Me at work at the Roxie, photo by a kind tourist lady named Eleanor, taken just after writing the poem
If you are reading this poem on a phone, note that the integrity of the lines, a major feature of poetry, is not displayed properly. Many if not most get cut short because of the small screen.
I sit and toil all day at the heart’s sky, laboring meaning into form that won’t surprise me with its despair.
I unhand time. It seizes me. I believe in miracles. It’s all a wonderful of the All-Look’s gaze. I labor to see that.
I can remember it happening long ago. All the sights I see hide God. Can you hide God? It’s a revelation in a day, the abruptness of creation organizing time.
I can see through the forms cloud my mind with meaning. That bus that just stopped there, it stayed a bus, but it carried mystery.
The people at the bar getting drunk next door, a singer sings their songs. I can’t find the music or the melody they become more than sharks wetting their nose on freedom.
I carry them in time, the little guy at the Roxie station wagon tourist information center, seeing past the show into metaphor’s play.
Bathing suits and butts don’t know what they mean. Their wearers are proud of them. They walk past smiling don’t look stirring sexual desire.
I don’t know how to do this, be a Roxie concierge and assign God to the role. I just mean somethin’ to everyone. My hand is ever on time’s grasp, “Yes ma’am, can I help you please?”
I study tourists tryin’ to find time a meal on paradise. Can I help you folks? Every meaning gets bigger than time and be what it means for.
Can you see that? Every meaning we look at wears the face of God, but every dog knows God is horribly attentive to things you don’t understand.
I will find meaning there. I will reach beyond the Earth and sit at the Roxie and be myself guiding tourists to their destination on Fort Myers Beach. Yah get me dog?
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?
Can I fly my hypotenuse a jersey on existence, I mean cans? This whole world is a big block. Everything’s in small measure. There’s no room for elbows. I can’t get yah to change your mind there’s a bigger party than this. Your little room is your little room folding existence upon itself. I wear those sleeves too, but I get out and abroad, you know?
We are lifetime wears. It’s a stinking ship. Just ask your neighbor you hate, or all the money you make at the expense of other people, the information you give that ain’t true, the self-righteousness that drives your car, and all your thoughts bent on death for those who’ve crossed you. Am I leavin’ your telephone number out? I don’t think so.
I can name names. Even the good on Earth do it in. Would you love that bad person to death? Would you get out of your family role and bring a stranger to dinner to sup with your kids risk and all? These are the roles of the One in flavorful chairs, and I’m usin’ analogy to get at device. How can I tell you you sail too the shape we’re all in? Do you see our pumpkin? It’s a safe haven for everyone.
We are littleness meets the stars confined to one room. It’s a prison house of escape. We can go so many places, with narrow openings, and it’s a secret from the crowd. I can’t prove to you I’ve been there, but you hear that sound now. I’m tryin’ to get bigger Earth, so we can mean somethin’ with our lives and not take a stranger to death.
I grapple with existence like it’s my magnet, all this poem to pull you along. We’re going to get there you see. It’s only a matter of time. It’s larger than wood, than our feelings’ meanings in time. Our thoughts can’t get there except on some spaceship that’s blasted off from Earth bigger than any thought you’ve ever had. We’ve got to bust out of our shell in the pains of life oneness denizen models. You know I’m countin’ score.
Now let’s get on with it. Can I give you a blog as a purpose of a universe? You’re not going to believe it’s in time, the whole meaning unfold that meets us right where we’re at. Harm’s End I’ll say it again and a collaboration with the unknown, and some Twitter eye in focus. I’ve did it. I’ve grasped the universe right in your pocket. Start with this poem and go from there. You will arrive at the universe I guarantee it. No one has done this before with their hand on the button of life.
I’ve surrendered you to abstractions. Do add-ons care? May we hit the role in the machine, get to very deary wood. I’m a pencil outside of myself. I’m not the me generation. Can you generate outside of yourself? Can you get there? I am the center of everything, and as much as we see this we don’t. We judge by selfishness a bottle unto ourselves.
