Post 4

Bear Witness Daddy! [‘daddy’ shouted by one of my boys] 

     This is a slice of months from my daily muse journal begun years before in 2001, first in Cuzco, Peru and continuing in Brazil, when, in the second half of September as a matter of fact in the second half of my six months (the better half) vagabonding in the rhythmic sway of Brazirlero, though they told me I was speaking Portunhol, it began to flood lines, in a strange poetic English not too terribly far from that said sway, first just a trickle, like cracks in the walls of my thoughts letting in behind the thinking mind, and then in Brazil the dam broke. It’s my hope it will end in enlightenment, where the voices stop talking, since you are in the silence, but maybe they just stop talking non-stop, since, if you’ve ever been in the silence, open-ocean swimming in its bottomless shoreless peace with no I to arm your swim, you could use a little reassurance from your core, and it knows that.  Though no one has bestowed the title of poet upon me, and that might end up what one is, whom the cloud and the crowd say is, whether or not one writes poetry being of little consequence, since poetry is by its nature a social phenomenon (or is it?), I am a poet. 

      This question I’ve grappled with since beginning this poetry journal, which is also my spiritual journal, under the impression at the onset I would publish forthwith and be read, but that does not seem to be the act here, to be published, though here I am posting these months of this journal, have been posting poetry from it on the web for several years, on this review of course, on my own site The Chipmunk Press and on sites here and there, mostly as comments I might add, and  I have one poem in print.  It would bear mentioning that in the beginning there were a lot of lines of poetic quality, scattered around, which I tried to piece together into poems with no success, always thinking this I was hearing was more for you than for me, but the patchwork didn’t work, didn’t make for an authentic poem, and then there was a middle period that lasted for years where there were too few lines of quality to harvest, lost I was in other pursuits, and when finally the ability enlarged to write whole poems from the muse, the poetry suffered such a diminution of the gift it took years to come back to the quality of that beginning, the initial outpouring, and when it did, to my estimation at least, I began to submit poems in earnest, poems that came earmarked for submission, but neither here did I meet with any success – like I was on some blacklist so consistent were the rejections, but I know there’s no actual conspiracy.  It’s the poetry, too much of a breach of poetic tradition, literary blasphemy I’ve been told in so many words by angry editors, though most would just say it isn’t poetry, or at best that it’s the weak end of the word.  The ironies of Time will tell.  Regardless, however, what Time might say, editors, or even you world, that question I’ve grappled with so ardently has now been answered to my own satisfaction: I write the contemporary verse of the muse of poetry, though not in every moment of my ability to be inspired by the muse is it poetry, and only in scattered moments is it good poetry, and it’s equally for me and for you, talking to the world personally, the for me part sufficient unto itself, reason enough to write it, but here it is would you care to read it? 

     It would seem that poetry is the act here so much have I focused on and learned of and from that art, but purposes there are bigger than art, larger than for its sake.  A transaction is going on between me and the world, what is beyond the world, and what is bigger than worlds – that is the import that in the bargain becomes the growth of my soul, or I should say, it growing bigger in terms of influence over me than of the instrumentality of my ego, it taking the reins, reins it uses to go to God.  Whatever you believe along those lines I’m not kidding when I say that I will challenge those beliefs, challenge as well your ideas about poetry, challenge even the terms the man as they now stand. 

     This is the raw recording of my daily muse, which I do first on a voice recorder, unless there’s a power cut or I’m out somewhere, which in that case I use paper and pen, and as such this verse is not tidy or even edited unless it’s the muse itself doing the editing.  The ‘verses’, what I call formations, since it’s a packaged arrangement of ideas sent to me from elsewhere via the inside, from the world, my soul, the divine, the undivine, are the duration of one listening, not grouped by an association of ideas or sounds that would usually make up a verse (when taking out of the muse a poem, however, I break up formations and make them into verses in the usual manner), though if I’m allowed to listen long enough, or I don’t get distracted (the conditions under which I listen are not ideal) a formation is indeed a verse in the traditional sense fulfilling some completeness of poetic intention.  Not only am I often interrupted recording a formation and have to stop abruptly and not fulfill the idea, but I also have gaps in listening while I’m recording, so sleepy I am late at night especially, gaps the muse itself accounts for, since there’s what I call an over-editor sitting on top of my listening and commenting on it, in verse and also often in my children’s voices saying “okay daddy,” or “alright daddy” to things my mind might question they are so strange, and vice versa, but every now and then the gap is too wide to fill, and so sometimes transitions, rather abrupt with muse, are not there at all, and you have to swim that breath and not lose hope: a couple of lines in a formation not understood is not the end of the world, and even an entire formation lost to understanding will not dissolve the cosmos. Is it possible to just read and gather understanding as it grows accustomed to the eye of dream coming out of the woodwork and speaking in its eye of the storm vernacular? 

