We have that place where, yep, you need to turn on that character light. I would say he does not deserve the title respect call him. Thank you sadhak. Nat started a story. It was obscenity of being, the crazy what’s up nails trauma a bunch of us go through. Are we on your calendar?
You’re nice and pretty. Does that mean you’re good in the sense of good to all of us? We’ve got a world here in a tin can. It hurts everybody. You would not like a story that makes you mean. Is that transformative?
Watch movies that’s all you see, a blight of entertainment “televised from the gulfs of Night” [from Savitri, an epic poem by Sri Aurobindo] that tells stories to pit you against one another, to make your blood boil, to let the demons in.
There isn’t a place on the planet it’s not on your local TV. This is what we’ve gotta get out of, get back to our dream maker as the one we watch and write. Is that a perverted slam?
You would boil at the inner consciousness because it pits you against your morality papers: don’t say cuss words; don’t mention sex; don’t talk about getting your dick sucked when you were five by your mother. What have I just done?
I let the inner consciousness in in language that grabs you and moves you, that has the day on it, that gives you a porn whereabouts so many faces are into these days. It hits you where you’re at if you can’t tell right from wrong, if you’re lost in all this sleaze. We’re tryin’ to reach people not preach to them.
A dream comes out from someone who suffered this in the language that it felt like, and the elect can’t take it because they don’t know how to deal with it. They’re into quotes of Sri Aurobindo and pictures of deity. They look at spirituality as the cure and not addressin’ what’s wrong in the language that needs to.
Everybody just be nice. Make your concentration daily and let no wrong movements in. Be cheerful and happy. There’s no end to the advice in spiritual seeking. Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty of life. Let’s use those quotes to solve problems. The Mother and Sri Aurobindo are a wealth of that, applied in ways you haven’t imagined yet, because you’re religious and one-sided.
We need to heal, so many of us. You can’t imagine what it’s like where hell has opened in humanity. This is all over the globe, terrible stories that’ll make you cry if you had your empathy on.
We need to heal the world first, then spiritualize it, and spirituality will be healing, because that’s what it’s made for, if it’s the soul involved. You don’t know this. Soul healing’s to you a preacher wrote. It’s not test the limits of humanity in making healing the order of the day. This soul is wide and free. You don’t know that either.
You look at the Gods of Overmind, the lowest rung. They’re moral and straight. They have seen God in passing one time maybe. They are closest to us in the ways of deity. They make rules and regulations, put experiments on vice and get rid if it not heal it. Our whole world is taken by Them. It’s what we need to change and bring a new order upon the Earth, soul healing in the dynamics of Supermind.
You don’t know how wide God is, when it comes to the personal growth process of wholeness and healing. / That’s been my path all along, and it’s gotten acute where I show it to you, all Sri Aurobindo’d. What else can I do? I’m his disciple and a seer of his wisdom, and I’ve been told to talk to you.
I’ve spent 25 years learin’ my craft, a lifetime before that as a poet. You can’t fault me in preparation, all prepared for yah. Grab me by the balls will yah and throw me to policemen, or at least try to shut me up? God’s will be done.
One editorial board member, Dr. Alok Pandey, who is listed as a “Member, Research Advisory Council, Sri Aurobindo Society,” replied to my emails, three times, the first: “May Her Grace be with you,” her meaning the Mother, the second: “What is tormenting your soul so much dear child?” and the third: “You are quite right. You seem to be an angry and arrogant brash revolting angel. I don’t find your poetry tasteful or even poetry. It is a blurting out of things stirring in your subconscious, not mind nor higher, but inframental forces. That’s my view about your poetry. By the way I am not part of any organization nor have any access to publishing poetries so you could perhaps try some other place or person. Good luck. May the Grace be with you.” No one else on the board or in that organization has replied.
Okay you ready? We got that thang fixed. Okay yeah. Everything watch manners— there’s boats in the car. The problem is with the Silver. Take somethin’. Take this over the top of your head. Can you growl with me at cars? A field of stars show all this morality. I’m in business for good, and that’s how I pull your pants down, get away with it. I’m showin’ the Mother her feelins when she was a little girl, and my eye is ever on what was made illegal in India: offend people in their religion, and they put you in jail.
Can a reformer speak? We wanna change things for the better, and we have to challenge religion to do it. Religious sentiments need to change so we can get past this stumbling block. Alright I’m right there, holdin’ my penis and showin’ flowers. Where did you go? You think I’d said the n-word. Oh, wrong culture, but you can hear America from here, Indian. We put everybody on trial. I bet you don’t wear your genitals properly. My God they’re beastly things, all wrapped up. No one wants to hear them. I’m gifted speech, a seer of divine wisdom that has the sun in his sights.
Oh Supermind, we can’t see a difference from Overmind where our morality’s concerned. Supermind will stay right there by society in where it needs to change to bring harmony in the situation. It isn’t fight with rules. It breaks them, and that’s how we change our lives to get so much bigger than any rule can make us. Alright overmental keepers, listen up. I harmonize.
Well that shirt go to the other side. Look at my fuckin’ numbers you mean. There’s just a second before I change in poetry, and I bring so much literal verse into a symbolized meaning. You hear me cars? Don’t run off. I’m just tryin’ to explain things you don’t wanna talk about. You should’ve seen ‘er. She fought that tongue, but it didn’t bite ‘er. In India— I figured it was you. I hold off more than I can chew. So many open-minded Indians I’m not mentionin’ in this book, but I know you’re there. I’m a seer of divine origin, and I’ve got some thumbnails to put out to the public.
Just wait a minute. How often do you think? It’s been a year I’ve threatened you with green leaves. This is the baseline, where we genital one another, talkin’ about the social consciousness in our arisin’ morality.
Gonna get you there. Does it stink? It’s not a baseline of spirituality, but it’s standard there. We deal with these things as we follow some yoga or put on our sadhana. They can’t be ignored. The genitals are a loud gun. No one deals with them properly. We stuff them away even evil to look at, like they snake. We have put them in marriage vows so they can express themselves without poundin’ the social fabric. That was a temporary measure made a long time ago by the Gods to control us.
It’s tearin’ apart the social fabric. We have genitals when we’re not married. They reach out and bite us if we deny them expression and we are not mature enough for brahmachari, celibate in our wears, especially kids. Do you know the confusion they feel to have these little toys with handles on them, and they get punished with they do, or made to feel so ashamed? They grow up a sexual question mark that puts pleasure in the wrong place: it’s not right. Or they just go balls to the wall as an adult doin’ what was denied.
