“Oh My Look at that Ole Dog” by the author. Luna on Fort Myers Beach. She made it.
Congress can come to my bank. I have ideas representational spiraling towards the universe. I can show you yourself, your muffin. I’m not in a handbag. I’m not parkin’ cars. I look at the world and smile, because I know its price. It’s huge big, but I don’t get lost in it. I see the telltale signs of behind. I can gauge the world through there. The Spirit has the show. Behind the world does.
It’s not communicable. You can’t see it with normal eyes that see vision. It’s not in your visual field. It’s nowhere apparent. How do I know it’s there? I can descry it in spiritual vision. I see the substance of things. I know that huge engines lie in the fabric of the wood. I can see the frontal of things land on it.
I’m a thought proper. Pregnant I stand and sing, and I offend people doing so. It’s cost me my livelihood. I got fired. I’m in trouble today. I see it in spiritual vision. All around me there’s trees involved with my pen. I’ve really written some things alarming to the public. They shoulder my hero. They’re here and there.
Mainly what I show you is how to change from one thing into another, from a blind man into one who sees. I show you how to bring good out of bad, how to change your very nature. Poem after poem has landed on the world’s docket. I don’t get known there. Do you know the price of change? It sits on your life extractin’ good. It’s costly. You have to pay in sacrifice. The world takes its toll. People are very small about it. Forgiveness and understanding, no one gives them to yah. You will be persecuted for good, even if your sins aren’t listed to the world, to the people in front of you.
You make power uneasy. They can’t believe you’re there. The people that hold the world in its little stations mostly are mean and jewel, and it’s fake jewelry. They’re petty people. They have an arm on society that robs it of its worth, but they will tell you differently. We’re used to this, the hypocrisy at the top. It’s all for show, but here I’m gettin’ in those little wears, like a community organizer or some little boss.
Where do you find good that’s good to everyone, equal pay even to the riffraff? Is there a worldwide heart there? Is there someone that embraces humanity, has goodwill at all times, treats people kindly even if they’re homeless and destitute, sacrifices for people not worthy of it, loves them too?
I’m not talkin’ about the perfect man or woman. I mean they really try to treats others as themselves, regardless of the other. They’re fair people to everyone. It’s me, it’s me you say. Glad to meet yah. Continue readin’.
You threaten people then, challenge their sense of self, will be very unwelcome at their parties by your own sense of self. You can’t shoot the breeze and not feel the weight of other people and their meaningfulness to you. You’re flabbergasted by it. It’s not a little show. You examine yourself continually for false pride and vanity, for things that don’t match love, and when people hurt you, you feel that sting, but you try to get your head around their price. You study the world and their place in it to see what world needs arise. If you act, it’s not with malice. Empathizing with them you understand they need a reckoning. Their world play has gotten too far in selfish ends. They harm.
Are you there my friend in being good even when it hurts, in bein’ inside yourself an open vessel to feel other people? Is that person in front of you the weight of the world? Do you take delight in dogs, and can you feel a tree there the livingness of everything? Do you laugh with the wind filled with the caprice of its consciousness, identifying even with the forces of nature? There’s more of being then being shows, and we’ve come to the invisible, but would we find you there identifying with the wind and sea? Great Scott! you’re a tall human being.
The organic meanness of the machine, that’s not your pride. You’re a tall order. You do penance for people. You never leave someone out in the cold. You’re understanding and kind, forceful when you have to be, but not mean and cruel. You are so on yourself to set things right. Can I get across to you your underwear? You have left lust behind. It’s not what you do eat people. The roles of sex are no longer in your play. You’ve matured out of that.
How can I count this? It’s my livin’ mood. It’s my every day. This is the price you pay for love, and you’re not ready for it I know, the death of your own genital squeeze play, but we can still have children. Youth gives birth to our young, old enough to know the consequences and take on that responsibility where society thinks, where society helps them grow where society grows. We are no longer individuals on our own, and we get along with each other. Individuals have room to grow and be themselves, the freedom of their nature that lets society grow.
I’m a social revolutionary. I see the beyond, and I carry my dogs there. The world for me is paper thin. I see the behind, and I love it there. My dog just messed. Did you see that? Can a poet have a sense of humor? No, I don’t like butts and smelly asses. I’m walkin’ on miracles, this world set in place, all its motion, a storybook Earth.
I’m tryin’ to tell yah the price of the world in seeing, how you handle the world in moments of gloom, in cries of despair. You look up into your largeness. You look out there into your springtime. You handle the world as it eats you, but you’re too much for the world, and so it spits you out, and you stare at it an equal integer. It can’t get at you in your lists.
We are a bubble inside an immensity beyond time, tiny as the wind blows, a drop in an ocean of continuous being. We are one aggrandizing look in everybody’s lookingness. Worlds upon worlds tell this show. All-Containing seeing rides us all. We are a looking glass into infinity, and we only see ourselves on finite Earth. Ever being grows to its larger glass, and can you count that?
I’m on the high seas of the bottomless lookingness. I see larger being than ours messing with us, setting us straight, and I can see bigger than them beyond this universe of stars into the larger looking glass that encompasses ours. I’ve sat up there once looking down on Earth. Miracle on miracle bridges who we are, who put us into this play, the larger than time’s being we are. So many seconds started this show, a poet here in your lap singin’ the ends of time, singin’ for all its worth.
I’m bangin’ on time. I’m giving extra credit. I know the hunt in time. It’s bigger than stars. I can grapple the world there, just this old codger who walks his dog and means nothin’ to nobody savin’ a few. It’s a laugh really, the breath of my vision and how little you see me. I’m showin’ you inside. These are the concepts of my thoughts. These are the concepts of my dreams. I habitat these thoughts all day. Lookin’ at the world through a dog’s eyes, I can gather life. It’s insane really I’m not the one insane.
Let’s go back to lunch, shall we, that the stars in the sky tell us we’re wrong. There are bigger fields than Earth, and I’m countin’ stars in my diary and know there’s beyond them. I know you’re safe, even if you get tarred and feathered, crucified on some cross. Nothing can touch the Spirit. The soul is free from everything, and it laughs that gentle laughs that knows the score, but is sure hurts down here doesn’t it, to be a beggar at time’s gates just wantin’ to be loved?
That’s the shit of it, and the soul takes these shocks and turns them into gold, but we suffer the because of it because we are flesh here not soul. The soul is deep. The soul is long, and it might let you get killed before it shows itself, and what poor bugger can take comfort in soul when his trials and tribulations are happenin’? This is the juxtaposition do Earth we bury here, where we mean something to each other. It’s a lamp unto our feet, ain’t it?