     Also as a break with tradition, and an attempt to give more the full flavor of muse, its multi-dimensional aspect, and because it’s such a blur of outer events, I put notes in brackets beside lines, or within them if that is necessary, a note  in prose and not properly punctuated of some brief explanation (in another color so as not to confuse it with the poetry): the voice in which the line is spoken, if it’s a specific one, other information about the speaking, if the line(s) is sung and in some cases who and how, the vision that comes with the line or the dream the line(s) ends, and in some instances, the outer context of the line or formation, what it’s talking about in my life, but any given formation is often talking about two things at the same time, if not more, completely different events in some cases or an event seen from opposite perspectives, and, when you read the formation years later, it can be interpreted to be talking about present events, so in some respects the prose explanation is arbitrary and not binding on the text. (Parenthetical material within the formation is part of the poetry itself.) 

     If you haven’t ever noticed it, gotten down that far conscious as you’re falling asleep or waking up (why is that you haven’t tried to maintain continuity of consciousness while going to sleep, or for that matter, followed consciously the thread of your experience through the course of an entire night’s sleep? Isn’t that the most obvious way to play with yourself at night?), there’s a continual dialogue going on deep inside of you, and it might appear just a blur of voices or images as you wonder at it from afar, but if you call it close with your focus and attention I’d imagine it would be different voices speaking both to you and each other, to or about things you maybe haven’t yet dreamed of Horatio, voices speaking in dreams as well, and visions of what voices would speak if they used a camera or paintbrush to represent their worth.  When I was an adolescent boy most every night I’d reach a stage of falling asleep I called ‘reading the book’, where, too far along in the stages to sleep to do anything but lay there and listen to it, I’d hear a continual stream of high philosophy spiritual in its meaning, but by morning I wouldn’t remember a thing about it, only that I ‘read the book’ again. I had to come of age before that would come closer. 

     As a young man I spent a solitary snowy winter in a little writer’s cabin on Walden Farm outside of Gold Hill, Oregon, the only media books (not just any books, The Brothers Karamazov, Peace Pilgrim, Sri Aurobindo’s complete Letters on Yoga, and his The Ideal of Human Unity) and an evening of public radio, and in that virtual hush and solitude I heard lines of poetry while falling asleep, only three that whole winter, but it only takes one, if you’re a poet, to see where poetry comes from and realize many poets of enduring fame have in all likelihood ‘heard’ lines and just never told anyone.  “And I suppose a rose / has felt well all the glory a man might,” were my first lines of poetry from the muse. When you hear something like that, and you’re spending much of your day composing poems, you know what you heard. 

     In my spiritual practice in that cabin and in wandering around those snow-covered snatches of wood and fields, I’d gotten quiet and turned my eyes more to the inside, and their looking outside was not taking up so much of my attention.  In addition to becoming more and more conscious of your sleep and the transitions to and from sleep, that’s what it takes for the initial opening, a lot of inward turning and being quiet, turning off electronic media for most of the day, and, if it’s to be a spiritual/literary/artistic opening to voice and vision, it would mean staying at the summit of the thinking mind, the higher intellect, where ideas hardly touch practical matters, which by no means means you can’t be involved in them (I was chopping my firewood, gathering eggs for market and other farm chores); it’s what you think about as do them, where you keep your mind (at the top of the world) if you are like I was at the time unable to stop thinking a lot.  With everyone the manner and phases would be different, but these basic guidelines would get you there if that’s where you want to go, to be inspired directly by the muse, though with me it was a delayed subsequent coming into my daily inner eye and ear, delayed for years. 

     I’ve written a lot about this facility, call it part of the creative reflex, what fashions dream, though most in the West would chalk it up to hearing voices and seeing things, and nowadays many in the East as well, religious and secular, most especially the people East and West whose daily bread is reading the life out of such inner listening (scripture it gets sometimes called; religious fundamentalists they often get called).  Irony is the grand slam of life. I tap into that ongoing inner dialogue every time I lay back inside myself a little bit, and so you’re only getting parts and pieces of it, as I’m also engaged in outer activities, of course, but I lay back enough, if you stick with it and read, for you to get the gist of the conversation. 

     Reason does not write this, vision does, and so as I’ve recommended you have to put understanding aside and just read until it begins to make some sense because you’ve adapted to the manner in which meaning is spoken, but always some lines will escape meaning because almost always lines mean more than one thing, have multiple interpretations, those kinds of added meanings you normally don’t give credence to so fecund they appear.  And here the past, present, and future mix themselves together, and, if they’re your lines, and maybe even if they aren’t, when you go back and read them years later, they can, like I said, pertain to that now too.  That’s the nature of muse, busting the limits of language, though able to stay inbounds enough to remain in word’s waters, sometimes just, though in my muse the words are common and the language colloquial simple for the most part, what makes it appear pedestrian and prosaic on first glance, until you get into it and hear the echoes sounding down the corridors of Time and Space, but, like the people afraid of Virginia Woolf, i.e. those of you who can’t understand stream of consciousness fiction, you might find inner truth poetry totally unintelligible. 