Let’s put the genitals in the right place: they’re not ugly or mean, but they need to be handled properly. Just say no doesn’t work if you haven’t worked out your sexuality, experimented with its measure, looked at its price. How do we do this and heal from sexual disorder? Would a homosexual say that? I don’t think we’re ready for soul process. It comes on mastery in the ways. It’s not a well of permissiveness, but sometimes that’s the order when all things are arranged.
Can I call upon the difference between soul process and divine process to go under morality and show you this? You’re just put in situations where you work out until you mastery. No, the soul hurts no one, but it’s open to the play, urging you, guiding you, leading you to right relationships between people, and here in the well of eternity that takes lifetimes. We want the soul pressure up front, the psychic being to take its seat as the leader of the life, and all the worlds dig this process where we have evolution at stake, but can I tell yah everybody’ll be brahmachari when the world turns to spirituality as its profit motivation? When you hit maturity for that, like in your early thirties. Some will be called earlier.
We’re headed somewhere. We have a spiritual transformation ahead, the whole damn world. It’s headed towards Supermind, right there in its soul change. The genitals have to be put in place. We have to wear them right, and that’s not always covered up. Can you see this? We have to remove harm from them. That’s not done easily. It’s not done at all by making them taboo. Sri Aurobindo and the Mother put their pencils down here and left us all hangin’.
Oh the glories of the Victorian age they were in. It stuffed sex, and neither one of them liked it. Were they prudes? The perverse habit is so natural to mankind. What do we do with that? Do we call our teachers liars? They’re right there with us now. You can hear them in my words. I’m sorry I said that. I know how that makes you feel. Who am I? I’m a seer of Sri Aurobindo. I’m a poet of the Mother. This bake— I don’t have the clout, and I’m a foreign man.
You don’t like foreigners. You don’t understand. It’s not something you look at. I don’t think the collective sees this. They wouldn’t admit it. It’s such a feature of India when you’re a foreigner living here. You get it all the time, discrimination. I can’t show you this. You’re not a foreigner, but can I show you your attitudes to me? They suck. They’re not right.
Okay dosa flavor— you’ve got to incorporate mankind, and all the idiosyncrasies of the Indian psyche, the ones that block evolution, have to be fielded and tested and made to change. A foreigner does that in the Yoga of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo— of course. I just hear you praise yourselves and look down on everybody else. You can’t take criticism, not even in the spirit of a sadhak. Can I change? That’s what I’ve done among you, taken a horrible disorder and India’d it. No other place on Earth could do that. The soul of India is wide and free, and it is here Supermind came down, and I’m right there in that cradle.
Now am I makin’ sense? You see me. I gave you the truth of my being. It’s all in order, settled down now, a fit receptacle for the word, and you hear it now. My little boy’s there too, trainin’ mode. I’ll show ‘im to your shortly, when we get ‘im back home.
Seen moved realty, but no one’s lookin’. Can you see guidelines? We’d have to spell out each and every individual situation. That can’t be done, but can we understand our genitals have us in prison? And when body parts get handled, or even measured, and it’s not get up and go that wedding ring, we have a conniption. Put a kid in there, and you make them think they’ve been killed. No this is not permissiveness speaking. I’m just sayin’ don’t react like it’s the end of the world. Don’t hate the genital player and want them dead. Heal them. Put ill will on the situation, and everybody dies. Let the genitals be free from only sexual expression. They can be out in public, if they’re not horny. Don’t be so uptight about them. Give them room to breathe.
Give them room to grow into a true genital opening. That’s beyond touch. It’s an esoteric chakra opening, with no field play. My God they’re good. Are you tall enough for that? It’s wonderful. It’s ecstasy, but it doesn’t touch another person, and you don’t touch yourself. Orgasmic in its intensity, it flowers you there. This is abstinence without denial. It happens to the open vehicle.
You’re too prude for that, adult Indian. Did I just knock your nationality? No I’m countin’ sheep, and not just Indian, but you can’t tell me there’s not prudishness here, all over your rules and regulations and moral reactions involving the least little bit of nudity not on ancient statues or on some naked sadhu, rare though he is today. What exception makes you liberal? Now let’s go to town. We need to start the day.
One see how ugly it is, even if there’s a divine calling rock bottom potential. What’s that supposed to mean? What about that in your own bill? Do you touch the stuff? Spiritual technology shows you how, gives you that medicine ring on your finger. Try to do it without fantasies, glued to no one, no other genital involved, not even lookin’ at another body. You’ve got your mind’s eye in the pleasure of your own hand, like a kid does it not teened yet, remember?
You’ve got a blank white horse, does not incur any wrath, and it’s perfectly natural and clean. That’s the way to do it if you’re horny, and you’ve haven’t achieved mastery yet. Do you hear me Steve, Gwendo? Would you call that sex? Feels good doesn’t it? And that’s what you tell the child you find them doin’ it. It’s not a join hands. You don’t rob them of their pleasure. Okay sweetheart? We’re all innocent here.
See if you could let a poem come, inevitable in its rose. Do you hear me? Pardon my English paper. Language is on the floor. You would write your need. How’s that done? Holdin’ back the thoughts, an arrival comes. It pops in a sudden keeper. You don’t hold it open with your thought. You wait for the next line in blank mind. It comes along the edges of your reason. It surprises you with its intensity and its forward motion.
I could’ve just gone walkin’. I lifted my voice and gave you a song, with intent/purpose in it. [above words heard spoken simultaneously] I could’ve just given you a paper the walls of the motion picture write. You see it glows. It wraps us all around in the society of little business, but you see the form of its arrival from print-wood, where it comes from the inner Void a miraculous light in time. Don’t just stand there, write.
This is a tender box. Well it is, and from that well comes the world all on fire with the mystery you can’t solve: from where does the poem arise, if it’s bigger than your piece of paper, if it’s greater than your pen, something bigger than anything existence owns? You want to touch it. This is beyond consciousness. I block it anywhere I position myself in time Monday through Friday. My little boy will get here a sudden epiphany. Impending arrival— everything now it’s done. Captures the wallpaper of the mystery behind time you never even heard of, the mystery that wears a face, giving this film a package delivery. I wanna see it on the wall. In a little while I’ll have you in my arms, in a little while. [above three lines heard sung] It was a soul wrote.