Can you put yourself in the murderer’s shoes? Can you be someone liberal if you’re conservative? Can you be that priest that molests kids if you’re survivors of incest? Alright can you just be your wife if you’re too tired to deal with the kid crying at night? Can you be your neighbor, and they need you to take their kids to school, but you’re late for work? Can you be the guy at the grocery store that’s asking you for small change or at least I see you smile? Can you be your coworker late again, but you don’t tell anybody? Can you even be your kid, and he’s been caught with his pants down not to your sudden fury? Too tired to go to work, we can’t identify with people. We can’t look outside of ourselves.
It’s all the rage be offended. You know what I mean dear heart? You know what I mean expanded notion? If I haven’t hit home examine yourself. You’ll get better.
Now where do we play school? Getting bigger than ourselves in life’s little room. Watch those reactions. Give some pride to other people. Is that too tall for you? It’s what we’re here for in the basics of bein’ human.
Oh my God this mind stinks, and we shoot it down with bright ideas. Did we reach anybody? Only the choir. Oh my great big beautiful humanity we’ve got it all wrong. We heart with each other. We expose ourselves to vulnerabilities of feeling. This is the prize in the room: that heart’s safe to be with, you know? It’s what they remember you with, you know?
You can land a hypotenuse all over the freeway to capture the sun’s rays geniusin’ your way to a household name, but those around you know your love, how your heart is around people. We educate the mind, put it first in school, put it only in school as what matters more than anything else, and we are heart matters with each other. The rule and scale of mind is not our hypotenuse. It’s not where we get along with each other. The heart owns the whole show. It lifts us up with each other.
Can a poet say this? It’s where we abide in time. It’s my wake up to you. It’s where we meet in verse, and you hear me. It’s our meaning with each other. God rest his soul. I’ve done all I can to reach the heart of poetry. I smell the four winds, and I do hope that danger’s not real. Know how it feels to have said too much from the party line where the authorities don’t let you, not even in poetry. So long today. I hope that’s not all she wrote. A case that does not take square time became an artist. She finally took the picture that brought it all to bear. Can you identify with the wife?
I had to work in a cave last night. I’m afraid. Bring me back. Wastin’ the water when electricity was comin’. [sing verse]
Can we be expendable? I don’t even know if that’s the question. Do we just acquiesce to everything, ride out time like it’s a bump in the road? I feel my larger spheres pent up in here, and I know I’m expendable.
I don’t know how to find time. I’m just a hole in the ground in any largeness I make. People just want to get me for it, counting victims in my pen. A few loyal survivors have the guts to hear me and not have me taken off.
I just wanna do away with it all. Do you say that, overwhelmed by existence, how it doesn’t all work out, how you go home one day, and people have put a fence, blocking your access road, how you get slapped for kindness and sincerity, how you can’t even trust yourself to be good when your free will’s compromised by the shade from black night?
I’ve put on this flesh I know. A body of man I’ve put on. I wear existence’s sleeves, and sometimes I think it’s a punishment. I just want my boy to come home.
How do you know a poet’s worth? They remind you of yourself where you touch ground. They grab existence and almost show it to you. They tell yah where you’re at when you’re on the moon, and they will lay with you in hell if you’re sorry of the pentance you’re payin’. I’ve grabbed a purgatory slot. Hear my worth as I try to find my time today.
Who you be lookin’ for, someone with words better than me, someone who can grab the times today and get all Tennyson on yah? I’m alone with Shakespeare you know, grabbin’ his hat and puttin’ on my day, all sound and fury. I get all field on yah. I life this to you. I'm not an idiot. I’m a Neptune in the history of fishes.
I can get Barbra Streisand. I can put on symbols like they’re lunch. I can really tag you in the sound of these words when they’ve jumped off a cliff and pulled a child’s pants down to show you they’re lost there and grow up fighting any sticky business that puts you there.
I’m about a wheel and chain on the road to time. I want you to grow up and give chances out on freeways. I want you to be kinder than you are, not as clannish always in control. I want you to be better than that, not even giving me a word I’m supposed to touch.
I’m your poet today, like it or not, that brings poets’ meanings home. I’m Jack Field. Test my word in life. No edit summary.
The barriers of time, I don’t think you ride them very well. We come up against them all the time. They’re in our shoes. They hurt a lot. You can’t see this for the daylight, the great big prison playroom we are in. It’s got walls to it intrinsically built into each one. That’s where our cameras go. That’s how we feel this test.