I show you the price of a laugh. Let’s make this work. The price of a fall, that’s too expensive for us. We are here on Planet Earth wantin’ to survive. Will it happen? It’s certainly meant to. We have to get out of our kingpin. We have to get out of our nursery. We tarry there. We rob there. We’re stadium laughter. Do you know how many eyes see us? Do you know how many eyes care?
Let’s get this down to a science, hey, everybody’s a hero on Planet Earth. You can do it I know you can, be there bigger than the world. Are you just gonna stand there and do it, practice burnin’ people? Will you see my face? I didn’t get away with it. I shoulder more than society’s prison. I shoulder the pain of the world. Unhand me I’m free? No, I’m not enlightened. Good luck, that’s in my hand, and I may reach freedom yet. Is that the answer to tomorrow? Yes and soul release. We interrupt this broadcast, and it looks like we broadcast now.
Everything bad happens, not everything good. Do we just spit at each other? I’ve got radio silence. You might kill your mistakes. Look at this. Why would you want me silent? Maybe tomorrow lip service you’ll give. They’re not hiring. I want to go to Mound Key. I just put a belt on and I make that hirin’ the world. Where is my pay? I warned you. Oh look, the hammer, it will get all over your fur. Men home it’s comin’. Everyone, I’ve got a tale to tell, and it shows.
Well it’s time to go to sleep. A poem has not made you ready. (vision of Grace Beagle sitting pretty and looking at me like in a life-size picture frame, two or three poses) Taking a picture, you know how dogs to that. Keepin’ your fingers crossed, we’ll get them here too, Grace and Hannah and Bruno. Now be off with you. I got a train to catch. That ole boy put his foot on the pedal and headed towards them yards. We are not in hospital beds.
Grace and Hannah, photo by DouglasBruno, photo by the author
Everyone feels themselves the maker of things. Alone in our body’s cells, we do a branded work. We have the secret knowledge inside, and we know the meanings of things. We just can’t express itself to men. We live in our longings a perpetual keeper unable to handle stuff, but ours is the mooring to the base of life. We know no one above us in this, and even ones that we worship, they’ve just validated ourselves. We can keep them. No one else can.
I am the secret front of time. The world calls my name human. I am a draft everyone wears in their rise to fame. I can’t control fate, and the talent show, I can’t grate my time against it, but I am bigger than lost rooms, or, if I am famous, for your information, I’ve been put there by all eyes on me, and the knife I am to everyone I don’t have to please, it’s sought within, and I believe mine eyes hold all true. I’m good to everyone even if I’m not good to some. I am the eyes of life and time in my living room.
Surprise, surprise, surprise, you are not the march of the universe, or anything tall and big. You are a worm’s crawl to our Sublime, and you would spit on the Sublime now, if you saw it. You would not hold it right. You would not even know it’s there in your tangible real.
I fight this battle every day, sometimes on a horse, sometimes in the slime of morose doubt. I can count my sins all day long. I can sit and bash myself upon the head for being such an eager worm. Here’s the kitten: I sit in the arms of the divine all day. My doubt is not to its existence. I have knowledge firmly there. I see the Larger like I take breaths, but is this a whirlpool, a jolly roger’s madness ride, that has no issue for a starstruck human being?
I see the Larger like I count my face, and it’s suspicious to me. It doesn’t count humans. Oh my goodness the proxies’ wear. Everything’s for the larger good, the whole. Individuals get trampled in the stampede, and we have to stand this, because it’s all a dream, even our suffering, and we are nothing more than sinless souls putting on masks of flesh for lifetime wears. The flesh doesn’t count. The soul does.
Great Department Green, is my soul in my beating heart, the exclamation point of tears in my eyes I fight back left and right? How heavy is this pain a moral wear, how real, fresh, and alive, and yet it’s cut asunder by ideas, by momentary experiences I’ve won and lost, by a look there a breath there on God’s heights, like you throw bones to dogs?
Feel me I’m real, the character, the mask, You’ve donned. I cannot last like this, a plaything upon Your pittance. I need Your honest answer to my living pain, or crush me now and don’t look down at me again (uh-gayn). The pittance, the role and show, how do we handle it?
Time is larger than our showroom. More power to yah God. What’s man doing there with his head blown off? It inspired an amazing journey. It manufactured an attempt to find another rule than suffering, point out joy as my hunting rifle. It’s my must now. It’s where I lay my head, oh time machine, I go. It’s important that’s a carpet, not a bed of nails.
Do you hear me breathe? I’m countin’ the breaths of all of us, and I am sin, hold me down?
This poem began where Death went off his office, and it revealed. It’s beginning to baby us, political allies. About exit, what does it reveal today? We’re not safe in our own shoes. Death is the beginning of misery.
I kill myself from the beginning I bet. It’s a written, a written piece of paper. Now I left coins of me, shekels, splashes of time, in your jukebox. They’re horrible. It didn’t work. I could not write my name in the sky.
Just how do you do? I’m small pittens for small fare, smaller than that. I just do your head in, don’t I? Come talk to me I’m worth? And you don’t. [The sound of laughter here] You’re the wrong people. You’re not wearin’ soul shoes.
This is message for the times today. We did love. We’ve lost some trying to get it in there now. What in the hell’s a matter? It’s the go car looking for enlightenment brown. Make alright boy that’s it cut the track. Just need to think your love can speak. [sing line] Freedom caring, just need to think. Some of it has been miracles in the room. [sing line] One at a shot have a world education. [sing line] He’s called a creature of a dying world job, little until tea tomorrow. You’re getting good at it. Leadership is worship. Bake down, ask about your soul technology. Become immortal.
Before my life was over, I want to find what my life was in. I’m normally ask that, if I haven’t given up on life. Would you lay with me [sing line to tune of song of that name] all over this answer? It’s not a field of stone. It holds us all in tight keeping, but it’s not the angel in the room. This is pre-God ladies and gentlemen. Can you hacksaw that?
I’m getting deep into society’s ways. I’ve just found Spirit, the first covering of the Unknown. It’s how we have being. It’s where we come from. A great big Spirit wears everything. It fashions God. We’re getting into preexistence ladies and gentlemen, when only the Formless arise. Can you imagine nothing as its sailboat?
What’s the rule of this ship? Don’t fashion nothing. Expand into global waters. Make existence be to pronounce Itself. Spirit is the first form it wear, that makes for us souls. It’s aligned with God, but it’s not God. It’s the soul, the basic who we are.
You can touch that ship in intimate contact, feel it ride the wherewithal of your day. It can take over and rubs your belly with sweetness, and you are charged for awhile with everything’s honey. You see the soul in things.
How can you do this in a concentration camp, in the worst hell on earth? That’s the soul of the ages in bare bones reality giving you eyes to see. Overcoming physical pain is one thing. Watching cruelty mark the Earth, devour babies, and we’ve gotten down to the purpose of soul: don’t let it in, the despair.