The attitude was small, featureless in Auroville, a flip cart. It was a place into the opposite half, busy with sex and let the world fall, everybody who had arms in their pants. There were very few celibacies. It gathered there watch the old house where sex was concerned. Abstinence was a penance imposed upon Puritans. Nobody flowered out the top of their head an ascending orgasm, what you waste when you masturbate or cum. You don’t even know it’s there, but let’s look at the spiritual consciousness, Silent Mind in Overmind, a way station along the way that has to be done. Do you know it’s there? I’m sorry it’s not about the cells. Abstinence will show you when it’s not abstinence but integration, and you desire can be right there in bed with you, and you’re holdin’ your desire tight, and you leave the genitals out of it. Can you control mastery? If that’s where you live you go. Finding partners to sleep with to test mastery fails.
We remain in place and be that bigger than ourselves and our surroundings, and when desire no longer has your toes, and you’re not bleedin’ reaction but stayin’ calm, still the mind; in quiet peace comes. You don’t even have to tell anybody. Just do it. Goddamn it feels good. Let’s open ecstasy, shall we? Now you’re in your room, and Auroville can’t bother you anymore, and just a few of you can change it, just by being receptacles of the new wine Auroville waits. It’s a mountain now.
Control ball, now you record it. When night go for it Nithish, knock phone numbers. If he gets caught he’s killed. In Tamil the people who put worse seem very powerful. I wouldn’t put it that way. It’s just in good English we’re learning to mince the Devil with words. / I’ve localized the economy, and I’m takin’ English to new heights. It’s not artificial anymore, a poem that comes from inner sights.
I throw that devil out, but I show ‘im to yah. I don’t play with bones. I heal them in your shelf. What you got in the closet, I ring around the rosy. I’m not here to play dice. I wanna get to the bones of reality so that we can live here and not ruin each other. I wanna talk about it, you know? I wanna get down to bloody business. I wanna show you you a danger to let’s all grow up.
Will you find me? I’m blacklisted for that. Let me cough. That danger I present is right there among you. I’m not pullin’ any punches. I wanna heal myself and be free. I mean I wanna be a proper human being, no longer stupid. I don’t wanna block my own trail, get mad at the world because I stumped my own toe. I wanna forgive you for the same stupidity. I wanna look out on the world and understand the miracle of each day. I wanna see you in it the very Self I touch with myself, no cigars. That means I’m right with you.
I hear my stomach growl, and we all feed on each other like it’s conversation. I’m learnin’ not to do that. You would not know I feel you when I’m just some guy you’ve met on the road, or you’re my landlord or niece. I cry for you sometimes. Okay I cry for you a lot. It’s really rough in here, you know? There’s just so much pain. They got buried in an earthquake, a daddy holding his little child dead in a news story. Can you imagine how that felt?
I’m tryin’ to wash away the tears that we symbolize time, and I’ve found out somethin’. This is just a single show in a movie house with infinite theaters, and each one pulls on the next, and each one supports the next. We are its base, the last of the free worlds before Hell begins. Of course we suffer. We support Heaven. Our blood, sweat, and tears hold up Heaven, all the ascending worlds. It’s not cruel. Existence has to have everything in it. I don’t think we can measure how big it is, and we are not the only world that suffers, and we’re just innocent little children, dumb like animals.
There’s a comic plan, and our universe sucks on the Void to bring existence out of nothing. The devils rose, an unforeseen consequence, mad as hell existence be, and they rape us in broad daylight, and we don’t even see. We are a banquet of the Heavens and the Hells, and I am sorry; I can’t gauge all the worlds in their ascending hierarchies or their status in Hell. I’m tryin’ to take you somewhere— understanding.
My little boy wants to know why there’s pain. Do you know what they did to him? It woke me up. Now I’m a fish out of water, a foreign man in not my land. I’ve been shook up. I don’t hear my music. It’s not my culture I see around me. It’s not even my language. Do you know what that does to you? It takes you out of your little world. You have to confront reality more on its terms. You can spend more time in the environment of your consciousness, / because you’ve got a strange world out there that doesn’t speak to you momma’s titties.
You ever live a life for spiritual change? You wanna get enlightened? I wanna be my true self above, whom you are too, though we’re individually wrapped, but I’ve gotta be emptied before I can be filled, you know? That’s enlightenment. I put myself to the task. I’m not sayin’ it right. My soul puts me. You gotta get there. It’s the only way out— up Don’t you remember your last death? It’s what everybody talks about on the other side: “Goddamnit I missed it again!”
Look I’m not some spiritual shoes you must put on because I wear ‘em. Now I’m really tryin’ to get out of this— suffering. Now I have seen enlightenment’s tale, sat right in those shoes, not long enough to stay there, and I have seen Myself overhead, sat in that Sun and watched it ray out, and I’ve found the soul inside, made the inner journey to Spirit in innermost us. It just accentuates your suffering if you get these little tastes, ‘cause it’s so plain in your face you’re not there now. But you want suffering to end? Can you hear a threesome with your hands and feet? Any one of them will get yah there. Realize time as a vehicle to get there.
We are not animals you see, and this is not a world buttressed in the Void, astonished at its meaninglessness, wondering over its one-trip pony. There is so much more than Earth right here upon Earth. The teeming worlds sing to us in our sleep. We make contact with the dead. Even in life’s little room, we make measure with immensity. I’m givin’ you God, what we are becoming, what even matter becomes. It’s all there.
Once you see God you’re safe. Bullshit. Every devil in the neighborhood will come to fool you, alarmed for the end of their rule. Sometimes a world devil steps in and makes you pay for every man’s sin. Here’s the bull: if it’s all God who are these? Knowledge of God is terrible, but you forgive ‘im for it. You’re in a movie. Neo seein’ the Matrix, you get there. What a goof in moviemaking— take that Matrix and make that a real steak that traitor’s eating. / Take that Matrix there. Oh the bones of analogies, you can’t make them right.
Bhakti, do you hear it? I’ve got it for the whole damn thing, but if I stump my toe I’ll cuss you out. Well, I’ll least look mean at yah for a minute. Yeah I’m still in school. World knowledge does that. It makes you right with God, not some moral timekeeper, the whole damn show. Okay I’m signin’ off. Pleasure doin’ business with yah. I’ll see yah on the rebound, when another poem is born from the matrix of my be. Got that Sin Wood? I’m not countin’ sin. I’m fulfillin’ my obligation as a poet, and I’m sayin’ look at this in the bowels of language that’s there to say it right. Musical or not, I’m gifted speech.