Your loved one’s on the other side of the room bakin’ pies. In symbolic meaning that’s a round of thought comin’ your way. You’re separated by time’s barriers. You can’t get at each other in the physical sense. Great big surprises come your way when you do, cramped experience that puts relationship to the test. You hold them there sweetly, and then you may never see them again.
You don’t know what’s up, what’s goin’ on. I’ve left my poem alone in a fire so heartfelt in love’s embrace. I can’t get at the tires, or maybe death’s got your door, and your dog’s died, the great big sloppy-lickin’ dog of your life, and no ma’am I haven’t just lost a dog. I’ve lost a reality so big it took up half my room. She was always there lickin’ paws next to my life. Losing her took my front teeth— my daughter you know.
She’s melting time’s barriers tryin’ to see me. I don’t think you know the cough of this universe. It’s horrifying. I see her damn near every day tryin’ to reach through vision to get me near to her. Death’s reality would spook you if you knew it’s there. I’ve muscle on this, but I’m pigeon-toed. I can’t just hold my girl like she’s right up against me. I hold her paw in some astronaut’s gleaming Interstellar there at the back of the house. The confines of death, they break us apart.
The muscle of time, do you know it’s there? It separates you from everything— one little lonely being at a time. Times barriers put us in a single physical space where we can’t figure each other out. We laugh out loud, then cry.
You’re a pickup truck that can’t pick anybody up. You hold yourself the station of the universe, but you can’t move a goddamn thing if others block you. They are themselves the center station too. The great paradox of life makes you powerless to act where you would give your right eye to act but cannot, in those places most meaningful to you you have no power over. You sit in time scaling your life, a sheer wall of belief and hard fact, never any top in sight. What are you doin’?
It puts us to the test. Time’s warriors bake and sell us at the flea market, but this is not why you’re here, and you last longer than Heaven, a safe haven at the back of the house to get our strength back but that can trap us too. We are so much bigger than death that blinds us all while we’re still alive. Hold your child close. Can you protect him from anything bigger than your arms of control? Fiend death my friend, he sucks. What’s the answer to all this? What are we doing?
The answer lies on a page in a WordPress blog? Definitely, if you know how truth presents itself. It’s not haughty and it don’t wear spears. It might even be embarrassing, hittin’ in society’s low spot. It would be uglier than the norm, the vehicle of truth, but it would shore you up with sincerity if you test it. It would be one among a mass that your truth sense recognize, because it is beyond belief in name and form. It’s not part of the system that ensnares you.
Come to my party? There’s no snaking you there. You just have to realize what’s been true all along, but that you have never seen because it’s so represent itself, and you only see the representation, the figure in time, or the one who has wings to be your figure of God behind it you thought about a lot but never really met. The scientist would just see a meaningless void.
Can’t you see I got your skies on? I’m not pollutin’ the skies. I’m not anything wrong. Well how about that? I hold my boy in love’s embrace, and we figured out time. That’s the challenger for your social skies. I’m not doin’ business. I’m a love angle on time to make us greater in it. That’s the vehicle in the room. Can you dig it?
The limits of time, they are both normal and strange. You can’t be in two places at once a sudden trapdoor to a greater life. You are either who you are upstairs or the little I down there livin’ life. I’ve seen this juxtaposition, where I got out of time. It was a railroad. Greater times are comin’.
Now I just comb my hair and wash my face and shoot my gun? No I land this in your lap reachin’ through a poem to you. It’s fresh meat now, but where will I be when I am dead, and you’re readin’ these words? Look around the room. Am I there a thought stroke?
That’s life, you know the big one. Strict society belt won’t even let you think this to yourself. I’m bein’ looked in on by me with a question: how much longer you runnin’ half the house? You will have a future integral with who you are on high. My God this is big, and we meet time’s barriers down the because in the room. I’m comin’ after you foldin’ time, a lesson in reality completely out of the script. You’re gettin’ that script.
I’ve come all the way from the ground up. I’m not an existential crisis. I know who I am. I’ve been shot that’s all, ghosted by most everyone, put out to pasture. What do you do with that, and you identify with the world, hold it close your livin’ self? You have gone out of time and been the big who we are, enough to see it, enough to be it to know it’s there.