The soul can get you out of this, even in the midst of it's bear. We are a sublime soul range, God gave us Savitri reads, and this is down on earth. We tarry there. The soul is completely out of this picture, the whole fortnight of evil takes our ship. The soul is not responsible for sin. It loads up our day with the honor we give one another for being the Itself to Itself, and we feel sweetness everywhere and principles of joy.
This can break in on us in the hell we have made of our lives, or what others have made us suffer. It can even break the dull routine of the days. It can be in ordinary and lift on you extraordinary in every mode you wear. There’s no end to the soul’s keeping. It’s the basic ground of everything. It’s goodness rides the high seas. It has so much feeling for everyone. A plant is to it existence and little dogs so lovingly looked upon. It can hold matter in its hand, and you don’t want to bruise that ship either. You’re careful with everything. You have respect for the Earth. You are never out of love, even when you see society’s nigger, the people we are allowed to hate.
I can’t fashion this for you. The soul is a mystery you know, but I can tell you how to do it, reach for soul, let it in. You grasp it all the time in bridges you wear. It’s the most common thing in life, coming upon your feelings, and you feel so alive with everything, and you want no harm done to the aliveness in front of you. You feel the pain of the Earth, the sorrow, disguised as your own or your close neighbor’s, and you grasp your loved ones to yourself and be good to them. You feel ranges of Spirit right there in your baked pie.
A moment of eternity has looked in on you, and you feel sublime with the Earth. You hold them with your children, these feelings, or your best friend’s face, and you love to pet your dog with them like you’re petting moon time. You want to protect everything don’t you? And you put down your enmity for a minute.
Can we range there, take those feelings to the sky? We can sure get along there, if we try. There’s more to soul science you know, but I’m trying to get you started on thin ice. We don’t know how to handle the world. It ruins our day, even when we’re drinkin’ with it, but we are not left out of soul. It envelopes everything, and when existence can be anything, the soul is there first a witness, then a power to bring the soul round to things, and you just have to grasp it in what I’m saying now.
Is everything okay? Is everything alright? I wear society like a sleeve, and they do not worth me in it, not even my own kin. I am left apart by everybody. Few call my name. I’m treated well by Douglas and a few others. My child cannot call my name, and though he is living I cannot see him. I live in isolation, bearing pain. I look at the specter of death. I’m in danger of society’s wrath. It sneezes on me.
Have you ever seen the sun and the mysteries of existence? I’ve pulled them out of my pocket. I’m a crash course in reality. I write this to you now in poetry that has never been seen before, and I’m a black bag. Society won’t read me. It spits my name out, never calls it. I want you to recognize this pavilion. I want my boy back and safe, and I want all of you to be safe.
How can one man’s love change the world? If it opens up the eyes of God it can. It can bring us to soul. I rabbit there and show you soul moments, a day or an hour, I can see because I wear. It’s close to enlightenment’s springs, and I refuse this honesty just as much, feeling my pain, my isolation and the loss of my boy, who tells me he’s walking in a void, in secret messages, and he’s lost on himself no light he can see.
I bear these days not as a guerrilla. I return again and again to the house of soul, what I’m lifting up for you to see in a certain light that give us release from pain, and I love you there, even though you give me the cold shoulder, again.
Rushing through a path of ambulance, I participate. I don’t promote my own story. I hand it to you because it’s how I found out things. I’d rather not tell it as honestly as I do. This does not do me good. It gets me ignored, not a poet in good standing, and no one will promote my work, except a fellow poet in Israel I can count on to call my name.
Just at the home of mankind, I’ll have the day at some point, and I’m in your picture of what everything means. For now I want to pass ships. I’m on a mission to get past my own boat. Come get me please. You’ll like what you see.
The Void fashions thought, gives it the clothes you wear. We bury the world there. We’re all over each other in drowning reality, and each one of us wears woe is me clothes tryin’ to describe our reality to another, even if we don’t feel that way. It’s the default among us. Just read some poetry and see. It won’t lift you to the skies, poetry club after poetry club. Do you know how bottomless this is?
I don’t know where to end this. By Dylan’s side. I don’t think he’s learned to be sad yet as his disposition. He’s two, and I wear him on my sleeves today his minder, really protecting his freedom, no anger, no swats, and no is not a word I cram down his throat. I like his natural freedom and his natural state of joy.
Where does it come from? I can sit in the same tub and not be happy. He’s an expert at this. He knows where the joy is, the merger inside of him with his environment. I don’t think we’ve reached a separate Dylan yet all in his own clothes. The joy is phenomenal. He just screamed and looked at me, and I gave a pirate’s laugh. I like the sound of joy.
His frank littleness operates on my moods, and I can taste his taste with the world. You have to hold on there’s stickers there. The world will grab you, and all falls down. You have to be careful there, and everything has eyes you know, even the water bucket. How amazing this is. I coo and talk to those eyes a speech pre-language wears. Identified with Dylan with a poet’s laugh, I’m in his jolly roger don’t you see?
Now what happens when we’re three? Identity with the world please, it no longer storms our room. I could be seven, and joy becomes something monumental we chase the dogs with. It’s not homegrown anymore. It’s not our natural state. We’ve put on man.
I’m on poet’s wings, and I’m identified with what’s in front of me. You can’t do this writing about your make up. It’s how we discover the world, reaching poet wings reaching the starlight, where God sees everything glow. It put us together in ancient times, grabbed civilization out from the paws of nature, a poet’s look guide, and we’re born you and me so much’d civilized clothes, and a poet born language don’t you know. It came from the skies added to our feet down below.
Where’s all this goin’? And we write it down in speech, great big letters of world maker’s art that came in vision or dream, and we fountain a language with it. A poet saw that. I’m not here to hear you scream, and kill all these damn flies. That’s the muscle we wear. The poet has the architect of civilization we grasp here. You don’t know from on high. You don’t know these robes. I’m speechless. Yeah, you would be. Well I be damned.
The chaos of the toddler, it writes your poem. They don’t know dirty, and they have no sense of mistake. They don’t know danger. A grandpa’s life is dangerous, and he gave that toddler reach. It’s not playin’ with the same cars of a society toolkit. They meditate together on meaning. The boy feels the rush. It’s living. I can’t draw your papers from here, but I’m showin’ yah how we’re made. I can’t explain it to yah so that you wear the same cars, but I accelerate growth.
That’s not dangnabbit, or any role of violation. It’s where that guy sees the stars. Are you with me on this? For a nice mental health, where it counts, it’s in that toddler child. You don’t want to falter there. They’re bright and shiny objects from the universe, and they just love to play. They don’t need a hard time.