     There is, however, a rhythm in muse verse, as there is with everything (lack of recognition of which has wrecked havoc with human understanding), and this continual steam of inner poetry does indeed become boring and mundane, does not, in long dry moments of its flow, even rise out of the tide of whatever wave it is that makes words poetry even in the most generous definition of that wonderful word, as it’s just not possible to always and at every minute be standing at one’s highest or most original inspiration, especially in such a continuous stream as is this attempt, and what mounts on the wings of the page more often than not is neither bad nor good but lukewarm, and I’d like to spit it out of my mouth, delete it that is, but it is not here just poetry I’m writing, not a thing I do for only its sake, but I write the truth of my experience as narrated by my muse, but since it is muse, not just some trick of the mind climbing on itself, in brief moments it does mount on wings that storm the barricades of the universe as we know it, if you can see it that far, and takes us in poetry to our very limits both of word and being human. You want to stick around for that. 

     It hardly goes without saying, since this is poetry, that it speaks in symbolism, uses more often than not one thing to represent another, so much so it might appear nonsense upon first going over it, but there’s a continuity in the symbols used, and once again if you’re able to suspend understanding, in time, by the repeated use of the symbol, which does not in every instance mean its usual meaning, its meaning will become apparent, but it must be said that sometimes a tree is just a tree.  For this reason it’s not really possible to say this symbol means this and that one that (as in interpreting dreams if you do that you run into a problem so individual and at the same time worldwide dream symbols are, and muse comes from the same fount as dream, though at a more integrated poise), but I’ll nonetheless give the general meaning of a couple of the more obscure symbols that might show how widely flexible and even strange is muse symbolism. Tomatoes represent fondling someone’s genitals, especially those of a child’s, not just for me but I’ve seen this symbol in the world used for such (I stumbled across a woman in the Middle East who had a vision of tomatoes as being bad, and she took it literally and began urging her fellow Moslems to stop eating tomatoes, unaware the symbol had more to do with mothers, fathers, uncles, aunts, whoever, squeezing a child’s genitals than with actual tomatoes), and potatoes mean being forgiven or forgiveness, though the two symbols are not necessarily related, but I suppose if you squash the former you need the latter, and there is the wee bit of suggestion the red nightshade is indeed a heater of hands and lower glands, and that the potato as a nightshade is wholesome and cool like the moon.  The telephone, another common symbol, is none other than the apparatus of muse itself, since it’s not a face to face conversation but taking place as it were ‘over the phone.’ 

     Because it limits meaning it really isn’t a good idea to put speakers in quotation marks or punctuate every line, since some lines are ambiguous as to who’s talking, and the different meanings you come up with applying the voice to different speakers are integral to the muse, and in some cases commas, periods, semi-colons, colons, dashes, any punctuation, limit meaning also, but I have used quotation marks and punctuate each sentence, otherwise you’d be lost, though only the audience speaking is put in quotation marks (the hostile powers, whom we call demons or the undivine, are treated as the audience and put in quotes unless they’re trying to pass themselves off as some other speaker of the text like me or my divine, in which case they’re granted that ruse detective, and just read this without a filter for the moment).  With punctuation I’ve tried to be very precise, as much as I can be with muse, and because many lines are wider than punctuation I use the dash a lot, what it’s for actually.  You’d understand very few lines if I didn’t punctuate them, which is the most general way of following the formation, by playing close attention to grammatical marks and reading the complete sentence lines form to indentify who, what, when, where, how, and why, those last two the sticklers. 

     Ideally the verse would be performed, since it is dramatic poetry, either read aloud as you read it, if you can act while reading aloud, and can sing, or done up as a podcast or on a stage, with different speakers speaking the different parts, the appropriate recorded pop artist or other doing the singing, allowing for some lines to be spoken by different speakers at the same time to allow for the ambiguity where that could be identified.  That would give it its true field of delivery, and meaning would be easier harvested there. As for the visions and dreams, a short video of their visual content would be the ticket (yeah right), and on an ideal stage they would be on screen behind the speakers as the line(s) they accompany is spoken or sung, or somewhere visibly involved with the dramatic performance. 