I’ve seen outside the symbolism, outside the roles we play. Even if you call it a computer simulation, figuring the unknown with the known, whatever you call it, I’ve been in compassionate reality, the bigger reality beyond this one. I’ve seen the real thing. No one counts this as a thing to be known where animals food our feeding faces as our reality, no depth to it, no meaning, nothing behind, except Gods to worship and obey or enlightenment’s sweepstakes that bring you empty shell.
Can’t you see beyond time? What’s bigger than the universe? Is that just empty skies? What’s bigger than playpens? I’m a figure on that. So like the show to give you the universal accepted scapegoat as the one to show. I can’t get my name in public. I can’t even write it down anywhere near heard. Is that just because I’m lying?
Can I show you my flag? It’s not rainbow screwed. It’s your heartbeat and mine symbolizin’ time. It’s where everybody goes to school. It’s the time of day in this poem. It’s where we all meet at the end of the classroom. I’m sorry it’s me, but hello I’m yours.
The terror is only a being in time. The face of evil, It can’t get at that larger you in transcendence’s sphere. It has no power there. It can only rattle your cage. Anything it does to you it’s not doing to you but to the actor in that cage. This is the meaning of no harm can come to you.
It’s beyond time time's relevant, time's keeper, truth's formula, but it can act within time and space with impunity, with absolute, unhindered power. It is bigger than evil. It has eyes on you, not to save your life but to bring you home. It does not stare you down. It doesn’t even guide you with any advice. It’s up there. You’re down here, but it’s comin’ to meet yah. It’s comin’ to be who you are down here. This is the plan of Earth, what her victory skies.
You are a crossroads to that. We are at Earth’s great turning point to land ourselves there. I am a seed bearer that is all. I come to tell you what’s comin’, and if my voice don’t get out someone else will. This is the mystery time hides, why it put you in a straight jacket, why it won’t leave you alone. Can you understand me? Do you see what I’m doin’? I’m meetin’ you with your maker who is you. I’m solvin’ the mystery of time. I’m giving you wings to grow. Take my hand please, these worded verses, and make it all worthwhile.
Protracted, a polar bear’s smile. It’s gonna take a long time to reach Supermind. It’s not there at our feet. It’s not your garden grow. It’s not at the hoof of your horse. It has to be as common as a cold for you to see it. The more people up there for a moment’s gleam, it holds you up there breakout sweepstakes.
This area’s comin’ into our view portal now the hesitancy in time. It’s comin’ your way in poems Emily Dickinson’s undiscovered continent she looks out on from her pier. Rumi’s love poem says you can only see the sun by the sun. Did we see him there? Now this poet speaks in plain as day. I’ve reminded you of Supermind in Savitri’s care. I’m just the outcast that says it.
Now hold me close. You don’t have to do nothin’, just read the poem the miles that you work today, the poem that you reach today. It’s such a piano to look at the subway and see supernal skies. Stand the subway of time. Is that tomorra mornin’?
Emergency level truth’s barriers, time’s walls. There’s a lot goin’ on. Right at the turning point. Except for the money I wanna tell you somethin’. Your morality drinks beer. You’re not the captain of the ship people. You’re who we go to to take our stories off. Right here for you on your mark, get set… The restrict we have, we put it on things. We use safety to protect ourselves from safety. Actually a lot right here. We’re movin’ on. What’s your plan, bring us all to safety? That one சாவி, I’m inside a poem.
I’m on the edge of time. I stand here and sing. I’m not about the braggart of time. I hold my voices down. I’m all the way down where you know me invisible. I did not carry this to my car. I banished it. I operated on you right where it hurt. I hit you in your social glasses. I tried to be free.
For all the noise I made a scarlet letter came down and banished me, but it’s not there where I pet my dogs and clean my house and cook for my best friend caring for him. I greet people like they’re the node of the day. I want them to know they are big in my eyes, just to help them ease the day to a better feeling for them. I hold knowledge in my hand, but I cannot shake their hand with it. It’s an alien spaceship, fairies in the wood. It’s who they are beyond time, and it is what I can see ails them. I turn the page and spew this out on a page to you, dear reader, where audience is as big a mystery as God. Do you hear me?