Answer it with a question: what is bigger than the Whole? The unimaginable sink. You get lost there, frightenings on the tail ends of nothingness. It really makes you think. It’s too big for sky. It’ll shake you up. It’ll make you cry it’s so alone, so unimaginably deep. You want it like you want your very self, coils of room on which existence is but a fin to glide it sleekly through nothingness. Will it put out its eye of existence and just be its lone self nowhere be? A frightening thought.
Okay world, can I comfort you? Everything has to be in nothingness. In existence all is, from the most horrible to the most profound bliss, and our world is but a tier in that world stack, and we are That you see, that unimaginable thing on lone oceans.
Have I reached you yet? Good, let’s go. We have to reach forever in a day. I’m on bended knees, and I’m not embarrassed about it. You there, little animal, prideful nation, take down that war. It’s time for exultation in humanity. Do you feel yours? It’s always hands on, good poetry, right where your heart is, right where you feel. That’s the name of the game. That’s where we find each other. I love you did you know that? And it hurts, you know? It really does.
Die in some way take care of those who absolutely have to have us. Those are our children. I’ve got one now. He’s 12-years-old. His name is Nithish, and I will move Heaven and Earth, overcome the world, to put that little fella clean out of suffering and back where I sacrifice myself to take care of him, the intent of this poem. I’m worthy to be there. I’m his daddy. You see us upon the roads of time I love that little boy. You don’t know the arrangement.
Alright Aristotle, put the boy to sleep now. Alexander’s got a big day tomorrow. Put the poem to bed now. Alright Aristotle it’s dawn.
That’s why what I can get on the television is behind your imagination,/ you’re too fat. What’s that? It’s a soft glow. You’re wrapped around the axle of society eating everything you can get your hands on, entertainment spook outs, song after song after song, the news minute, and bubbles and bubbles of internet stuff, and books that make you mean.
You can’t get away from society in your newspaper. What’s that supposed to mean? You suck society’s dick a porn hub. I’ve just offended half the nation. The other half’s asleep. Why can’t I suck dick on television?
I’m using figures of speech to show our involvement with society. I just got censored out of society, but can I employ you in your mule, weave together a story using pockets of molten lava? I’m tryin’ to get yah riled up. I want to show you you’re pasted by society.
Would Sri Aurobindo say that? I think he would allow inspiration to come and not worry about sensibilities. He would not future poetry to make it stand a language model that forgets our garbage stuff. He would future poetry.
I want you offended. I want to show you what you’re made of. That’s not squeaky clean. It’s all over the place. If I took you into the Silence, you would want to come back. You do not know the spiritual consciousness. You think it’s a morality speaker, a set of rules you follow to get there.
A whole other world arrives when spirituality arrives. I don’t think you saw that yet. You’re a radical revolutionary if you’ve taken off ego a moment. I have never been there permanently, so I can’t say there. Did you think Sri Aurobindo was like your local priest?
I want you to examine yourself in the light of society. It’s mean it sucks, and it will throw you to the wolves if you just can’t make it fit right, your will with what society says no. Say you molest children— I’m going to marry a millionaire. Oh my God you’ve processed God, and you no longer molest children.
You can love a child now like it’s God lookin’ at yah, and you love that child. The formula’s in the Bhagavad Gita; you just don’t hear it, or you think it can’t be done. Fuck a child, and society will never let you in again. I’m boilin’ your paper right now. I wanna show you how small you are when it comes to the big stuff. You just morally react.
You don’t know how to do it, heal a person from society’s ways. It’s society that fucks children; I guarantee it. What’s the softball today? We learn to love each other, even those you hate. If I can’t accomplish love, I can at least accomplish understanding. That mother beats my child, and she’s raped him from me. I could take a stick and beat her myself, but that would just make her meaner. I understand her jealousy and her lack of control. I just sit with it.
I’m rescuin’ my boy. You hear it done special in our media. I’m gonna see him safe, and I’m gonna bring him back to papa. That’s my name on his lips. He calls me daddy. We have a room for him in a whole new place. This is spiritual journey, in the air of spiritual journey, where that boy’s no longer in Pondicherry, so that boy’s ocean will work. Grab you guys in a manner of minutes, and anyway, I’m makin’ sure the roads are prepared for him.
I was gonna give this poem to who would’ve thought it, but for now let it sit on this Facebook page. Those of us who would change society have to live under its auspices. Society would rather kill than change. It’s acquired a life of its own apart from the individual. It’s got great steed on it, but we’ve reached the end of its present rope with us. The world will be destroyed before society changes; I mean it’s bragged about that, if you can hear the writing on the wall.
How do I know all this? I’ve been from one end of society to the other, from the mountain to the monster, and I’ve grown bigger than society makin’ that monster climb to the mountaintop and seein’ God from there. The monster changes his panties and grabs society by the horns so that society can see itself for the monster that it is. I’m no more monster.
Can you ride with me? I have some beef to show you. Holy cow, let somebody eat beef, if they’re just tired of the same old fare, what doesn’t take you rocket launch, what keeps you in the bounds of society, what goes no deeper than a three dimensional world bound to love its aunties and the open vigilante.
Am I chargin’ wool? Hey man, are you mediocracy? I sucked the wrong dick. You are basically a big person. A big person, you are God unawares; you are the look of the Lord when He forgets Himself. Let’s all dance to this tune: hey God, wake up.
See yah on Sunday, on Saturday, in your religious house of worship. It just kills the kids doesn’t it? They know there’s more to God than that. They know there’s Everlasting, but you’ll just slap them around if you find out this thing has to do with naked and not with their school books.
I’ve been the danger a kid faces at midnight, and my God watch it grow, their Shazam. They know there’s more than little TV, and I’m not talkin’ about the sex stuff. They know they can get beyond this movie, that God is bigger than Her lists, and don’t just stand there; do somethin’.
It’s put up here hangover on that third eye. You’re just gonna have to get your shit together. I’m compound joy. There is actually a petting session over here. Nithish called. Everything’s fine. I will see my little boy soon.
We’re all at a movie. It’s packed. Saw the hall were you there? Every divine minute the time it took to free me. No, you were there willingly and cooperatively, and you woke up with a bang; it hurt too much, just like the Buddha said. We just don’t put illusion on everything, because God’s there the hunt.
Wanna see? See past your nose blockade. Make you feel the situation, make you feel the heartbeat, make you get out of yourself, river find out the apocalypse, if you don’t hum the right tune. That’s in our field today.
See that little boy? He’s weathered the storm. I’m not just gonna leave ‘im there. I’m gonna bring ‘im home. I’m gonna open up where God dwells. Wanna see me do it? I know how.