     In many respects, this is a storytelling, the daily grind of my household which consists of three teenage Tamil boys whom I’ve been raising for the past 9 years, or thereabouts, myself, a dog, and a host of other visitors both seen and unseen, but also thrown in are people, places, and events from my past, and I don’t always explain.  This is real life folks, a true story, but it’s told from the way outside things look from the inside, which comes out as a sort of sideways glance of the outside world, and I doubt if you’ve seen this perspective before to such an inner degree, Virginia Woolf and James Joyce notwithstanding.  As such, as I’ve said, it’s not instant, a blur you’ll get used to it if you want to see what my muse is looking at, which in some cases, perhaps in the majority of cases in the onset of my muse being read, will probably be the censor trying to see that and not a true reader, but they’ll sound the alarm, and there’s nothing like a controversy to get a thing read, but, to be honest, I’d rather not throw another act into the boiling caldron of this contemporary ‘see what I can do’ ‘let me tell you’ worldwide pandemic. I’d really rather not draw attention to myself, feel as though with all I’ve put on the net and in this review (read Issue 3) I’ve already done what is required of me socially by putting my neck out as far as I have.  What are we going to do? 

     While it’s the norm to hide what bad we do, disguise it, play it down, reading my muse, which is basically a camera pointing directly on the point of my moments, you will at times be flattened of air by that embarrassment you feel in being human when one of us just pulls down their pants and shows the downside of that, because my muse is the truth of me, does not hide one iota of the stuff of which whatever moment is being filmed is being filled with. You might imagine that with a minor attracted person living with minors there will be moments you’d want to hide, understandably so since there is no tolerance for that kind of behavior, and it’s considered worse than murder, is equated with crimes the Nazis committed. 

     I’ve put a lot of writing on the web, always speaking in the past tense of my attraction, never able to speak the truth of what it actually means in the hands and heart of your life to teach those instruments and that life that their most flavored feel, what it is in and about the world that gives them their most happily absorbed moment, speaking of what is most in reach, not of those truly absorbed moments where the world itself is surpassed in a rare flight of divine release, that what they most want is the worst they could want, is what most brings them into conflict with both the world and with that divine release.  Though it will take a hard-hitting future to show you the strength of my vision, speaking of how we really change a twisted nature and stop bad behavior, not the way we give press to, which is governed by a cut and dried morality and not by what is actually needed to effectuate that change, I will nonetheless show you the manner and means in which I change, which would be not out of the ballpark of how humans change generally speaking, which at once will most certainly be rejected by the majority of minds because it’s not cut and dried, not based on morality at all but on the soul and a change from human nature to divine, something not yet even in our ballpark of play. 

      It’s really this I want to show you; the change is not a moral one from being bad to becoming good but an evolutionary one from human to at least the bare ground of God, the egoless silence, from this uneasy shifting field of half-animal life to the peace and stillness of enlightenment.  Any other kind of change is not a change but an abstinence, and as such, you will forever be in the bounds of fall, and that is a bondage not a change.  This is the record of my personal change and not a blueprint for how everybody changes (though everyone else and I aren’t as different from one another as you think we are), or I should say, this is the report of my progress with bondage towards the freedom of enlightenment.  Will I arrive?  I would hope that be the tension of this drama and not the liberty of my penis. 

     Towards a true liberty, where I am bound neither by my sexual attraction nor by desire, for anything (short of actual enlightenment where desire and preference are absent and you’re therefore free by default), where I’m neither bound by the world and its pointing figure accusing me of deception and ruse, I not only show everything involved in the struggle to change but also give everything its voice, even the undivine.  In my muse you’ll hear the undivine speak if you can tell the demon voice, since it’s hard to distinguish from that of the divine’s so intertwined they are in any change of a person’s nature, so to prevent it.  I give the hostile powers their play, up to a certain point, because it’s not the traditional casting out of demons, of disaster, I’m doing, but a harmonization of all the elements involved in the play of my attraction and desire.  Don’t get me wrong, a demon you just want away from  you, to destroy it if you had that power, but they don’t go on your command they go on your change, and the first step towards that is having them step back just within view so to bring them into a harmony with your beauty and your truth.  I show you how I made that harmony, show the good and bad, taking the bad, the discordant notes, and making them harmonize with me and my world, giving them some expression but not enough to cause harm, or, to put it in terms of this present process of muse I’m showing you here, how I learned where harm ends and harmony begins, where the line is, to speak from the traditional perspective of throwing something out so to demonstrate this process cannot be explained in such simple terms I use in this paragraph, what to throw away and what to keep.  That fine tuning you’ll find in this my later muse. 

     It would be appropriate to mention why I’ve begun where I have, on Aug. 15, 2014.  That is both India’s and Sri Aurobindo’s birthday, both of whom are my gurus, the town I live in and the city I admire, and it was on that day I posted Issue 3 on my poetry site The Atomic Review, though it reviews more than verse and wouldn’t be a review to contemporary literary eyes, consisting of an essay, really a manifesto of the minor attracted person, a long narrative poem, and a home movie in the form of a music video.  I guess you can put anything on the net nowadays and not raise an eyebrow, but with terrorism and child sexual abuse we are told there are watchers everywhere, and I can see some have been on my site, but they’re not listening.  I’m just not in the bag, though this posting would show that to a degree the other postings haven’t, and neither the authorities nor the public like someone out of the bag, so if I’m discovered I’m read, not such a big deal now – like, I’m still sitting here or elsewhere same as I was, waiting on God’s grace to bestow realization. 

