is yet an uncooked idea.
You think it’s why we’re here
so outraged at other people’s behavior.
Okay take off your mask.
That’s you under there,
the one doin’ wrong.
This is knowledge by identity,
the healing of wrongdoing in this world.
that’s oneness who we are.
That’s the station of Superself,
and we get bigger all the time.
Do you see yourself?
Do you even know you’re there,
where you can’t see yourself?
Take this on the road,
the larger than you you are,
a thought and feeling overlay
to get you to look up.
It changes lives.
It’s the antidote to our sin.
It gives self-righteousness a big punch in the nose.
It sure is generous with everyone.
It heals our land.
It's higher than religion.
It’s not a God to worship or a song to sing.
It’s the hard work of bein’ human who you are.
Unveil the avatar.
Understand the science?
Put it on every thought and deed
you encounter in the world,
and show it to yourself
in everything you do,
and there you are,
It’s evolutionary, ain’t it?
Alright let’s look at yah.
it fixes the Yoga
right along its seams.
He reveals the Yoga.
No one’s ever done this before.
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.
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
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.
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.
it’s on the way.
All these poems
the way you bring “Above National Commitments” out into the public?
Hear the radio.
Put your hat on boys it’s comin’—
right on the two yard line.
Well I’m Mr. Big.
A lot happens in two hours.
You ever hear of the Pathfinder Section?
a big mistake.
You’re free in the top part.
You’re not in the reality of the moment.
This video’s about you.
We run out in the street—
check it out!
Have you heard the sounds of New Tall Torio?
A rather embarrassing moment.
We aren’t being who we are.
Yah hear me kids?
That’s the storyline:
this guy over there
has got the worth of the moment.
I’m on the phone.
I gotta talk to Him,
not the new banjo the sky keeper.
I wanna be where I’m at okay!
the real me,
the one beyond ships.
Look at him.
He is the reality.
That’s who we are.
Take your head out of your storybook.
Get that mountain in your hands
Surround the place,
even a universe,
and I’m so big I’m free.
You have to look.
I am really free.
My God the paperwork
just to speak about him.
It’s not online.
It’s in your kitchen.
just like this:
it’s not beyond us now.
I have to look for a channel:
the real thing.
Don’t stop believin’.
God on Me
He thinks out of your field of consciousness.
Field of consciousness,
to be involved in His masks
—shy Ram beyond be said—,
an opportunity to field some notes with Him
They are together
that man and this little boy in this mountain.
It’s where they belong.
You wouldn’t put them apart.
Sometimes there are only things between me and God worth sharing. Where your dog died of parvo, the depth you have gained, the outlook on life, brings worlds to you. Bring this home to you.
Death has taken my faith in You. Little Rascal screamed. Can I sum up that scream? I’m in agony. Is this what it means to live/love? [words spoken simultaneously] Is there death the only hope?
What wisdom is this, to kill a puppy? My muse will testify to the lies of the supposed help. Could I not be counseled, warned of the lies being told? You remained silent, letting them use Your voice.
Even now I’m brahmachari, and that makes no difference. What are You trying to prove? What more do You want from me? I don’t understand Your cruelty. What’s it for? Are You just urgent business, heedless of the lives You topple?
Do little puppies matter? And what about our dogs? Do You just kill them to gain our obedience, drag out their agony for days? How are you different from the devils you fight? How are you different from man?
What’s next, my death? Would you believe I’m real? And I have rent the veil between You and the Earth, and we are expendable in Your work. Pain and blood, is that the base with which You make worlds, so that Your world may never fall?
What occasion is this, to throw our children away, to make them suffer so? And do You have a babysitter to make sure You see us as more than pawns on a field? Include real when You look at us please I beg you Joseph Smith.
Now Sri Aurobindo, you’re taking him, and Rascal, to build Your sternness on life’s open base. Can the likes of me stop You? Compassion, oh my master compassion build this world with Thee. Can You hear me? I’ll wait and see.
Booster over, you know. No need to tell people about our caring experience, but to save a life is to change destiny, and there was a lot little Rascal carried.
Why didn’t You tell me? Hitted it like this: death could not even be admitted. We listen to you. Anear Conchum, You know I feed her sometimes. Can you get bigger than all these objects you’re taking care of? You’re so in with them you’re missing Me. I’m real, you know. Now steady through the strongest hold ever on the United States military.
All this is not going to matter. I just forget about it when Daddy holds me softly awake. Time’s comin’.