I see where the world’s going and how it ends, edging universes towards yah how the impossibilities of the one fulfill the other. Look at our goat today, but look at our supernal skies. I’ve painted myself wood of a lone seer in time. Silly me I bark too, and I cry for myself in moments of abandoned self-love. I hold in my hand the wrong sort of type, the wrong font for you to see reason, because it is way out your door. Can you gauge me?
I’m in your toilet bowl. I’m in your lunch pail, and I’m around your cookery at night. I get in bed with your children, and I’m in the love of your dogs. I take your glasses off to see society, and I break you down to see your soul. I’m a view of the vision of God, and I’m this little man next door. Hear me climb to the skies a poem rider, a poet mile, and I’ll get you one day, to get you to say hello world it’s me, and I love this poem. Don’t you see?
This poem also was declined by the private Facebook group Auroville International, and neither their admin nor anyone else from their organization will yet speak to me.
A star is born between us. He never did intended to become Puget Sound. All about its eternity: let me be the souls you can stand on. [above line heard sung] Believe it, huh, go back to Hollywood, where we find poetry today, where conscious entertainment walks with her fascist in pearls. When she gets to the Lake, when she gets to their alone in the dark, fascist quivers.
God grows in the hours, takes His first steps in the wherewithal of man, in the audacity of man, in the growing of man. We’re here. This is our livelihood. This is our pain. We kiss each other with this. We kill each other with its denial. We play together God-children.
I cannot fathom this. I look at it and stars, but there’s no name that I can put on. No concept carries this. It billows out a jutting of nature, seemingly meaningless. Where is righteousness in That? And godhead? The forms of things are too much for me, billowing God.
My God I think I will lose the world just sitting on a park bench. It’s embarrassingly strange. I can’t feel this with godhead fingers. I only see the road ahead in headlights of my be. Frozen fingers point to frozen books that spell this out to me, and I’ve been there, where God sits billowing Earth. I cannot contain that now. I don’t even know where it is in all this hullabaloo.
I am beside myself with this seeing, and I can’t take the world. It is all too deep and meaningful. What gave rise to forms at all, that He should inhabit them? Weird has me by the hand, and I love it there. The One who inhabits forms has bequeathed the world to me. I am a passion of its movement.
This marriage of life with form brings out the good in me. I can access myself, ponderin’ realities. I am here I told you, inside myself, a multiple see. Can I scrub my room? I can sure get down on myself. What do I have special that’s given me form? How indigenous to the moment I can feel foreign to myself, and I see aliens in spaceships where people pass me by. So alien world this, a feature of the Void. It rocks.
I’ve about had it with this. It’s too much to see. It overwhelms me. I infinity stare, and the forms of things are will-o-wisps around me, like existence cannot last in countless time. Will it all never be?
I want to look at it from there: I know I’m the One. I’d like to sit in a thoughtless temple and feel absorption unto myself. Do you know that ride? I spin it on my head, so close to realization’s axis I can just realize it’s there. I can’t climb into the module.
This is dynamite, and I’m happy to have it for a little while. Can you shoulder my room? I don’t think you’d lift there. It would scare the daylights outta yah. It’s ungrounded you see, in infinity’s swirl. You can’t touch the side and bottom, but the Top is smilin’ down at yah. The larger You is looking in on you, where you meet waves. You’re naked in front of Him, and this is good business cause you get soothed.
And that’s a ring around the wherewithal of That. It holds your hand, and you can see it better unhinged. The wisdom of insecurity Watts said. He had no idea. I’m a public project. Come up here, and we can manage some how we find hope. I’m a clear regard. You can see eternity from here.
But I’m about my room where I gather field. I do stuff. I get things done, cook and model people, deliver them to sum. I can see the problem: starward, we don’t gather ourselves there, or neglect this great big motion field play, like it’s normally down. If you do that those have been cleaned: a stranger looks at time’s eyes. You will last the night. You will hunger some for realization’s pinnacle, but you will certain see.
A joining: hey look at this picture with my other one, internal let it go from here: daddy! daddy! Kid’ll give you a pin down of where things go. Realization’s coils the delivery room. You’re okay there. Okay you’re up. This is a violet test: come warm infinity through halls of room. We will give you another mile.
Vision of matter materially investigated, I guess that first step. But isn’t she gorgeous? That guy is free, free for both of us, because May after we have to do another one, where we inhabit this planet Him. We will live in freedom pronounced by God. Join me there on your eraser, and erase all lines but God. What do you see? Perfect freedom.