     Readers don’t bring enlightenment, are its obstacle, but since the whole world’s that, readers can be overcome as well.  But the real reason I begin here is because I’d almost let go of my muse entirely so put out I was over the fact that it wasn’t doing what I wanted, to be the poetry that people like to read, not a sincere application of deaf ears, but there you see the instrumentality of my ego, see also what motivates the lot of us: approval from our brethren.  What happened was a breakdown of the muse, something that happens periodically as there’s a rhythm with everything like I stress , and as it began to come back up to full throttle, faced with a possible backlash from posting Issue 3 and feeling like I’d done some death by internet, though it was my soul and my divine I was committing to, not suicide, I figured what did I have to lose and put that ego aside (even its censorship of muse) and started recording again just because it was the obvious thing to do, with myself, readers coming and going being of little consequence. Here it’s you. 

[from Issue 4 until it seems time to leave off for awhile, I’ll be posting three dates of muse, roughly three days, every Saturday or so] 

August 15, 2014 

Something from the remote profound.
“What are they?”
You need to start subscribing. [listening to and recording muse, though also said to you] 

Show art in the virile question.
It will months as image.
Your job for its missed stay
A camera hidden.
I provide a re-storage.
A boy with hands
It’s hard.
You’re the champion. 

I’m sorry sports.
That’s him.
Oh my God, 

She shoots the eye of beholder.” [a female noun or pronoun when referring to me is my vital being]
Well I is what it’s all about. 

Every day,
I call myself all my love,
But she was despair. [these three lines sung, ‘all’ drawn out]
Seven billion.
So I stay up there.
Watch something happens.
You don’t know what an ant escape is. 

A different kind of people –
Can we apologize?
The whole world will lean on Terra. [the mother of a boy significant in my life 20 years ago] 

“Gotta do it alone.” [Terra saying] 

Well Donny we have a new Shah,
A new Shah won the hill. [end of a dream where I’m in a very clean spacious bathroom that’s in some organization’s building, and the members come in and say this]
Get those tickets. [muse I’m not recording] 

Look out who lives this world. [sung] 

I had mistakes
Oh Went First. 

Time to respond,
Get the wall off,
And the inner consciousness.
Need for speed.
Tell Mugu to
Stop disturbing me. 

You gonna put me in a sack for being religious?
“It doesn’t have any sense
All the contents.”
You have to hold the same thing.
Try that control,
The Atomic Review itself.
Over the fullness of time
That control.
You’re with Saturday,
Infinite life-force.
He will tell you to
Go to a mountain.
You’re not gonna find ‘im in the TV book.
“Oh he’s not there.”
Oh I just got here.
Same by the way
You feel in here
Had he been in Sri Aurobindo’s room [went into his room today for a room Darshan]
[vision of some piece of a stairwell that jumped a gap in the stairwell to move to the top]
In the next few hours.
I don’t know if all’s working fine.
That’s the second find, alright?
You got blackout. [I posted Issue 3 of The Atomic Review in the afternoon] 

You’re gonna hold together. 

Intellectual set on new science ending,
But a girl will her plenty.
Artificial environment,
Artificial combat.
This is government and tracking everywhere.
I’ll throw it in your hair.
“Two thousand dollars,
That won’t be near enough.”
“You give me a phone?”
“How long you been up there?”
God, can you believe it?
The one you didn’t like,
The philosophical sage. [Sri Aurobindo]
“Thought your team members didn’t like you.”
Officially in trouble
For nuclear systems.
The people just sign:
“I’d love to.”
“I’m gonna sit over here.”
“Oh my God,
You’re gonna talk about
The diamond.
You’re the diamond,
You’re how it’s made.” 

The mouth in you cryin’ for the hand.
“Did they clarifiably basic training?” 

Poor dog,
Oh yes. [suggestion of petting Lucy our dog]
Mind of a widespread light. 

Operation Rescue
Down at the country club.
You know how it happens.
Where is the last consideration?
You don’t have a supervisor –
A major
“Well, any little thing
The pupil and his divine.” 

“What was the sun?”
This evolving press. 

They kicked me out of my own bed they put me with the dog. [not Mugu’s voice but him saying this] 

It’s socially acceptable to credits burned. [vision of a hand handing me a packet of marijuana between bills of money]
Now she’s with the credits not memoir.
Now she’s under construction,
Advanced swimming. [vision of jumping in a swimming pool and swimming] 

The bad has arrived!
“That’s a good one.” 