Well I heard it, didn’t gamble this in my mind, and I speak to the divine in my room, and know that I know that they’re there. Now where do we begin? Maybe you oughta brush your teeth. You pick a folder and be a little unkind. It’s your care-body too. Now give it attention.
This is Earth business, keeping the higher ground. Unbelievable the pain on this Earth, and even God partakes in, or stands aloof while we die in more pain than we can bear. Can we remedy this?
No God no, don’t use our pain as Your weapon to bend us to Your will. I know I’m speaking out of line. Would You say it differently?
I had to go file on me. As much as God’s right there holding your hand, why would you want to be an instrument of the divine? You get no rewards. You just get solemn looks. Nobody knows how to handle you. You talk about the untalked, and the most liberal person in the room just wants you to shut up. You open doors that people can’t see, and they think you’re the dumber for it.
Why does life matter? If it didn’t I wouldn’t talk to you. Do you hear me? I’ve mentioned what can’t be taught. This is the part of God no one understands. Do you know God? Did you know He grows? And it is precisely here it is needed.
I put it back in sync. I don’t deny God. I just want Him to grow to be better than God. He can see the sufferin’. And don’t punish the little ones for its innocence in climbing life. Let every motion picture take no puppy down into hell I ask of you God.
[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.
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,
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
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.
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,
I follow the leader
of what you drink.
There caution sorrow,
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.
Sit in there
I can get richer,
but I’ve spent all my dime.
To be read over,
The world let me come to your room.
a poet’s met greater listening.
Now what did he fish?
I’m not in your reach before.
What is the moon?
Symbol for where I am,
To help you cross the night.
death takes a terrible moment to calm down.
Now I touch you with the real.
I am a dead speaker.
The suicide bomber changes its space,
and everything right now
A story about how long it is.
Give rise to future presentations.
I cry to your hand.
Look at me.
My water, oh no,
I’m sorry to act.
Disappointment knows no greater sum.
Give me the light
of your understanding,
and I’ll give you changed view.
The service there to act the middle road to stars,
the courage there to act.
Each man has a fear, love, dread, and pull to the extreme.
We feel ourselves so different from one another.
The problem’s building the people to be a church
so I can blow people up.
Man is a kicking gale a dozen kicking gales like him.
Can you understand why?
The small raft that conceals us all in bodily harm,
what I was to become in search of myself,
a big wall of religious separation between us,
and the grizzly bodies of adolescents to 13 men to find,
it’s not a secret the whole flesh can discover.
Death was not in my hands.
I exploded immediately.
their voice right there.
We had a pay together.
It wasn’t bright and sunny.
Can we show you nonexistence?
I think I touched her.
You’ve got to fear.
Oh my God,
every finger accusingly sat at me.
This was no paradise.
There are realms in death you understand.
More order came.
I guess all went off to their private lesson.
I winked into hell.
All my mountain said no.
We lingered there.
It was my own order I made myself.
Please arrive me out of terror.
There lessons learned,
deep dark secrets you who understands.
A light found me thinking.
I grasped my neck to myself
and began to see.
I vanished hell.
On my journey I rose to you.
I’ve come up to my Faith.
As it doesn’t have one of the goals reconciliation
this is where Mohammad messed up.
The others I must also treat with light.
To grow oneself in mercy good idea.
Treat them with kid gloves even bad people.
The nature of the Prophet cannot be seen by your calculations.
It is hidden,
in a sense,
This sometimes assailed him,
Have to take apart anger.
I was just mad at you.
Through so much deception and web
the heartbreak was crouched around a day of killing,
terror hush, terror deep.
Tearin’ a hole in the fabric
of what death open
I am the author of a little child of the Furies,
a fierce cartoon within the page of my own age.
Every word easing the spear.
Not a secret a baby can tell.
Muslim doesn’t even talk about Muslim.
God is the veil at which he lowers his eyes.
Adam used to tell his name
unto his soul.
Let me release an air of sin
this cell from within,
right where they told me to explode.
It’s time for them to know:
all the way they cut truly in to a child’s deep identity.
Behind me the spear gave lesson.
I was sleeping –
There are some things that result in our hatred.
These things are ugly on us.
If you can tell the victim in the victimizer
stop the hatred.
That’s the first thing the very first.
No one else can listen.
No one else has ears.
The best place the time would be now,
to bring us into the 21st century.
The future writes this very slowly.
It’s now on the city conscience of Europe, Asia, Africa, and the United States.