Just organize them the storybook of the universe, and they mean something more than I am tired, irritate me one more time and I’ll slap you, or I’m horny please me. Don’t be confused with their gatherin’. There’s a child there with their tall eyes bein’ the Earth for you, and every touch counts, and they love to be touched and cuddled. They wear your fingers for the rest of their lives, your harsh tone, your can’t take it anymore. All of humanity needs to see this.
Listen, it’s not possible today is it? This is too cutting edge. This is too model. Don’t take their joy away. Let them be rising and kind and kids by you’re conducing a sacrifice for their wellbeing. Can’t you see this Paul when you get home from work, and you’re tired, and momma there in the kitchen, that meal’s better than that child? And we can reverse the roles and do the same thing or join them. What would daycare say? Keep them busy no. Let them occupy themselves with whatever, and watch them there. We want them to organize themselves, no just obey masters and do what they’re told.
Can you see my thought’s skies? We don’t want a subservient human being. We want society to challenge the world. We want a greater world bear. We are on earth for no other thing. How could you argue with yourself? Beginning right now, make that toddler’s world better by your lovin’ hands and freeze, no shouting, no hitting, no inappropriate hands. Goo Goo and Ga Ga, they just inherited the world, and it was nice to them. Oh man see this.
Make a child’s day. Make every moment count. Can yah? Will yah? It’s growin’ up to be you. A vehicle burned by society’s ways, a damaged vessel, do you really wanna put that on that kid? Let them play in the dirt and mud. They’re not going to murder themselves, hurt society with it. Aren’t you right there to prevent mouthfuls and rocks up their nose? They’re testin’ time, where all the dirt goes.
Aren’t you glad you see that, their special put together? It makes for good kids, lettin’ them be the little animals they are when they’re two, no inhibitions, not feedbacks. They’re beautiful little tigers, and we give that little creature kindness and consideration in every mood they wear. We just don’t let them tear up the ship, or express their violence towards other people and puppy dogs, and we teach them to be kind to ourselves with the kindness we give them, and who would let a toddler hurt himself?
You gotta be swift and fast, and you’re gonna make mistakes. The little monster’ll test your patience, the little cuddly bear. You’re farmin’, know that, and you determinin’ that child’s life. A great big heavy thing in life, we shape our children by our touch and mood, and the most important time’s before three, monumental she wrote. I’m infinity’s cards, and I’ve just showed you the spasm of life, where it most counts: hey baby, oh you new thing. Can you dig it?
It’s the living fetal position for animals, the punishment chair. Stop this motion. Order the pens to our insight. I was thinking first of Dylan. I didn’t chatter my teeth there. My comfort, his parade, he got the money’s worth. I can’t spell this out for you. It’s long on time. What do we do with him, pull his pants down and shoot ‘im, arrange him in the corner, blister his butt? Let’s call him kings, and you’re his subject most of the time. Can you get that?
Wow he’s free to make decisions that don’t harm him. You’re followin’ him around a puppy dog. Did I just say something mean? It is exhausting, but you’re right there as he explores the world. Too wild to keep, my parents put a dog there, highly efficient at watching me. Outside he followed me everywhere. I brought some of the memories back. Can you believe he talked? Used all the sounds a dog makes to convey meaning. Boy get away from there. You stop that behavior at once. It was a pleading sound with authority.
Buckshot was extraordinary, a big dog from army parents, half Shepard half Collie. He came from a military base. Can you see it? We’ve been doin’ it all along in our homes and in our backyards, but we can make it an official duty of mankind, train dogs to watch kids. The little one’s too exhausting to keep up with. They need special care, and a good dog can give it.
Am I meaning here? Do you know how much this helps the child? The love of a dog opens up society to them in the ways of love, and if it’s a lone child, they pay attention to another person in their play. Let’s put a handle on their selfishness shall we? That big dog can protect itself and is a sense on the world we don’t. The consciousness shares between a dog and child, that’s the link right there, but I’m gettin’ far ahead of you. You don’t know you do this with Dog. We are more than their masters, and they are our children.
Buckshot grows. Would you believe he’d take my hand in his mouth and lead me back to the house if I passed the invisible barriers that said too far? There was a dog there on his way to human. You don’t know that’s what dogs are doing with us. In the evolution of soul they become man after climbing the latter of Dog.
What did you think they were doing with us? I put dogs in the throne room too, kids with fur and tail and adorable ears. There was this hole in evolution, and we created Dog to fill it when we were ready in soul, when we became men and women firm enough on the ground to fill it. At the role of civilization, and then came Dog.
I’ve gotten angry again, and I just shut it off and move on, apologizin’ profusely to that kid. How is this learned? The heart is open to soul. The heart is open to that kid. Profound love dwells there that can heal anything. Careful with that soul. I guess I’m a witness that you let out. I’m not an icicle. I am love everywhere found, deep feelings of release into the sincerity of the moment.
You are love there watch your nose, and you obey your nose no longer. You’re not led by the nose anywhere. You’re compelled to soul choices, complete understanding not offended by anything, and where you find love you find the wisdom to use it to correct that child, the strong love that knows its pants that can say no to things that harm and make that child know he caused it without those feelings of guilt that block remorse.
You surface the soul you know. It’s what takes over as you’re doin’ it, a sadhana out of ego. It heals. It wears a crown. It makes everything right. That’s what we’re doin’ here, being soul, a manual for the new millennia, how to be safe with our kids in diapers and into the terrible twos, and they’re comin’ unto themselves threes and fours. We are expensive with the toddler, lavish on them our heartfelt attention, and that’s the history of science that makes a better world.
We need a role model, and I’ve lifted up a poem for you that comes from higher sources, the role of a poet, a special use of language wear, and poetry that I have, I’ve returned us to our origins, where the poet revealed to us the world and gave us strong ideas how to live in it. It be compatible with what the world needs. I can’t account for its audience, but here take another poem.
We walked out a miracle. We walked out back. Did yah listen? The applications are enormous. I am in any thought you use to harbor children. A family of pioneers asks a lot about a new generation. Well I’ve got that orbit. I’m asking me this I’m asking you: what’s conducting God in our filthy experiment? The eyes of the child.
The pictures, we’re gonna keep looking, and another FMG, it was on the film net. Would you cause me to live? I’ve gone further than I am, and I don’t feel badly about it. Broadly I read you. You know Stoppa was running. They didn’t know what they were doing. This was the parade. I’m tellin’ yah I’m sorry. I'm not fighting wars with children anymore. Can you get a load of that redemption? Be hostile where joy was, their glasses whole birthplace humanity right on time. Good afternoon.