The government did not think.
It think and feel
As any house check will reveal. 

Ancient passing hands,
Let me tell you something,
When you receive them:
I can be a first door that opens.
“Oh God it’s unbreakable.” 

Something greater than our bag and boards
On our bag.
Most anticipating funds.
Most reluctant locals agree:
“I’m happy for you.”
[vision of a young Hawaiian or oriental woman holding a flower like the picture of the Mother when she’s in a garden in Japan and wearing Japanese dress. It was on our living room wall where we now have the family photo. A suggestion to put that photo of the Mother there, where it was until I replace it with the other]
Grew skills. 

This is all we think right here:
Have to be imperial
To give something. 

“Did Johnny move out of deep?”
He did. 

With a northern born gem. [End of a dream where I’ve been traveling on a train with my sister and mother and a little boy, who they were taking care of, but it was now my turn to do that, to bath him, like a woman who takes that job with relish but without sexual overtones to it. When I got into the large bathroom Yolanda and Exchel from Mexico were there, and the latter wanted to wash him, but it was my turn, and I insisted. I got his clothes off and put him in the tub, and now he’s a toddler just out of infancy. Suddenly there are German men there, Nazis, and on the kid’s back are large pasted on letters, and I think it’s going to be some Nazi symbol, but we I look at it, it’s the opposite, resistance to them, and that is quite dangerous with the Nazis right there. The letters on his back spelled Rudolf Steiner] 

You can’t,
Or there will be something of the repentance of God.
You have to watch this.
This is a locked.
Okay, you’re charged 18 times
In the comment
That wants you
And they’re referred to dream.
He has a little description:
I may have eaten it,
But you can come back.
Don’t eat them.
You take care of the dog.
You’ve got a cookie that you need to clean.
“Yes daddy.” [Asiya’s voice]
You’re telling him I should fall?
Gonna try to do one more research:
Rub it naturally –
Hey Sri Aurobindo.
Where are the hands now?
The wedding
Is very limited oh man is it limited.
You’ve got to washes and clean it.
A butter hand
There’s a jackpot,
Even an unadventure.
Alright Asiya
Touch me.
I was thrown into
That child’s future.
Anyway it’s individual,
And it’s warm research,
Beautiful. [vision of looking at an ID like a passport] 

Find and clear in it what was important to the vital.
Anarch room, that’s the free weapon in it.
I can sit my boys
A monitor.
What the teenagers like
That’s what was cool. [in addition to the meaning it has in the context in which it speaks, this also instructions about the new song I’m composing via the muse. I’d just read the Mother and Sri Aurobindo’s On Music and was impressed by what she said about overhead music needing to go through the vital to make it really good] 

August 19 or so 

Since a takeover spilling is occurring in the Yemen
This is what you’ve asked for,
Let me propose
Anybody can tell how diamond we are.
Outweighed the other functions –
Art getting on you.
Art human in the developed countries,
Wide open.
Look at that:
A nuclear reactor. [to add to the YouTube description for the video For Freedom, but I only used lines 6, 7, 10, 11] 

You’re not supposed to…
You want a split watch?
You’re getting more start
On the upload.
One ticket ride this morning.
I’ll be here beside you. [vision of being in the seat of a ride like in an amusement park or astronaut training and going straight up, a person sitting in a seat next to me.  These lines are instructions from Sri Aurobindo about that description, to start it again because the above isn’t appropriate] 

You’re doomed.
You’re here for your record.
Don’t say anything
Is Mr. Cheap Shot. [these lines fit exactly into the YouTube description where it ends now] 

Take notes 2, 3 days,
Hold back,
Pay epic poetry.
A company instructed him to hire mechanics.
“I see.” [said very seriously]
Give me a sec. [about what to do to help Issue 3 along, what had me write a frank letter to 3 entities in the Yoga and Auroville and send it along with a letter, to Andre at New Creation, World Union of the ashram, and the Laboratory of Evolution in Auroville] 

And put everything on the police ban,
Which will be
This evening. [this said after several other things passed by I didn’t record]
It always seems so hard to stop the strayers. 

Ego casings, [vision of many small thin pocket-sized books in plastic bindings, passport-like but thicker, and one slammed down on a table or desk]
It will be dark.
I need the room.
A Pondicherry and the FBI
Report suspicious abuse.
Eyes are.
You’ll get alone attack
Meeting other hide like me.
Whadda we do when we get caught?
They’ll probably take us home.
Those are beautiful bruises,
Apart from anything you ever saw.
She has me at the house.
Am I disturbing you?
No you’re not.
We have builds at home.
Where are the police?
I know they’re comin’.
I just don’t know when.
Try and arrest me.
Talk before you act.
Look at me,
Let me tell you more about the Mother 200 years ago. [what tells me the above lines, or a lot in them, have admixture, are not truth, are from the hostiles] 

Did you know this part of it was unveiled?
“Not the thousand water?”
“Look what he’s done.” [gone for a moment into supermind] 

Understand that the supramental
Is more a rental than what already exists in man.
The video,
You have a handful. [the music video For Freedom]
I know where that the One ministry backs his faith. 