In my last post, “To View the Hunting Design of Mourning”, I examined dreams of the suicide bomber of the Brussels Metro that seemed to show a contact with the heaven of Islam that gave him a divine sanction to carry out his mission. Over the course of years, I’ve had a contact with that heaven that’s of a very different nature, one not from Allah or angels but from a dead suicide bomber. It’s in the form of a poem in which he’s the speaker, and so it’s his words filtered through my creative reflex, put in my language and style of poetry, one which continued to develop over the course of time it took to complete the poem. I haven’t received it out of the blue, just because I had an inner opening that could receive it, nor because I was some good person chosen to show his bad. Whatever we hear or see in vision in regards to other people has a bearing on our own lives, is something we need to see and hear so to become better people ourselves, that someone else a mirror we’re looking into to help us change. This is true for both (inspired) poets and prophets, something neither they nor the people that quote them seem to understand.
The first lines of the poem came among the first lines I received once my muse turned on like a flood, which was in South America in September 2001, and it took me awhile to see the bomber’s voice out of all the muse I was getting. By the time I got to Paris, several months later, I did recognize that distinct voice and organized the scattered lines into a poem, and more lines came, and this earlier form was submitted to and rejected by The Atlantic and Poetry. My muse edited it after, adding more verses and individual lines, and I continued to work on it slightly until I posted it on my personal blog in 2015, after submitting it a few more places. The majority of the poem, however, the core, came in those few months after 9/11, as did many lines about Islamic extremism, mixed in with lines about the world harm I have caused, all of which I included in a prose/poetry manuscript I wrote for The Atlantic (never submitted) on the island of Crete in 2002 called “Civilization and the Art of Terror” or “The Inspired Word”, which will remain unpublished, though it’s a source of organized muse I draw from from time to time.
Last week, as I was meditating at the Samadhi of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, I heard the lines “That’s got my name on it. / Perfect,” and then I saw a light blue curtain blowing slightly, and then I saw the face of Sri Aurobindo, the age he was in the last photos taken of him, the outline of his face highlighted, and he was right in front of me looking directly at me. I was then told to wait before boosting the poem, to do some purification first, told in lines of muse, the vision of his face having faded. At the time I interpreted that to say the poem would be seen as something he’s behind because I’m his disciple and because of what I’ve written about inner contact with both he and Mother in regards to my poetry and writing in general. Although the muse said “perfect”, it said it a little while after hearing the first line, enough time to make me realize I didn’t want to drag his name through the mud, since I’m considered the worst kind of person on the planet, a minor attracted person. I sat there afterwards and let that sink in. It took the ego out of it, and I’m sitting here now not wanting to be in the shoes I am, but I think I understand.
Do you? Maybe it’s the bad man that can truly show us human evil and how really to end harm, rather than who we normally think can, a good person’s that been burned by bad. To see what I’m saying you’d have to understand higher than good and evil and more integrally than there’s this bad person harming society, understanding that for us to climb out of our wrong we need the goodwill of a good number of people because it’s not something we can do all on our own, why, when it’s all said and done, this suicide bomber’s speaking and why I am. To speak in the terms of the spiritual path that I follow, you’d have to understand something of the great difference between the Supermind and Overmind, the very different ways from each other in which their processes work, to see why someone such as myself would be perfect to post what I’m posting as an outgrowth of my sadhana in the Integral Yoga.
Who this suicide bomber is and what bombing he’s talking about I don’t know, but there are vague references that would seem to indicate the attack happened in Israel and killed mostly young people. He describes an after death process that would take a long time by our reckoning, but heaven can open windows on time we cannot, and so this could be what to us would be a voice from the future. It’s important to understand this is a single bomber speaking, with all the things personal to him that would entail, and so each suicide bomber would have a different story of why they became one as much as their general fate in the afterlife would be along the same lines as the one speaking in the poem.
This poem needs to get into the right hands, and as of yet it’s not gotten into even a handful of hands, other than the editors who’ve rejected it and a few other people, and so I pick it up again and try its hand here. Does anyone out there have ears? If you do, please share this poem. Its license is Creative CommonsAttribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs.
It’s so easy to get irked with people about the same faults we have or have had in the past, so easy to forget what we were like when we were young when dealing with young people and the difficulties their immaturity presents. It’s a blind spot that seems to afflict a lot of us when we become adults, this lack of tolerance and understanding for the young, like they should somehow not have the same faults we had at their age. I needed a dream recently to remind me of this. Let me share.