The change in consciousness ahead, get me my improvement I’ve penned these days. Why would I be running from it? See a bullock cart, I can’t get out of this view. Got some dirt, it springs into anxiety. I put it on the lawn and deal with it. I don’t know exactly when it happened, the line of consciousness drawn. I’m a senior builder. Stopness, seriously wellbeing, birth has a lot more to do with it than nature. Is that so? I gave a poem that talks about relief. I’m not gonna pull it to my pants down. Were you like a screwdriver yet, you’re used? Can I answer that question?
I got soul, a flare, when the authorities are so big. We have dark roots. We’re not gonna terrorize anybody. This is the poem that tell you where it’s at, the soul we find in the machine. Can you stomach this long road? Reach for middle ground, and no soul will show for you. Life isn’t easy on my mark, get set, and my personal arraignment will show you the hallway and the entrance room. Exploding tigers, eh? Exploding entranceways. Exploding tests.
Your soul returns in a blissful way. [sing line] I can’t find my wife. I can’t help it. I’m just get lost in things. What’s the status on my boy? He tries to finish. One second, make me some time. I will operate on my parents. I will come right straight to you.
This is Dylan. You look like Jesus. What are you reading? I will be right there growin’ up. I will give you forms and things, all your books. No one pets me. I would love to guard against that.
The evolution of a single day, we minimize it, blocked by life’s stuff. We can’t see the carton in the room we hold evolutionary purpose. We split in two, just bang our heads against the wall, grab society by the horns and be pulled apart by it.
We are pulled apart by society, so many tin cans in the room. How do we detach from all this stuff? Bring society into the room keepin’ your knees in it, and you’re just gonna get lost in it. I have an opera beyond society, behind every little thing in the world. It’s where I eat lunch. You hear it in these stanzas.
Okay I’ve got a grow room, and the entanglements abide. You hear it every day. I’ve got a little boy named Nithish taken from me, and I complain about my poetry: reader get me more. And I’m worried about my dogs dyin’, the lack of respect I get from my landlord, and the soup I had lunch with yesterday. These are entanglements.
Auroville doesn’t need me, does it? And no one in Auroville will give me a sticker and put my name on their greeting card, at all. I remain isolated, and they publish my poem every week in their newspaper. I write poems there too. The yoga will not even give me the time of day, the yoga of human unity and life on earth growin’ oneness wings.
Okay what is soul purpose? Can an entanglement say that? I’m watchin’ evolution here. It’s sees me, but I think it’s turned the other way. I’m bummed out about my entanglement. These are vital moods the life force carries all day long. I can’t get rid of ‘em. It’s a spell from places deep.
Alright there’s a chester drawer, also from places deep. It’s the soul in the room, behind and apart from everything. Yes, yes sing to Auroville today a guiding light, write poems to the yoga, and hold that boy when I tell yah to, and let go of your status among men. I’m the soul detach worth, and I’ve got mountains of soul change ahead. You hear that music now.
It’s a blister on Easter. It’s hard to come about. It’s the soul detach on things, and you hear it now, and it feels good, doesn’t it? How do you cultivate this nigger? By puttin’ soul change ahead, recognizin’ your time of sleep guides towards that when you wake up from dream.
Don’t just stay in your room. Have you ever put your thoughts in another as they walk by? What thoughts are they havin’? And you’re tryin’ to wear their skin. You feel them there. And pick out some sore spot upon the Earth, and put your consciousness there like you can’t get bread too, and your children are dyin’, and you feel this with your tears. Can you get there?
You’re openin’ up soul in the room, and you keep doin’ it with everyone you meet, especially those close to you, and this is an inner job. They just know you’re sweet and kind and tryin’ to figure them out. You keep your hand on that lever, everybody won’t even know you’re doin’ it. You know how selfish people are. I don’t know if there are any returns on this. I haven’t gotten any yet. People don’t see it. They see themselves, and you’re givin’ them what they’re worth. That’s hard. Entanglement number four, fuck you.
Are we all here a hero’s worth? I think not. We’re just involved with ourselves, and we sum it up for loved ones, satellite I’s of our solar star. The soul change gets us to see our room differently. It’s a battleground in there to separate the wheat from the chaff, and you don’t let no one down.
You learn what’s expensive in your room and costs you your evolution, what’s expensive in there to hold you up every time. Can you see this notion? It’s a soul room, where peace on earth comes from in the larger sphere. Can you gauge this?
I’ve just given yah a formula for world change, and all you that know how, will you dance with me? It’s a formula you give your room that opens up the world to us. It doesn’t come in a tin can. Is that so hard to believe? You try to wear their skin thought today.
Open the door. You try to wear their thought today. Takin’ a bath belly up while we ride that tone, we really reach in our heads and get it done, findin’ the light in everybody and brinin’ evolution to the forefront detachin’ ourselves from all these cares gettin’ to the soul need of each one and bein’ big there. ¿Comprende?
Making’ the soul of sacrifice, can you pull a soul play in that room? It’s a shame you brought your brush, charmin’ hair Nithish. He’s not a pumpkin no more cause he’s got the credit card to bring you in lean with him, and he can’t say your name right. A child forgets his toys if they get lost, and should he perchance see you, they kid cashes in taking advantage, and you’re left swingin’ on a short rope. It’s okay he loves you. Just get away from him in thought and wrappin’ around him all the time. Let the soul take over. No problem connecting him to you there’s a soul range ahead. Capisce?
To the soul on earth need help, and you see the need, and you parachute in. I’m not tellin’ you to leave him alone. All's worth on him and he needs to see yours, before you run out of windows for him. A moment in my futile pen all's say. No one holds the true purpose of mankind. One major soul note I have given you at my own expense, and now I have to live with this. They had a nice chair there buddy. Learn to look though. Take pictures of him again it’s bright and shiny future says Earth must do.
I did yet the big big pen to help me find him. It’s just my name’s not on his notebook anymore, and what can you do with that? What’s that music? He really felt it, and he really wanted our hope back.
I’ve got a lot of folding chairs here, and they’re supposed to sit in ‘em, like in 24 hours, on a moment’s notice. I grab my dick and double click, and no one comes along (I’m murderin’ my pen), except a thoughtful read of you my good friend right now. Oh gosh gee I’m sorry, I can’t pull it out, the poem that says it all, and you do see me tryin’. You are the world to me. Oh, sing with me, sing for the year. Sing for the laughter, and sing for the tear. [sing two above lines turn of “Dream On”]
The slightest word crowd, you can really show the writing on the wall. A few minutes ago you had us to the tune of “Dream On”. If it doesn’t work out for you, dream on, but we don't doubt that boy woke up.