Euthanasia of the Spirit you entertain anything else but God. That was a bad night switch, to lose this from our origins, but we’re back there at bright staples today. Any way you look at it 12 noon.
I’m so sorry for this point. I just wanna rub my face off. I’m a graveyard of the best intentions. I feel so inadequate to time’s doings. I can’t even communicate with you, where people are heard these days. Nobody can find my stuff on Twitter. It got shadowbanned. I don’t know how WordPress is gonna treat the length of these poems. YouTube knocks down videos, and even though I’m there I’m not.
Do you every have the certain futility to look, I mean at the sky and everything? It just mows yah down, the big of everything. I’m here I said, and yeah that’s little. I can fit into a little cup of everybody’s been here. That blasts, you know?
And here’s where I’m hooked. I can see the bigness, and I know I’m its business. How do I lavish to you the plan to be where poetry finds you today? Can I say the arc of poetry all along this poem? I want to speak need, not measure, where we find each other today in the lifting of our room. Come to me I’m poetry, is that where I find you? Shadowbanned in Carnegie Hall, this is the price is right to write poetry.
I’ll go the rhythm. You know I’m 10 feet tall. In this culture the number one is never far from shoot. You hold steps right about now to that escapade. Oh boy Rainbow Nagar, he can express His eyes when he speaks, but he put a poem out that grabbed them in the poetry, Muse India.
And I’m an indicator of where we find poetry today in India. That is not on our streets. It’s not even in our cars. It’s just billowin’ in the wind unread and unheard. Hear me people? Oh I can’t stand this new poetry. It juts out like a wad of nature and surprises yah in your sleep, all this regard, and that, and all eyes on God. Can we land poetry today? It’s got me by the book. And I’m reading you time said.
Yes of course you can go beyond man.
I felt the house alone.
I stood there on a bridge of time,
not expecting outcomes.
I just saw reality.
It was frozen bare,
and it challenged me to think
surpassing thought.
I was alone in the room,
and even Nitish was there
and my beloved dogs.
I heaved,
approaching the Silence.
It was an illusive prey.
Infinity stole my mind.
It grabbed me by the Silence.
I was a good day.
I cooked lunch,
did my duties
and took care of the people around me.
They were fighting their own battles
and needed my help.
I stood there and be a friend.
I listened to myself
giving them what they need.
I was withdrawing from time.
I stared at the gates of forever.
It orange glowed.
I gathered myself.
I didn’t have any pockets.
Things were to me on the shelf.
I craved no vital indulgence.
I was tired of the play.
Relaxing it was just to stop my thoughts.
It stood upon a verge of time
unaccompanied by time.
I was in that place where God was
the spectator in the room.
Sri Aurobindo held my hand.
The Mother surrounded me.
I loved myself,
faults and all,
but I was in transit from the center of the room.
I was beginning to smile.
I was beginning to hold water,
reacting less to things around me,
but still a reaction bore.
It was a principled state
that divined the reality of others to themselves.
I felt them Self with me.
I felt them safe with me
reacting less and less.
The world was a communiqué and a sound.
Still I was hated
in Auroville
and by the yoga.
No one looked at me
with kind eyes.
I understood and did not hate in return.
I continued to send them postcards:
help me
undo being this outcast among you.
It fell on deaf ears.
I was pariah.
Hello?
Great big bold thoughts,
when they looked at me,
gave them pause to think
for one second.
That’s it.
No one would talk to me,
except to brush me off.
I realized the condition of man.
We are animals in nearness to each other,
even when we have our high ideals
and so many rhymes to sing.
When you’re an outcast you see that.
We are stuck in our ways,
and change is a four-letter word
when you hit that most basic stuff,
someone’s morality,
their motherland,
their lens with which they view the world.
Can you tell me what changes minds,
open hearts
to what they are closed to?
What a position I’m in to learn that.
Our race is doomed,
and the divine has chosen the wrong race to foster.
Change is incremental and slow,
if it happens at all.
But then I look in my own eyes
and see what’s happening with me.
Oh my God we have a chance.
Oh my God we have a chance.
How do you fill in light?
How do you bring change into the room?
You bring change into the room.
It won’t come any other way.
Okay children?
Harm's End 