As I’ve pointed out in other posts we have an ‘extended family’ of people we are still involved with in addition to the young adults that reside here with us in our house. One of these young men is homeless, we’ll call him H. for short. H. shows up every once in awhile and wants to stay couple of days, would like to live here actually, but we’re not taking anybody else on at the moment. We have a general guideline that we let people stay two nights per visit, but since H. claimed he had both lost his job and had a fight with his mother we let him stay for four. After those four days both Donny and I, especially Donny, were glad that he left. H. usually keeps to himself when he’s here, but on this particular occasion he was frequently going into Donny’s room and wanting to hang out there. Both Donny and I like our privacy and don’t really want anyone else just hanging out in our rooms so that was bothersome for him as H. couldn’t take the hint. H. was also coming to my room to ask for money and the keys to the moped to go get this or that indulgence for himself, a soda or a snack etc. I’m used to our residents showing that kind of boldness when they want something, but the repeated coming for money on H.’s part got kind of annoying. I think it’s like the saying goes that “the fish had started to stink.” Anyone that we’re not accustomed to being around gets on our nerves eventually. I will say that something seemed to be bothering H., but we never figured out what that was.
A day or so after H. left I had this dream:
I’ve been staying at Billie’s house for a few days, but I’ve decided I’m definitely going to leave tomorrow. I’m pondering how I should spend my last day, and I think it would be nice if Billie and I went somewhere that we could hike. So I go upstairs to find Billie. I tell him my idea and he angrily tells me no he doesn’t want to go hiking. I’m taken aback by this and ask him if this is just because the fish have started to stink. I say “Maybe four days here was too much and two would have been enough. Please be honest if this is the reason so I will know if I ever come to visit again.” In a huff he admits it. I go downstairs and tell his mom Mary Margaret what happened. She says that she herself hasn’t been bothered by my being there, but that “it’s his daughter.” By this she means that my being there is getting in the way of Billie spending time with his daughter.
Back in 1999 I had gone to a Rainbow Gathering in Pennsylvania. When it was over I managed to catch a ride out of there with a group that was headed to Bloomington Indiana, so I figured I would get off at Richmond Indiana where I had gone to high school and see some old friends. The first place I stopped was the home of a mother of a friend of mine, Dave who wasn’t there, but actually living in Colorado. Karen let me stay a couple of days before she drove to Colorado to see Dave, and she made it clear I wasn’t invited though I wanted to go. Next I went to my friend Max’s house and slept on their couch for a few days before his wife told Max to show me the door. So I ended up at Billie’s where I stayed maybe a week, before I took a bus to New Jersey to stay with my brother for a few days before I got on a plane to Europe to go and see the total solar eclipse in Hungary.
Now at the time I was kind of baffled as to why Karen hadn’t wanted to take me to Colorado with her, and also why Max’s wife had wanted me to leave, because I couldn’t see what a mooch and a parasite I was being. Billie was more accommodating probably because he was my hands down best friend from high school. He didn’t say anything, but I surely wore out my welcome there too, eating his food and not contributing much except for buying all the marijuana we were smoking. I’m not sure how annoyed Billie got with the whole thing, but probably more than he let on, though I think he did enjoy having me there. I’m quite sure though that his girlfriend (with whom he was living along with their four kids) got annoyed by my presence.
So when I was looking at this dream it made me take a look at the way I was acting back then, how I’d made people feel the same feelings that came up in me towards H.. There’s part of me that realizes just on general principle that I need to get to the place where I don’t get annoyed by things like this, but the dream also brought the point home that I’ve acted the same way and really have no justification for getting annoyed with people who are still immature in the same way that I was back then. We have a number of people from our ‘extended family’ who come over here just to indulge their vitals and eat our food and don’t give nary a thing back, and if they’re asked to do something they’ll get in a huff about it or do a half-assed job. Our residents aren’t much different. That’s hard for my ego to take, but it’s largely immaturity on their part and I was the same way. The other big factor however is boys in this culture are waited on hand and foot their entire lives as they’re growing up, and feel like they shouldn’t have to do anything even when they’re a guest in somebody else’s home.