Alright people, listen up. The Earth song, do you just cram society? These are open bars. Come on Grace, let’s go pee pee. We can’t send her out alone. That little Beagle’s still a puppy. I gave ‘er more than the rat race. Come on let’s go to your human, darling, and I took myself to divinity. You comin’?
Society rose, what’s the historia? It’s wide open, every means to God to get there, even through the snake. You just stop biting people, even through the murderer and rapist. Now that I can put this in literal terms, so can your doctor. I be doc.
Listen up, let’s start from the beginning. Dicks out. No, you don’t go out. The boy’s offended by the balls. That boy’s offended by the power of some certain dirty thing even mentioned in a poem. Take it off the neck. No, I don’t wanna get yah to do it. Can’t heal it ‘less you hear it, and that’s in the meat grinder, a poem so everybody can get off, a poem so everybody heals from this disaster we propagate as society.
That boy got offended, that readership. I won’t say fuck you God no. I’ll see yah when you’re open again, after death, or this poem will. It’s got strings on it that pull you along where this poet meets the world.
There’s a response. There’s a regular response. Can you feel it? It’s on the way home. You’re bigger than mountains, and you don’t have to be bothered by anyone or what they say. This is a test of your truth speaker. Can you get past this test? All we are saying is give peace a chance. [above line heard sung by Plastic Ono Band] Truth can be known that doesn’t betray yah. Get back in there tenderfoot. I think my muse is talking to me. Goddamn, there’s just no end to the beginning.
This poem was written for the Facebook page Teachings of Mother and Sri Aurobindo – Discussion forum, but I’ve tried to post it twice, and each time it’s been deleted automatically upon posting, and so I submitted it to a member of that group called Renaissance, an arm of the Sri Aurobindo Society that is doing a feature on the purpose of art. In their series, there’s an essay by Nolini Kanta Gupta, arguably Sri Aurobino’s main disciple. Ignore the introduction by the Renaissance team and just skip to the essay: “The Obscene and the Ugly – Form and Essence“. It will add flavor and standing to my poem in the light of the the Integral Yoga.
Alright he will say a child of his when he was a little boy. Do you know what it’s like bein’ in this meat grinder? You don’t have to wait; okay knock on ‘im. Think we can afford it, moms beating health care?— “I just throw you under the wheels of a truck all laughter and sunny breeze.”
Please will you help me with this: get this mother off my back, a certain father? Crushed the sun. I counted the breeze. What I was comin’ to yah to say: I really bother yah. I’m hell in an envelope that you have to read past poetry to put this on.
Well you’re not goin’. Fine. I get angry. You wanna meet some hoodlums? A gang member, he gets all King Richard, the son of like true to killin’ people like my father did.
I axe grow the taxes. You wanna see me do it? Just ignore this plea. Get too far from the ashram, my hat’s killin’ me. Just close your eyes. Ah, it’s gettin’ the footer at the head of the bed, where I go out and kill someone, a little older. You’re yellin’ at me. Cut through door. You know you need to save me.
I hear it. What did it say? The you that you’re getting put that foot down. His mother’s beating him he’s in harm’s way. The building blocks are there in the pit of a gang he murders people when he’s old enough.
That’s what I’m tellin’ yah. Stop this boy from being abused by his parents. Let’s put ‘im his grandfather heals, or are you just too deaf to see that? Get past the poetry and rescue this child. Get behind the verse.
Do you think that’s the only gang with Nazi on it? The fellowship has turned Indian politics into mud puddles. Trace the politician to the gang. Leave ours out of it; get rid of the truth we hear speaking now.
My God you’re deaf. Oh look there’s the BJP. November I’ll show you I’m talk to you years ago how the BJP came from gang member politics.
He rides books sometimes wide open to the divine say. Oh man I put you there, in a poet’s mouth, on a divine seer’s tongue.
Show his father and his family, WhatsApp, see it work in my phone too. I had the finish line. I’m giving frequencies of his house, yes? And now get to the real thing.
They’re not real. They are not real, understand? Not one person is a gift to society. This entire generation being produced by society, the families of society in India and elsewhere, gives us the skill set to journey on as society; it doesn’t change society.
Take my arm here and understand my meaning. Society must change or die. India has brokered this for generations, a spiritual consciousness, a supernal air, a soul arriving on the scene. It doesn’t get past the starting point. This is not gotten out of the bag. A few individuals pretend. Some have had experiences, but none get to the root of the problem: take a child and receive them at the door, a baby born, and change society with that child.
What would we have to do to engineer this with that child? Can I show you? I gave Nithish the principle changes, not quite at the door, but starting very early, and I could do that because I could give him the attention, and I have seen past society myself, and I operate in that mode.
Listen to Nithish where his dream maker meets the ground, and you will see fantastic. You will see the whole world changed just by this boy’s dream. Watch him have vision you will not believe with your own eyes. The Gods talk to him and soul.
This is what he took, that father. This is what she beats, that mother. His light was snuffed out by beatings and brainwashings, and you worship your family or die, and all this wonderful change we were readying the boy to give you has been ground in the dirt and changed into thoughts of suicide and killing, into about getting revenge for what his parents have done to him.
He seethes inside, and you’d have to find it to hear it. He’s afraid to show anybody his feelings for fear of punishment, because I am the crux of the matter; he wants to return to me, and his parents will not let him call my name. “I will shove that name down your throat if you say it again!” his mother says.
He can’t deal with that anger, and all his wonderful gifts get crushed, and in the place of love there is rage, and in the place of change there is hate, and he is mad at society.
Now you must see this in a simple podcast on dreams. I will show you he had the formula to change the world. I will show you what you’ve never seen before, a sadhana watch as the functioning arm of society not the family (but the family’s still warm and not abandoned), a group of people in a dream circle related by soul change and small enough to function together in daily need. We are that prototype, The Dream Company.
To know on the edge of your screaming that you’re gonna be alright, to see it plain as day in the darkness, you go on steam engine, you take your task with God.
I don’t know if it’s gonna rain mud puddles in my mind, firecrackers in my heart, but I’ll be okay. The world has caved in, and sunshine has found me lying in the sun.
Do you know sleep? Do you know how to sleep? It’s a ridin’ all night long the team fellows of the mind with what you need to know liberty while you’re still in bonds. It’s a conscious sleep. You hear it talk to me now.
You can’t spend me. I’m a waste of your time, but I will speak to you from the hours the training of the ways, deep soliloquies of love that hasn’t found its purpose yet but challenges the world with it anyway.