Today the authority is a loud for everybody. 

A white weapon.
The affirmation,
The affirmation you’re sorry. [confirming the letter I wrote to the 3 entities and a suggestion to include an apology. I got up, edited it and emailed it] 

The twilight,
He almost suddenly slit my throat.
“Give me daddy please.” [Mugu’s voice, pleading]
Following near guidance
Right in front of me.
It hits my quivering soul.
“He associate with family –
A truck that never bounces,”
“Something on the elevator.”
Listen to me now.
I’m readin’ divorce papers.
“He’s gotta get lost.”
“Get out of here.”
Push their button:
“The world’s greatest advance,
It has nothing to do with,
Not with people like you.
You come here, [to Auroville]
You know your rights.
You don’t do that.”
To pull in the town.
They’ve been talking about this for years. [me and my kids]
“Let him go.” [vision of something being released]
That’s not reason
For his great option.” [seen written at the bottom of a page, fever spelled feaver, written 2 or 3 times. these lines showing the initial reaction to the letter, to the issue getting out in Auroville, at least according to the muse] 

“What daddy?” [Mugu’s voice]
No one’s coming.
You have a mediation.
I wasn’t aware:
Come Lucy come.
“What are you doing?”
The bathroom,
Golden rictus study. 

What are you cryin’ for?
You’re too favor,
And the most powerful.
I told you you wasn’t goin’ suicide.
A dignified request, [the letter]
I wasn’t wearing any teeth.
“Leave me alone”
It came down. 

Is this the lobby? 

All these people movement,
I’m a killer.
Around the hands they have red-like orange color.
I’ll pistol whip science.
“How many muscles?”
Both cases:
Barn eats terrible
In an image in the night;
What ghee what remind you
Of the heavens’ sacrifice. 

Meet you back upstairs.
“Well Jake, you were able to pull it off
A secret passion was in thine eyes.”
I would give so much spiritual intention.
“I’m dealing with it”
The reply.
“Kept a phone.
Move yours,
Hold on this project
Right here.” [someone(s) in those entities hears muse?]
In 5 months now
Infinities leap.
“Did anybody mention to you yet
We go to send a movie?” [the For Freedom video] 

“See daddy,
Asiya.” [Mugu’s voice this and above line]
Really nasty,
Really nasty.[In the afternoon, after getting this muse the night before, Mugu took me to the window and said , “Look daddy,” referring to a pile of condoms cast over the wall of the house next door, where Asiya’s girlfriend lives. The fulfilled prevision really gives whatever I saw weight]
Cheers for everybody else,
My easy young guardians.
In the nighttime you’re going out with
That famous beach wall. [about Asiya and the house next door, where he spends a lot of time] 

I can’t be happy with this.
You’re about to come along.
Try to do what I say.
Change a few things,
Why don’t we do that?
Turn to 9 o’clock,
Let the teacher to come in.
Small place.
Let go.
Been there
Radio phone.
Trust Me,
You’ve better have it right.
They’re behind you.
Nothin’ swollen,
Nothin’ that is.
Go up and  fix it,
Happy week of observe
Is in there,
All the 6 o’clock news.
Not there,
Listen to the music.
Up your eye witness
Up to the ceiling.
Those clean minds,
Those square holes, [the three entities]
TV Nagar,
Human unity
Hear out
From the back of it.
Human unity
Build up.
What do you think?
“Girl you’re young,
But beautiful –
Children’s love.” 

Shouldn’t have done it.
Too perfect.
“Hey lecturer,
Who’d you piss off?”
Doesn’t listen to anybody. [about a prose comment I left on a YouTube video that showed an American news reporter about to be beheaded in Syria, the first video of such. It’s critical of the well as the Islamic State] 

They’re  so intolerant they don’t even believe what’s happening: [those three entities]
Give the world
New boyfriend,
Lookin’ back
On me and dosa.
“I fought it 12 I really did.”
Finish the hands
Down the horizon.
You’re slow.
Now move.
“No sadhana that could,
Human unity,
Put you to enlist.
You a federal agent?
No you’re not.”
Look at me
Following me.
The internet
(Need I say it?),
It removes
The pedophile’s hush.
What a
I openly give,
Give me a black dog
And get rid of me
“Why on earth?”
It would rule.
Go back and forth.
You’ve reached an import,
You’ve reached a
National science.
Yoga –
You are beautiful. [this formation a poem for those three entities I didn’t send] 