A video-photo-poem, my own design, on its material level this is a promotional video for the Auroville Dog Shelter in Auroville, India. It’s the aim of this video art to take that material into the spiritual realms and beyond. To send donations to the shelter, go to this link: http://www.aurovilledogshelter.com/
They spill your blood. They dust you off to kill you more. They know just when to sooth you and just when to bite. They eat you alive, and then laugh about it like they care for you, or you’re just not doin’ right. They lead you by the hand to amazing vistas of rose petals, a dire love, and then they cut your heart out in the very place they called you love.
This is diabolical. This is oh so sweet. You have some semblance there of hey hello it’s me; I am your love, remember? And those memories kill you because they’re insanely not there to make any more with you. You can’t touch that. You can only cry, helpless heaving cries that startle up your mind to insanity’s fallout. This touches you. This laughs at you. This enters your neck.
You are not there with them, that little boy you love, and he has lost his comfort zone, I mean really his whole life, to live in a shed with grey bones to sleep on and parents that finally get the chance to rub his nose in it: all these years for preferring me. Do you get the picture?
They torture me with that, the anarchs of pain, and his pain rends my breast and makes me want to kill myself because I want to shoot myself for his pain. What do I do?
I just sit here and tell you. No one will listen. We’re a racial mix, and I’m in a foreign land, and all’s people see is a red flag. They don’t know what they’re lookin’ at, and so they hurt us more, thinking we’ve sinned together as man and wife. The boy’s 12. You stupid people. That’s not the relationship.
We have love from the fountain of soul. I’m afraid this is as close as you can get, two people, and we’re suffering for that now. It’s there we love. It’s there we hope. It’s there we stand and face each other. You don’t mind. You only see yourself.
He’s forgotten about me. They try to tell me that. Oh he’s happy move on. But then I meet him in dream and vision, or talk to him on the phone, a forbidden enterprise he has to sneak to do, and I’ve found him again the lover of my life, where he was when they didn’t see him.
Kids aren’t all on pain. They’re not geared for that. Their mask just allows the public to see hey I’m alright; look I play and laugh and sing, but I’m not there you know; I’m inside with the pain, and you know I can’t hide it always, nor even very much.
So we’ve unlocked these doors, the Furies that punish us for so deep a love. What type of love is this? It's deep-seated parental feelings more than anything else. Can you get your head around that? It’s boy love without the sex. It’s a man’s embrace. It helped hold the world together in ancient times. I’m his tutor. I’m his love. I’m his friend, but most of all I hold his hand. I’m the one who guides him through life, and he is a spiritual arrangement. I do not love him if I abuse him, and that love starts my day, where I hold this little boy. There is no abuse here. I do not cut his teeth on silver diamonds.
Can a kid handle this? This has been humanity’s beef all along: you can’t take children and put ‘em in a box and make them obey there, protecting them from the world by protecting them from themselves. This is an ancient relationship I tell you, and it’s not bad, evil, or mean. It’s as wholesome as the night sky, as helpful as a forest moon. You can read us in volumes of poetry, and the boy has videos, and he’ll tell you about himself.
We have something new for the Earth, and integral healing plan that meets nature right where the Earth is, so the soul can express itself. We’re expressing soul. Do you hear that?
We don’t know how to arrive. We weren’t separated by parental concern. I’ve been his erastes for six years, a full on parental relationship. He mostly stayed with me for these half dozen years, but I was at his birth. He came into my life at one and a half, as this little tyke I helped take care of, and we have been doing this since he was three: I was a parent in the room.
Now you can take this and cut it up. accuse us of pederasty, but what you got here is two people in love, whatever the form, and it’s right relationship. I test you to go and see. We’ve left public record, starting since when he was three.
Okay crowd, we let the parents arrange this, with their hate and their spite and their mean, because they are jealous of our relationship? And are at this very moment forcing themselves on the boy, and he doesn’t want that. He wants to be home with me.
I’ve laid it all out on the table, told you the story. What do you want, social change, where kids meet bigger people, or do you want the kids to remain the same and do not change the nature of man, so we can become better people and save the world? I’m lookin’ you in the eye. Engage our social media, the boy’s and I. We will change the world.
a typical image found on channeling sites, source unknown
A poem by Donny Lee Duke
But in your routine,
what is the foundation of the whole thing?
It’s that the technology?
Can you point to God?
What’s happenin’
in your soul’s process with God?
Can you get your soul to speak?
Why always this:
you channel beings
of a particular order?
Can you grasp the inner voice,
hear that on the inside that your record?
Definitely more personal,
it’s got you at heart,
a wide variety of vision.
You’re hearin’ it now.
Now let me speak some
about capital.
You are not Nathaniel Hawthorne.
I hear no substance in your words.
Do you know the power of divine revelation?
It knocks you off your feet,
shakes you up,
makes you confront yourself,
and is really, really, poetic, you know?
No convulsions needed.
We can actually open a gateway
in people’s lives
to hope and possibility.
Wounded by something.
Now let’s go to the doctor,
and the young body
can open now.
Closed it,
closed it earlier,
channeling the soda pop.
I’m sorry,
that is not your next of kin.
I wouldn’t even call it divine.
I’m not gonna be used
by things that destroy
you just tell yourself.
Go get the basics
a little deep man:
we’ve whooped it up on stage.
The eve of creation—
you’ve hit the run around
with a big referral
to some starfish.
It’s got ears,
your soul buddy.
You have to ask it for help
fervently,
ardently.
Your soul rises to the surface
over many lifetimes.
I think you are where it speaks.
I offer you solace
in the form of understanding.
Come with me.
Stupid me,
I am not a perfected master,
not in Realization yet.
I’m sorry I sound so heavy,
so blow your tops off,
so glory in the hole.
I get in trouble
tryin’ to help.
People spit on me
the big bad outcast.
Oh have I sinned,
and so no one lets me speak.
Will you?
I wrote this poem, or my muse did rather, which also serves to introduce the poem I’m currently disseminating, “Tonight on Television”, to a person who channels, Asil Toksal, after watching a video on YouTube where he channels, or says he’s channeling, the archangel Ariel. The video here. I watched the whole video and left this poem both as a comment after it and in an email sent to his site.
(this poem was written as comment on the blog Helena, The Nationalist Voice for the post “Mass School Shooting, a Mental Health Common Denomenator”. Click here to see the entire conversation)
The seated with identified and hate
confuse multiple speakers.
We think we got a land problem.
They just don’t know the story from inside.
We let it in
all these ill wills not ours,
a big bad packaged hate.
It has moved us from afar.
I know what to do.
Let’s kill all these people.
And we do.
There it is the ugly truth of the matter
fired upon the scene.
You think it’s American.
How little countries move among you,
as if our consciousness is organized by political boundaries.
That’s the joke:
you are a nationalistic speaker.
You are so much more than that.