You will laugh at me, but I know time like you know your own hair, and I can stand up and sing when God is killing me. What is a poet for? Can I quote my little boy? It’s for blankets in the sea. I can only grasp his hand in verse. I can’t see him anymore.
Whales sing, and they bring in the ocean round to itself. It’s more than call letters. It’s an attempt to dare fate and expose ourselves to bright shiny blades, so we can give time its meaning, even if that’s just a language cloak. You sit there and read us those bright and shiny blades.
Fuck you I love you the poet says. Nithish did you hear that? It’s how we meet the world Planet Us and not die in the telling. We undress in front of the world and give it its mic, all the while singing our hearts out in front of I don’t care.
I am loud in a sea storm, Prometheus battles night on top of an angry world because he’d brought fire down of the Gods into the people of his sleep, and lit the poet’s tongue on daily cares, common battles, and everyday falls to know we are more than these.
(written for the Facebook groups Friends of Auroville, and Auroville, INDIA but only approved and posted by the latter group, after sending a small poem that appears below this one. It must be noted Friends of Auroville removed me from their group and blocked me.)
I like rainbows spoken in the most clear and circular terms. Please, I’d rather have this is gonna turn out. I sit here with my hat in my hands. I’m a big roar on magic. Wanna see my human unity? It’s in your beautiful hands.
The uncompromising villager, the most accounted for where we find human unity, if you’re not on its side, if you wanna freeze it, if it’s not something you can work out because they won’t let it. They just like their tribe.
You can’t get away from Nature’s homegrown, and sometimes you have to swallow them whole. Definitely, that’s our footpath here. That’s our red beer here.
How do I get this off my property? We are not romantic letters. I’m not tryin’ to get yah to buy toothpaste. I don’t have an engineer here doing anything except talking to you. You’re my sweet opening to ride my pages. I don’t fight you. I just stand and sing. We need some heaters to loosen up human unity. I’m not trying to get you to buy land in Florida. I’m going with my function among you as a photographer and a poet to be part of this great experiment.
I’m his poet, the boy we had such a mind to open and facilitate. Did anybody publish? You won’t let a boy and me together in plain sight. You won’t even let him on this page. Human unity bills him to you, that little boy I took care of for so many years. Pay on your buddy my friend.
Where is human unity? I think we have to find our divinity first. It’s like the psychic change can’t be complete until the spiritual transformation. I don’t know what I’m sayin’. The yoga beefs here. We put it in Auroville’s hands. Now that’s a stalk monster. I’m blind to this— the tree hunters. I can’t get it off my chest— the need to see Auroville as human unity. It’s a crash course in nothin’— the battle weary Aurovillian says.
We can’t see it in our feet. We can’t see it on the road. It’s too big for us. It’s a journey inside. I’m sorry most people are not prepared for this. I’m not even close. I’ve been waylaid. An ignorant mother took my child out of spite. You don’t know the dynamics of raising foreign children.
Now I hate that mother and her whole crew, and I had achieved an amalgamated oneness in my mind, realization’s status in mental wears, not in that point of no return. The boy was my apprentice, my give my gifts to, already writing whole poems from the inner voice. He rode samadhi a time or two, approached the Silence, neared the sun. An overhead experience had opened his mind. He talked about the world like it was his brother.
Then he lost it all in one fell swoop. No contact allowed, and the boy’s been sat on for months and abused. I was opening up human unity for him by going inside. I know how to do children, without that stink. My inner consciousness opens theirs.
I can put human unity on a beanpole now that I’m mad at these people and wish them dead. I’m just sayin’. What a drop in flesh. I was showin’ him to you when it happened, when human unity fell from my hands. The irony in being on the other side of child abuse wanting to protect your child.
You have no idea the intricacies of karma on a mountain sink, when you see the world as representation and not as it. I flounder here. I’m mean this world plays for keeps. The vital is in an uproar I’m calming down now. My yoga works. I sit in spiritual vision and confess my soul.
When they’re hurting your child what do you do? When he’s crying and talking of suicide, and he’s only 12? They’ve made him think he’s crazy with all the gaslighting, and do no forget he’s been beat. I can’t find human unity here. Now I understand someone else’s child is dear to you too, and along comes some man who changes their dream, hits them hard with the facts of life.
You’re a bugger aren’t you? No I am now a healed man, feeling what you feel when you look at me. You want them punished. You want the child safe and sound. You want him healed, but the formula for that is not in your hands. I’m a call on that notion. I’ve a vehicle of self-healing’s swirl, and I know how to heal children. I know how to open their consciousness, and I am flabbergasted divine process has ruined me and flattened my child.
This is not fair. It’s not right. My ego blunders. I sit in your stool and say that. I point the finger at other people. I arrange them with my hate, because they’ve killed my child where they hurt him, and they hurt him in his love for God, his trust in the Mother, and they beat him for his love for me, and all the while say they know I was good to him. They’re his parents and they have the right to take and beat that mother told me that in a swaggered brag.
You lift your head up and see me mourning over a child, like I’ve never been healed. That child is still my number one day. Okay what did I do? I made that child’s feelings God. Attracted to him, I gave him God’s eyes. I gave the world a bath when he was little. I tempered him through Dog as a medium for our affection. We loved each other through a Rottweiler’s fur. Healing’s ways visited me like a mountain tribe close to the sun. I was guided. The feelings of God I opened up in me to care for this child.
So many tools I used, so many make it right. Then the Devil comes in and damns it all, and you dance to this tune. Do you know how much power the Hostile Powers have to turn off our lights? It makes you question the divine. It makes you try to blame God. What do I do what do I do?
I come back to myself of course. I peel off this hate from blocking the psychic’s view. I stand and sing. How far you have to go inside yourself to find human unity. I’m afraid most can’t do that. We have to have developed souls, and we have had to have found oneness inside ourselves. How many go that far?
We’re in the stage of adopting belief. Can we understand a multi-generational project? We want the consciousness open, so our children can grow up wise, a human unity bundle, but you have to get it right with children, so they can make the journey if you can’t, the journey inside our yoga talks about.
I’m a vehicle on that worth, and I’m hamstrung right now for loss of my boy. I am just this landed fish speaking into your microphone. Now I’m supposed to tell yah human unity is a spiritual aim, soul’s quarters.
