Everybody doesn’t know their airplane parts or that they have one.
(Slightly modified here, this essay was written for and submitted to two science-minded magazines that are atheist in their perspective so to challenge them with evidence they do not seem to be looking at: the range of their own inner life. One did not bother to reply, but the other, Aeon Magazine, replied kindly telling me it didn’t fit them but recommended two spiritual magazines to send it to. The ironic thing is that when I submitted this essay I had an online debate with an Aeon editor in their comment section after an essay on exactly the point that most magazines only promote their worldview and generally do not include challenges to it as published features. The editor told me that they did include other points of view, although it did have a worldview to promote and wasn’t ashamed of it. Their rejection of the essay and recommendation to send it to someone who’d agree with me gives some measure of validity to my point.)
And science mingled with creation’s scene
a quantum sum
Left me nauseated.
And we go outside
And no one would hope not.
You guys don’t have goal one do you?:
have to put ‘im out,
Is that it?
Just drink some Man along the way.
Where’s my scholarship?
I will speak –
I’m havin’ a dream.
Why didn’t he do it?
Did the scientific method
Not in your dreams.
How get this across:
measure all of reality
one field of explain?
Because we are having our life here in this age it’s easy to think ours is really messed up compared to past ages, but it’s always been like this, and people down through the ages have more or less always felt the inadequacies of their own age as the worst ever, barring some momentary triumph of peace and prosperity. Saying that, it does seem we are once again spiraling down into that militant intolerance of others’ ideologies that has catapulted us into ever increasing all-out war time and time again, most recently the Second World War, though at any moment you can see ideological war-fires spotting all around the globe, and not even the light of reason can help us now; it’s been eclipsed these days by its most recent replacement, the New Atheism, who’s very basis is intolerance, in this case the intolerance of ignorance, and unfortunately even a genius can’t seem to figure out how ignorant is such an intolerance. You have to have a little understanding of human nature to understand what I mean. The concept of character armor, especially our own, would be a good place to start.
While we can go on and on about what lies at the bottom of the clash in ideas – the right way to live; my divine, your divine, or (added recently) no divine, some ideal or another people think everybody should bow to –, maybe a lot of it has to do with not realizing or understanding just how much we don’t know yet about ourselves and existence, or, to put it more in the hand, just how much there is yet to discover. For this reason I’m writing down my experiences, in this piece on lucid dreaming and death, not because mine are unique to humanity or are colossal in the light of others’ experience but because I’m one of you guys (although I do try to anchor on the inside), a net surfing, movie watching, book reading modern mind indulgent of the heart, or modern heart indulgent of the mind, depending on which you put your compass in, if it’s on a Tuesday or Wednesday, but mostly because I can write about it, although I should add that for several years, while I traveled from country to country with pilgrim’s feet, in lieu of any English teaching or handyman job available, I made my way by relating my experiences, sang and danced for my supper, so they are not altogether the most usual for people to have and do give some hint of the more about ourselves we have yet to see.
To isolate your lucid dreaming from your dreaming in general, from your outer-body experiences and that whole inner-outer crowd, from your waking life and the context that it provides, from even the web of dreaming of the particular night in which a certain lucid dreams occurs, or the whole cycle of dreaming of that moon for that matter, makes for a certain artificiality and gross incompleteness of a demonstration and discussion; nonetheless I shall do so to a certain extent in order to relate my experience. That’s really the problem in discussing anything about life and the world – cutting it up in artificial bits that in the cutting often lose a great deal of the essentialities. But we have to talk about this, our lives that is, our living, our being here wherever and whatever here really is. Continually faced with such immensity anywhere we look has us telling the whole history of whatever just to say some little thing about it. I’m bridging that now by tipping my hat to it and just getting on with the story.
Although I had many isolated lucid dreams as a child, lucidity then something that would sometimes come as a dream ended, my first pronounced lucid dreaming cycles started, and the first time I died in dreaming, when I was an undergraduate in college in my mid-twenties. I’d recently gotten out of the army and wasn’t yet attracted to the spiritual path. In fact I was an atheist. Neither was I clean in a moral sense, and I add that to show dreaming ability, or the ability to control and manipulate the dreambody, calling it that to give a better impression we have an inner being not exactly the same as the outer one, not by a long shot, does not depend on matters of morality, on how good or, for that matter, how bad you are. Although it really isn’t a moral issue as some consider it, it bears mentioning that I used no substances at that time other than dipping flavored tobacco. Especially grass inhibits the ability to remember dreams, although if you’re stoned and can go into a dream directly from the waking state, maintaining continuity of consciousness, you enhance your dream-range considerably. Because I had a great deal of the subtle kind of life-force that enables inner exploration and experience, and because I’d always even in childhood remembered and chewed on a lot of my dreams, and for other reasons less obvious to outward-faced mentality, soul reasons, I just suddenly started having a lot of lucid dreams as my adolescence came completely to a close, and I moved fully into adulthood.