This wasn’t the end of the lesson though because a day or so after the dream another young man, we’ll call him Fred as in Right Said Fred showed up. Now Fred isn’t part of the extended family, but a nineteenth cousin or something of three of our residents. Fred is young, and extremely conceited, thinks he’s a big somebody because he’s a fashion photographer and has over 3,500 facebook friends following his personal page. He doesn’t get paid as far as I know for his photographs, just takes a lot of pictures of himself and his friends dressed up with sunglasses, and showing off their six packs if they have them. It’s the sort of thing young Tamils would like, glitzy and shallow, but I will admit that he has talent and thus he’s built his small following. Fred also has an amplified vital and wants a big party whenever he’s here. Usually he comes on a Friday and leaves on Sunday, but on this particular visit he came on Sunday and wanted to stay four days. It basically threw off our whole schedule as far as satsung goes, since our boys (who worship Fred) were running around with him taking pictures. They also bought beer and were drinking which is something Donny and I allow occasionally, but we want to be informed about it, and in this case, as is often the case when Fred is here, we were not.
Fred and I got off on the wrong foot from the get go after I first got back to India when he brought three extra people with him when he came for New Year’s Eve and then proceeded to tell me they were staying for two days when I told him to get them up and out of here on New Year’s Day. He’s just one of those personalities that will push things as much as he can, and the alpha in me doesn’t like being defied by someone trying to come into our house and do whatever he wants. Neither am I impressed with Fred’s 3,500 facebook friends, and find him mainly a disturbance who makes the house harder to manage while he’s here. During his visit this time though I realized my dream about Billie related to him too, and that he was just acting the same way I was back in 1999. Given this it’s interesting that both he and H. stayed for four days just as in my dream I was at Billie’s for four days. Maybe there’s some reaping of what I sowed going on here too. The other thing I tried to recognize is that, although I find Fred’s visits unpleasant, it’s a vital treat for the young men here who feed off his amplified vital energy and ‘let’s party’ atmosphere and who think he’s basically living the dream with his 3,500 facebook friends. I also found myself feeling a little bit sorry for Fred too, since he is good looking and with his swagger he’d do well with the ladies in a more liberal country, but here in India with this traditional culture it’s not so easy carry on a relationship. I guess that may be kind of silly on my part, but empathy is still empathy I suppose. I will say though that in general I feel sadness for the plight of young people here because of all the sexual repression and the archaic system of arranged marriages, but I digress.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t react to Fred’s antics during this particular visit, but there is a sort of epilogue to all this. A month later I came out of my apartment and heard a very loud voice downstairs that I recognized as Fred and was irked since he hadn’t called to ask if it was all right to come, something we’ve asked him to do as a courtesy. That night I had this dream:
I’m reading an account of something that happened at the Sri Aurobindo Ashram, but at times it shifts visually to snapshots or short clips of what’s being recounted. There’s a group of people outside the ashram doing something with the Mother, and an obnoxious jogger passes by and yells “Byyyyyyyyeeee!” as he goes by. Then he stops and gets on the phone at a telephone booth. Everyone is just gawking at him until the Mother comes and tells us to get back to work and stop paying attention to the guy, that he has no importance.
The first conclusion I came to about the dream is that the obnoxious jogger who got on the pay phone represented Fred, who is both physically fit and also always on his smartphone. I took it that the message for me was to not get aggravated by him, see him for the thing of no importance that he is and carry on with my work. Now I think that’s true, but I think at the same time, and more importantly, the obnoxious jogger represents this part of me that reacts to Fred and creates an inner disturbance, because the real problem isn’t Fred or H. or whoever or whatever else I’m reacting too. The problem is my reactions.
I don’t know if I’m cured or not as far as reacting to Fred, but this dream really helped me, and I wasn’t bothered by him much when he was here this time and even felt some good will for him. The thing is though sometimes you have to lay down the law when you run a house like this, but the problem with me is the alpha male part of me overreacts and wants to bring the hammer down hard on challenges to its authority. It’s a continuing issue because if Donny and I didn’t assert ourselves at times our house would be overrun. What I need to do though, I feel, is work on getting a handle on myself in these situation and dealing with things firmly but with understanding, and not let my ego turn things into a pissing contest. Alas, yet another thing to work on and another thing it seems can only be completely solved by a change in consciousness since the human ego self, this way of knowing in which all these outer persons and events appear as something separate and distinct from ‘me’, is a thing of reactions and resistances. I don’t have the feeling though that if you shift to a higher way of knowing that lives in the oneness and unity of existence, that you turn into a passive candy ass. But I do think that there wouldn’t be any ill will or animal aggressiveness when you assert yourself, but rather a sincere compassion even when you’re acting in a heavy-handed way or with severity. Other people might still react to you as if there are still those baser feelings at play in you, but that won’t be the truth, just their reaction and misinterpretation. So I guess the final word is that living in a higher consciousness won’t save you from offending people. In fact, you might offend more people than you would otherwise, but you won’t be acting from ego and that’s what counts.