I believe, I believe, I believe [line heard sung, from It's Too Late To Turn Back Now] don’t bring it through your front door. It comes when you’ve seen the One with its own eyes, a vision in consciousness. You can’t rule it into play. It’s not a textbook model. Can you find spiritual process? Isolate that nigger. This is perfect sin.
The suffering is so explosive. I don’t know how to manage it. I’ve managed art with it, so radiation in purpose, and I die by the public barrier. No one wants to hear this. It’s just spilled upon my paperwork. People would slap me for it instead of help. I just sit here and cry so often. You know I’ve heard from that boy.
The insanity with which his mother has put him, so she can keep him from the slightest contact with a man who raised him, would make you want to put her away if you knew the extent of it. He will tell no one but me, and those around her support her. It’s a living nightmare, and this is what happens when you do right with a child and turn on their lights.
I’m an Auroville side keeper. I’m conducting the experiment in my home. I think you’re too rigid for that in your mainstream rooms. Surely the consciousness will change one day, but you don’t know how. I bring in that formula, and you won’t even look at it. Now it’s been captured by the Hostile Powers, and no community supports me to engage these misguided parents. What do I do?
Stay close to him in inner consciousness and hold him there, wait for him to give me some outer contact, with no satisfaction that will come. You sit there and enjoy this, the child removed from my lair, kept from my clutches. I pity you. You are not the experiment.
I throw you a human unity ball, and I would get into the quick of things, if you let me, in your own rooms, by doing art and making it public so you can see. What are the issues that divide us? The handle of children, I can take you to where we are feet with them, the places that society all sees but gives it permission to be, and I can take you to their God room, and what beauty can come out of a child when their inner doors are open to the God-felt expression of their soul.
A social trigger we do not fathom but persecute, when it’s as deep as this into our children’s honey. When it’s social honey, can you come together on this and extend us your hand? I can give you his song inner hearing wrote. Listen to the boy. You know he’s months away from being taken from his home at the lake and made to feel so alone.
The future folks he’s got in his hands, and he’s blisterin’ himself now with his vision of the future that has failed him now that it’s come to pass. So much spiritual technology he wrote to save himself from a future situation transpiring now. I give you this miracle if you would but look at it. He cannot. He’s not allowed.
The damage is done, and the light’s been put out, and he won’t even save himself but has laid down and died, giving himself up to total dominion, and he’ll lie about it if you ask him, scared of his parents’ wrath.
That’s the hope today, the boy tells you what’s real if you ask him. It’s a hope place to start. It’s a country road. It’s the place we land our feet and give this boy his chance.
The menu, it’s got Gods all over it, and it tells what happened when the boy told his father he wanted to go home, live with the velacara in a permanent song, but that was Sri Aurobindo’s house. The future is in his voice. It’s the future in your hands, if you’ve never seen it before. He gives a prevision of the future his soul wrote.
You’ve not seen nothin’ like it. It’s captured on the journey home to the lake. In one fell swoop, that boy tells you how the cow ate the cabbage, and you’ll just have to sit up and take notice the boy heard this line by line spoken into his inner ear complete and unabridged. We used my voice recorder. Other than that no help given. Now tell me this boy should be shot.
This is a cooperative journey. We can’t leave Nithish there. He’s a prototype of a brand new kid, and boy does he have baggage. What was meant to be: we are consciousness bundles, and by our poetry you see that we can bring you vehicles in consciousness headed for our high change. Eat that in the Menu of the Gods. Can we find Auroville? I’m drivin’ you home.
From Nithish’s YouTube channel
On August 19th, I sent the following small poem to both Facebook group’s admins with a link to the poem here on my blog, asking again that they post the poem, and in my stats I saw that two people in India came here from Facebook, and it’s reasonable to assume that was admin from one or both of those groups. Within a couple of days, Auroville, INDIA posted not only it but also two more posts I had pending, all at once. One can only say thank you when that happens.
Do somethin’ more than just an operator’s opinion. It puts human unity in your lap, and I’m the border they cross. Don’t kill it again. It’s costly. You’re destroyin’ human unity. Can you get a handle on it? Censorship is for what’s wrong and makes us bleed. Is it really for what makes us right? Answer the question, and that’s the ordinary. Let’s cup in our hands the extraordinary. I give you a ride there in this poem.
A Crash Course in Reality: A Poem Tower, Healing Circle, Art Project
Life Curtains
You like that art that puts you in the front yard with our children. So we can gaslight them to death? I’m a chapter on raising them right, and this is a book of love.
So, you’re gonna still feel us out in terms of money? Wow, cultural understanding, let’s put it down on paper. A cultural misunderstanding, I’m all over you.
Baby what’s wrong? Marvel Comic books cannot capture in my life the will of a single day. I’m being thrown against the wall by Titans.
And you expect me to believe such a dramatic intro? The hard part is think on it. Today is the day the world comes to call in your kitchen.
Take a little child and bash them up against the wall, that outta do it. Now put God there. Who hurt the child? Do you sure you know?
You are the principle of the inner fire. You will meet them in the stadium of your room, and a divine poet enters the room. Where is he at? Put down on paper he’s gonna rescue his boy. Put that in your hands, after he opens up for you consciousness.
Right there you find this book is ready for you, holding out a can up here.
Nithish, a Tamil boy 12-years-old, being raised by both his parents and I, an older American man and a spiritual aspirant in India 20 years, I his primary parent since he was seven, has his life upended when his parents suddenly take him from me his ‘grandfather’ and allow no contact whatsoever, and they do this simply out of a growing jealously that reaches its boiling point when, in a meeting with the mother over their wanting Nithish to be with me to only one day a week, I mention to her a video he’d given me that his mother made of his little brother masturbating and what he’d been telling me about his father molesting his little brothers.
There then ensues almost four months of his parents taking revenge upon the boy and upon me, and the boy is beaten, psychologically manipulated, and put under constant supervision and control over those months so that he will renounce me and not tell on his parents for abusing him or his little brothers. The book culminates in a meeting with the Child Welfare Committee of Puducherry, India.
The story is told by the 54 Facebook posts I posted during those months, each post a chapter of the book, and the posts are a mixture of English, Tamil, poetry, prose, photography, and video, my poetry and the boy’s, the videos from the boy’s YouTube channel and from mine. The boy’s material he created months before he was taken from me, and the creative material is a very clear and startling example of prevision, the boy writing poems, raps, and a song to his future self so he will understand what is going on and wake himself up from the brainwashing, as he describes in poignant detail the abuse he will undergo in the future by his parents and his ardent desire to get his life back and return to the lake from which he was taken.