The Human Unity [the title] 

August 21-22 

The United States profoundly figuring its age to corrupt.
Ethical it is called.
One big invention
A railroad.
It took you further than its see.
Was documented
But it’s a ground
One step ahead of you
Worst in town.
“Are we getting back
To our father’s
Controlled demolition?”
“You know,
Who cares?
Why doom prepare?”
Open house
I’m showin’ you.
Is that what you want?
We are 9/11
The light of the cycle makes us sing.
That was the moment of war.
That was a moment of liberty world stone.
Fugitive from dream
The world in the spirit stays.
Not one iota of soul strength
Glimpses the moon
Heavenwards towards the sun.
This is a meter of spirit you don’t understand.
I’ve left my glasses on infinity earth smiles at me.
Nothing to look forward.
‘Grass your stomach’
Hope to everyone.
The Stars and Stripes
Is not on what we’re lookin’ for.
Come to music class Taylor.
He went lookin’ for yah.
Go right practice
Over here:
Want to look around
Up on the Roof.
Far tooth heaven,
They got murdered.
They made room for
Darkness even.
They left before dark –
The fire engines redeploy.
“Just give me a cloak and dagger between murder and mayhem.”
Tell me something:
“Several explosions
We all agreed.”
“Who tell?”
Half the people in business.
“Whadda we do?”
Simple give it to someone
Image of reality.
“Which do you leave sentence so long?”
Mr. Dhina
I know
You’re not going to want to put the energy.
“Oh yes
I advance you very well.”
She will rescue, okay?
“That’s not what the germ is about.
That to blow life-force.”
You had me worried, a little bit.
“Get you
After these messages.”
He opened up,
She’s not there.
I can bring a clock in
Bill the
“Who put their name on it?”
If you insist.
Where is your family,
Learnin’ to walk?
Don’t have him jump over fences
One last time.
“I know you. [spoken by I left an anonymous message on their site after seeing their Shift film]
That remind me:
This is God right,
In Auroville?
An evil spirit
You get called.”
Does it make nonsense to you the questionnaire
God on my Plate?
That’s enough, heartbeat.
From India’s land.
We put you on an elevator.
“Lucy everything,
She’s just a dog for us.”
Premature wraps around my book like Christopher Columbus and the New World.
Who’s the yoke
Have I made
It clear?
One in eight
The Blue Official Blog. [vision of this in blocked blue lettings like the title of a blog]
Yeah District Nine, [vision of many people in hazmat suits in a large field all bending down and picking things up off the ground]
When it wore
(Check your father)
Change the world.
Change the world especially:
I’m here. 

“Hey dolphin,
Make a big hello
And not have to see you again.” [vision of someone putting a blanket over a large window]
Through the washing machine
I got along better.
“I would like a thousand rupees.”
ER travel, [vision of this as large sign on the sand, not on poles, on a beach of a very lake surrounded by forest, the sign dark blue the letters white]
Nobody wrote it 1, 2.
It just got diamond.
That’s a reading really.
Did you hear me?
“Why it happened?”
“We were aware of terrorists,
And we gave them our slip,
Sold them with a tower.
I put
A bomb in each ladder.
Give me the two
Get that one over there too.”
“Who knew about this?”
Mr. Mark,
He’s not happy this evening:
To all this pain
To straighten your plate.
“Who set the detonators?”
These men are an animal’s loyalty
“Where did this put America?”
They’re tracking it down.
They’re all over you.
I love baseball.
Maybe not this time
It gets out there
Our muscle-bound rookie
‘It happened’. [that this poem perhaps won’t be sent]
“Dad what you did? [Mugu’s voice]
Are you mental or something?”
Just grandpa
Hangin’ out with the gang
Divine love.
“Thank you.”
You know meaning of love:
Keeps visiting
A disciple see better.
Oh ugly
Begging me that’s too much.
That’s all I’m gonna say.
I’ll also explain we’re gonna have to do the dishes today,
And you’re gonna have to do them.
A cosmos spoke.
That language make it sound like your greatest God
(He was your favorite)
Didn’t get the definition – God is. [all these lines to add to the poem after “I’m here.”]
Our Mad Magazine. [all the following lines all are suggested titles]
Cause Bullshit,
Mail Me and See.
Well I Saw the Light.
Like Abraham Lincoln.
False Flag Report.
What Have I Done?
You Writin’ the Checkbook.
An Emergency Played Simple.
He Come on the Pier;
He thought it Was a Plane.
Remember You Don’t Forget Everything.
Whatever You Get You Just Delete,
I hope. [decided on this two-line title. This poem to e-mail to] 

[The poem, which begins immediately following the date, wasn’t sent since the muse didn’t recommend it. Next week find out why. Before you take it and run with it find out why] 

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