Humanity is everyone.
Now I think that’s got a ride,
the joy of being human.
Our consciousness is all over the place.
You see it in your smile.
We are so much more than hate.
We are bigger than the stars.
You ever seen this in your living room?
We’ve got every welfare at heart.
We genuinely do care about one another.
That’s that process of soul.
It’s what we’re here to study.
That’s what brings us to God,
but don’t forget
it’s a cruise ship,
and every human being’s on board,
and that’s just the human side.
We care about animals.
Oh the soul they watch too
you see.
In my mid twenties to early thirties the inner doors were flung wide open. Especially intense were the 3 and a half years immediately following a spiritual experience that happened when I was 28, and I was able to consciously explore not only dream and transition states between waking and sleeping (hypnagogia and hynopompia) and the trances such as the cataleptic (sleep paralysis) that sometimes accompany them, and consequently too the out of body experience often resulting from such a trance, but also dreamless sleep. There in the deepest most hidden place inside me, in my center, way beyond or behind dream, I entered into the realm of soul, just a short baptismal shock, but in that journey, a very involved inner journey that took a number of stages and a week or so, I took my conscious, that part of me that thinks and feels and dreams, down into my center and connected it to the soul, and why I call it the soul is the spirit of this article.
I understand now that such an opening of the inner consciousness is unusual, where you can consciously explore the inner life with as much conscious awareness and will as you have in waking life, where you have lucid dreams most every night, or frequent cycles of that, can learn to go from waking to dreaming consciously, from dreaming into the states between sleeping and waking (twilight I call them), from twilight into the cataleptic trance, and from there out of the body, but my list isn’t to suggest OBE is the direction of the exploration. For me this opening was temporary, and it slowly closed, not completely, but the unusual degree of opening I’m describing, especially the last two items, cataleptic trance and OBE, were the first things to go and in the ensuing years to become rare events.
I suspect in a future humanity such a metaphysical opening to our inner consciousness will be the norm, a spiritual opening as well, but for now it’s rare to experience even a short period of this, more common to have a smaller opening, where things like lucid dreams and OBE’s happen a couple of times a week, using those two inner experiences because they are now the most talked about net-wise, interest in sleep paralysis notwithstanding, but even this more common smaller opening is not yet common in humanity.
If you find yourself experiencing such an opening, large or small, and many are today, though not enough to light an inner revolution in humanity, not even enough to make the nightly news, you have a rare opportunity to experience firsthand what most everyone else does secondhand. You can know and not only believe that consciousness transcends material process, a knowledge that can transform your life if you understand what it means. To see it firsthand, however, involves conscious inner exploration, which is more than awakening within dream and trying some technique like looking at your hands or some trick to manipulate the dream more. In other articles, such as “The Epic of Man”[i] and “You’re like Wow, That Really Was Enchanted With a Rock”,[ii] I try and give a sense of what inner exploration is and where it can lead to in relation to its transcendence over material process. Here my direction isn’t towards the outer world or inner worlds but inside to the well of soul, our center.
The following inner journey took place around 1989 when I was 28 I believe, some months after the spiritual experience I mention above, before the net I might add, and before I aligned myself with any spiritual tradition or teachers, when I was exploring on my own and not a part of any group involved with spirituality or dreaming. It took place over the course of a week.
It’s night, and I’m alone on the football field I played on in junior high school, and I become lucid. Since I have an avid practice in waking life of meditation and pranayama, I decide to try it in dream, and so I begin to sit down in a meditative posture, but as I do a monster jumps at me out of nowhere, it’s eyes wide gyros spinning madly. It scares the hell out of me, and I wake myself up.
During the next day I got the suspicion that the monster was trying to prevent me from meditating, and so I resolve in my next lucid dream to follow through with it no matter what I may encounter to try and prevent me. I was just exploring dream and didn’t even have a destination in mind, at this point just trying to find doorways of dream to go deeper.
I’m in a huge motor pool, in a part of it where there aren’t many vehicles parked, and I see in the distance the buildings of the motor pool change colors, one color just following another, and the anomaly triggers lucidity, as an anomaly in dream often can. I remember my intention and sit down to meditate, but as I do I hear a blaring horn and seeing coming directly at me a mac truck. I settle into my resolve not to be scared out of the sitting and continue to settle into meditating. When the truck gets to me, up until that point being everything that looks and sounds real enough to run me over, it vanishes, doing that over me, its form rapidly turning into nothing as my eyes close and I see nothing. Instead of going into another dream or waking up in my bed as often happens when a dream goes blank, I remain in the blank but have a sense of falling. This blank falling state I’ve known many times, since it so often occurs in transitions from one dream to another or to waking consciousness. The difference here is that I see I can stay there, am not being captured by another dream image or by waking. I remain in that falling place for perhaps a minute or more, and then I open my eyes and am awake in bed, the falling state itself being so close to waking all you have to do is open your eyes.
I thought about that falling place for a couple of days or so, during which time I encountered a phrase in an English translation (prose) of Hesiod’s Theogony that speaks of a hammer that takes nine days to reach Tartarus, and while I didn’t believe that falling place I had found led to Tartarus, I believed Hesiod talks about inner journeys in-between the lines sometimes, using symbol imagery to describe it. The phrase led me to the idea that the falling place led to a destination, but what that was I had no earthly idea. I made the determination next time I became lucid in dream to get into and remain in that falling place until I arrived somewhere.
I don’t remember the context of the dream the next time I was lucid within one, only that I get into the falling place via meditation and remain there, knowing if I just open my eyes I’m awake in bed. Something happens to my sense of time, and I don’t how long I’ve been falling in that blank space. I almost reflexively open my eyes, and become cross with myself for not continuing onward. I decide next time to count as I travel in that blankness.
The next lucid dream, which doesn’t happen that same night but does the next night, I again get into the falling place and began counting the seconds like I learned to do out loud parachuting out of aircraft in the army, counting then to only 4 seconds until the chute opened, or was supposed to. I count to know how long I’m falling, but here the counting goes on and on, and again I lose the sense of time, losing count as well, and, though I resist the strong sense to open my eyes, I cannot shake the growing sense of terror that’s welling up inside me, like I’m falling into a bottomless pit from which I shall never again return. Then I hear both my mother and sister as though they’re standing over me, pleading with me in voices I know are their most fearful and most sincere, to open my eyes because I’m being tricked, and I’m in the hospital in a coma. The sense is that if I don’t listen to them I will never return to them, or the outer world either for that matter. It so happens that my greatest attachments at that time are my mom and sister, and my greatest fear is going into a coma during inner exploration, not to some never ending dream-state experience but to a blank alone like this darkness. I open my eyes and am not in the hospital in a coma but am simply awake in bed, nobody there but me. I see quickly that I’ve been fooled and resolve next time to go all the way until I get there, still not knowing where there is but more assured it’s somewhere significant because something very smart is trying to keep me from getting there.