Whether you believe in miracles or not, you will be made to confront unarguable examples of the boundaries of nature being crossed and the future laid bare, in this case by a little boy wanting to stop being hit and controlled constantly, just wanting life to go back to normal and to be a boy again.
You were crying and trying to hide your tears. Nithish, do not fake it. Only 500 meters to where you’re home again.
You have some tears to show Nithish, your thoughts of suicide, your pain at the world, the unspoken madness.
Let it all come gushing out, safely, wholly, by pounding on your parents’ foreheads let me live with daddy! Now that’s the vehicle in the room. Come on kid let’s go. Now baby dog.
Dominance next undo. They lord it over you.
You want to come to America, and that’s your airport, your insistence on seeing me. That’s your offering. You give it to that boy in you you have not let the world see— I really wanna see daddy I can’t take it.
For about a year and some months, from the beginning of 2022 to October of 2023, Nithish, Mithun, Douglas and I did a post cast on the interpretation of dreams called The Dream Company. The podcast ended in our last recorded episode, Episode 56, recorded on October 1, 2023, which has not been posted yet on our podcast site but which I present here.
Two minutes and 51 seconds into the podcast, Nithish relates a dream and interprets it in regard to his need to live with me here at the lake full time, and we discuss the abuse that was happening to him at that time at the hands of his parents, when we had no idea what would happen in a few months time, that he would be taken from me and suffer much worse abuse, which he predicts in the video-poem Edge of the Game when he says, “Well, next time bad spirits of school Nazis.”
In interpreting his dream we did recognize that it was a prevision of the future, but we just did not imagine that that future was many months away and not days. That future that he predicted in the dream has not happened yet, as he’s not got the power he has in the dream, has not overcome the biggest bully in his school, and his mother has not brought him to the lake and left him here, all of which happen in the dream. We await it to come to pass.
I relate my own dream next in the podcast, but I interpreted it wrongly. My worry over Nithish at that time did not equate being smothered by a python, but now with what his mother has done after she took him from me does. By not allowing us any contact with one another, it’s been like having the life squeezed out of me by a huge snake; the grief has almost killed me. So my dream was a prevision of the future too, but I could not imagine at the time what it really meant until the events the dream foretells came to pass. That the Mother assures me at the end of the dream that I will be rescued gives me the same hope that Nithish’s dream gives me, and that is that he will be back with us soon.
That hope is further broadcast by muse, spiritual vision, giving the name of this video and asking what I’d done with things just the other morning at dawn. I wasn’t thinking about our podcast and hadn’t in some time, and I didn’t remember the content of our last recorded episode, didn’t have the slightest idea what we talked about in it. It just came out of the blue because my muse, which is a divine power, has the power of omniscience, and it knew what we recorded nine months ago and also knew that now was the right moment for the boy to hear what he needs to hear, and for his parents and everyone else involved. With that kind of magic supporting us, we have more than hope; we have faith given to us by the divine. Will the divine lose? Wait and see, but we can also ask if the sun is coming up in the morning. Do you think it won’t?
Everybody deserves credit, the ebook I’m about to give you. Do you know what’s real? Don’t give me any chances. And why not? Put me in the hospital, be in a hostel. Don’t put me in the world. Thrown out of life paradise with you. But someone he gets mixed up. He gets really missed. Bury your head. Now I can’t be a boy. [two above lines heard sung, from my song “I Never Boy”] https://youtu.be/kvx_uZ9iWKc?si=SbDujgGn4kJrjp_K
I’m in concert. Can you believe it, that I’m deaf? When you first arrived, was that before rise here? You’re here all day with her. Basically I wanted knowledge. She leans down not to help her calm. It’s inevitable we have the victory in the Mother’s hands.
Like lost his faith left and right. He didn’t trust the Mother. She’s real to him, and she’s so present in his life. He speaks to her in vision, always soothing him, always assuring him, making sure he’s on the right track. She is gentle but firm, and there she is in vision again, the Mother’s face looking into mine. She’s there to tell me it’s okay.
The Mother is working on changing the ground of reality. This situation had to play out last. It’s about abusing kids and making them safe in their homes. The fundamental problem in humanity our children we hit and beat, give them spoons to make them unhappy with. We are generally mean with kids, rob them of their wills, want us to be the center and focus of their lives, the family tree, the parent that needs that love. They belong to God not to us.
We’ve got to get it right with our children. This has to happen in a big way. It has to be seen by many people, and then change could come. We will tear the house down mocked kid and other crimes. We have to learn with our children all the ways of the world that come into blossom/blessing with our children. [above words heard spoken simultaneously] We need them to be kings and queens in how we respect them with our attention. They are the center of the room, not our pastime. They are not a sidelight we’re handlin’. Sacrifice a parent does to put that child’s needs above their own.
We’re not here for enjoyment, though we can enjoy. We are raising God in our rooms, big monumental change, and we will love our children to that door. How is this done? With the patience that master plan. We give them our very lives and correct their misbehavior with love that does not hurt them, but knows how to employ their own will to overcome their blunders. Patience and kindness, it’s our children we’re holdin’ you see.
Who can live up to this plan? It is a model we use every day to come into the kingship with our children, and we start with they are not hit or beat or have their pants pulled down for our enjoyment. We leave their genitals alone, but we do not make them put shame there or keep them from their own file. We are liberal with our children, and we give them their natural development and do not stand in the way when they have a soul purpose different from ours. They may not stay in your home once they’re grown.
This change is coming, and it’s gonna change the Earth. It will heal all our problems that we make upon ourselves. It’s the number one duty in humanity, pickin’ up God growin’ up, making our children safe with us, allowing them to be free, allowing them to follow their own path, allowing them to be who they are, not put our trails on them and force them to follow. Can you see this change?
It’s how we raise our children. It will be the talk of humanity soon, and we will standardize this with love, and abusers will be punished— according to the old rule. The new rule does not punish children, who are also parents or some other person that has damaged a child. We see the child in the adult who grew up on the receiving end of what they’re dishing out today.
Change forms it’s still the same nature, but we do not just let it ride. We engage that parent, that adult, in terms of love that knows how to handle people, that that man that woman puts on to find their way out of meanness, to find their way out of abuse. A separation model must needs to be truly called for. This is integral care. This is holistic healing.
We will protect children, but not from monsters, from erring adults. I cannot spell out to you this plan in one sentence. I can show you the way. You hear the Mother, and this is her master plan. We touch our children with all systems go. We’re climbin’ love.
Harm's End 