Whether it’s the next night I fall again I’m not sure, but it’s very soon after the above dream, though it’s not exactly a dream but inner travel, and I don’t remember the process of becoming lucid or getting into the falling state, only that I’m there and determined to go all the way. I lose sense of time again, but there is no welling terror, or any real fear, and no intelligence trying to stop me. I have no idea how long I fall, but it’s a long time to my notion of time. Suddenly with a great shock I arrive somewhere. It’s like I’m immersed in a limitless ocean of a whole other order of existence, one formless save for identical small objects sparsely floating around that appear somewhat like half-notes or arches, and though they appear to be objects, I feel them as beings. Outer space would be a way to give some picture of what this ocean is like, but there are no celestial bodies or blackness, though it is dim. It’s lit but with a different kind of light than we know here, giving the space a glow that’s now glowing in me, and I feel the warmest and safest I’ve ever felt, and this place is so familiar to me, like I’ve been here many times but only have forgotten about it. An immense force is rushing through me, and I feel its intense vibration in every part of me, but it’s so comfortable I only want to bask in it. It seems there’s a sound to the place, which I feel in me as well as without, but it’s not sound as we know it that you hear with your ears. It’s like the sound silence would make if it made any sound if that makes any sense. I see myself floating towards one of the little arches, and I unwillingly go through it, hoping I don’t harm it by doing that, but I see it on the other side of me unchanged. Then, as abruptly as I found myself there, I find myself out, and I come awake in my bed and marvel at how I could come up immediately from such a deep place, although I am still glowing from its warmth and power.
This experience did not change my life, was only significant in that I knew I’d reached some place of spirit in me because the experience there was so different than anything else I’d ever experienced in existence, making spirit the only word that fit. At the time I didn’t think of it as the soul or its well within us, was not at the time even considering the soul as something that existed in us a destination I might explore. That interpretation was to come years later when I read both my teachers, the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, describe the journey down to our soul center as a journey downwards through a long, dark tunnel and as a journey very difficult, and very rare, to accomplish. This is that journey in my own personal terms, an inner journey that has come to be more important and singular to the results of my inner exploration over the course of time, not because my teachers have said such and such, but because it was the moment when my conscious connected with my soul, and that’s revealed itself to be its importance, and that in itself, the strengthening of that soul connection, or really what you’re doing, surfacing the soul, has been and continues to be a journey much like this one to the well of soul, which took stages, days, to complete, wasn’t somewhere I got to in one go, was somewhere I had to overcome my greatest attachments and greatest fears to get to, where there was something[iii] very intelligent that knew me like a book, something hostile and tricky (a hostile being, a demon in common parlance, attached to my life), trying to stop me from going to, which was a destination where I went out of this material existence into another kind of being, into Spirit.
What put this experience, and others I was to have that followed, into a context of finding of the soul is, as I’ve described, the teachings of Mother and Sri Aurobindo, which I was to encounter and immerse myself in, starting on a visit to Auroville, India, in 1995. And I’m not speaking of just the writings and talks they’ve left behind, but of inner contact with them and with my soul (or psychic being, who they point you to more than they point to themselves as your guide) when I’m speaking of their help in putting this inner journey into a context of a stage in the journey of finding the soul, help I’m getting in the writing of this article[iv], which has gone through a major rewrite based on their criticisms of the first draft, which had to do with, among other things, not clouding this journey over with descriptions here of experiences that didn’t happen during it but relate to it, things I’ve written about elsewhere or will write at some point.
In an earlier article, one actually published and not just posted on my blog, I describe other experiences in relation to the soul and put the above journey in the cosmology of the Supramental Yoga and as well the cosmology of science if it would ever consent to see beyond the material envelope and the cosmos, but the article’s not just a regurgitation of their teachings. It’s based on descriptions of personal experience that confirm, for me at least, the yoga’s cosmology.[v]
If in this inner journey I describe I did indeed reach my soul center, I by no means experienced its full scope and depth, and I imagine we can go much deeper into it than I did in that very brief baptism. It’s the way with me; I get a taste usually and not a full course dinner. Be that as it may, I didn’t go anywhere anyone else can’t if they have the inner opening to make such journeys, and not everyone does, probably not even most. Though we all have the right to be treated as human beings equally, we are not equal in everything, especially in the most essential thing, which is the development of our soul, and we are all at a different stages of soul development, something too personal and ineffable to set as any standard whereby someone with a more developed soul would be considered more important or superior than someone with a less developed soul or would be treated better or even afforded more respect. These are things of soul, not ego. It depends on how developed your soul is, your psychic being, as to whether you have an opening of the inner consciousness to make such journeys as I describe. If you don’t, you probably aren’t too interested in making them anyway, since your soul isn’t at that place of contact with your surface self, your ego, and pushing you to.
I will speculate though, whether your soul’s nudging you some from behind the veil or not, whether your psychic being is mature enough to do that, that you’ve made this inner journey many, many times, especially when you were a child, make it now though more rarely, but have no recollection of it at all. It’s difficult enough just to remember our nightly dreams. How much more so what we experience in dreamless sleep. You’ve made the journey when you wake up feeling like you slept like a log, like you’ve been replenished, like you had your batteries recharged. It would stand to reason that, if it’s true we are souls that have put on this material envelope akin to the way a deep sea diver dons a diving suit, or however you want to look at it, we’d need to come up to the surface every so often to get more air and sustenance, what we do when we go down into our center, the well of soul.
When you make journey consciously, however, you connect your conscious with the inmost deeps, make the hard link whereby your soul can come out more from behind the curtain of thoughts and dreams and be your guide on the way. On the way to God the soul would say.
[iii] I had met this ‘personal’ demon some weeks before, not its true form but one it wore in its manipulations of me as a small child. That experience I describe in an article posted on our blog: https://harms-end.com/2015/11/19/breaking-silence/ I’ll only mention here that it was on that first visit to Auroville that I met its true form, a story I have yet to write.
[iv] Writing this I was reading Notes on the Way, a compilation of talks by Mother. Though perhaps only a disciple would see this as a synchronicity, I feel it’s no accident I read the following immediately after making the revisions: “The other day when Z read to me his article, it was neutral (vague gesture at mid-height), all the while neutral, than all of a sudden, a spark of Ananada; it was this which made me appreciate it.” It might add to the possibility of synchronicity if I said that Douglas had just bought me the book that morning in our weekly sitting at their Samadhi. Notes on the Way, courtesy of Sri Aurobindo Ashram Trust 1980, 2002.
Harm's End 