Waking dreams come in cycles if you have enough of them to observe that tendency. Without any prior warning I found myself waking up in two or three dreams a night, which is something in itself, but I was as well armed with that rare almost absolute control one can have in such dreams. I didn’t seek answers to big questions, look for enlightenment, or search for God or for my soul; I had fun, being as I was still a kid for all intents and purposes even though I would not be for very much longer largely as a result of these dream experiences. The whole thing presented itself to me as the ultimate video game, total immersion, real virtual reality, something that over the years as I’ve wondered over has given me bright and dark hints of maybe the game being played with us here, some angle of explanation of the role of life in time, of being a person on this planet – we’re avatars of someone’s gaming, someone larger than time.
Only I didn’t know at the time that it wasn’t how many men or monsters I killed that mattered; it was remembering I’d somehow lost my true identity in playing the game, which doesn’t necessarily mean I have to stop playing. The soldier in me, the ex-Green Beret, had not had its fire tested in battle, and so when I awoke within a dream I willed the scenario to change into a battle, and armed with a sword or machine gun, depending on the time period I chose, I could finally be the hero I considered myself to be, although perhaps if I’d been in battle in waking life I’d have gotten myself killed so quickly I’d have been deemed more stupid than heroic. In the dream I was invincible. Nothing could harm me. Bored with that I sometimes imagined a person that fit my desire and lust to a T, and I would, uh, have sex.
It’s not easy to give this picture or show the power of which I speak; I was like a god and could will a dream scenario to appear and do there my will. What a shame I wasted that power on kid stuff. Being so young and yes innocent, ignorant of what could happen, like most young people, I had no idea what danger lies lurking in power and speed, be that of a motorbike or a dream, but a wake up call came. Unfortunately there are consequences; what we do matters, both here and in dream, although there it doesn’t matter near as much. It seems to be in the design that dreams are a proving ground for us and as such the lines of karma spun there are much more loosely woven (yes an emphatic statement, but even the hardcore reductive materialist would have to laugh at life’s ironies and coincidences: “almost as if … no, what was I thinking? That’s impossible”). I, however, had crossed way too many of those lines, and the consequences were such that even to this day the fear of what can happen makes me drive slower even probably than I should. Wisdom sometimes is more old than wise.
Things went on this way for about a month, and I’d go through my waking day just waiting to go back to sleep, as it had suddenly become for me the pinpoint of my life experience, as opposed to the other way around as it normally is for most. I would kill a hundred men in a slaughtering ecstasy, ravish wantonly whatever beauty I conjured up to lay down for me, and to scarf down the carnage to the last drop I learned to sink into the dream with all five of my senses. Not knowing the deep ways of dreaming, what I was in fact doing by that sinking in was leaving my own dream-range, though our personal range is always shot through with strange encounters with the world and universe at large (I don’t expect you to believe that; it becomes more self-evident the deeper you go into inner experience, the more you experiment with the creative reflex, of which dreaming is but a part), and in my dreambody going to someplace else in the multidimensional, multifaceted field of life on the inner planes. In inner exploration, where your will points your awareness, there you’ll go, in the same way under the sun where you point your feet and walk your body can’t but follow.
On that fateful night I suddenly found myself standing in the darkness facing four angry men. The place was open like a park, and the men were brown-skinned, and that is all I know of the where and who. Neither had I any idea of the why and how, what had made these men so mad at me. I had no memory of anything happening beforehand, but that was not my major concern because one of the men was holding a large butcher knife and looked as though he were about to kill me with it. I moved to defend myself but couldn’t move at all. As the I’m-about-to-die alarm went off in my being’s self, despite knowing I was dreaming, which only seemed to add some perverse spice to it, I willed myself to wake up in bed, my heretofore never had failed me before failsafe. It didn’t work; I was too sunk in the dream to wake up before he stabbed me. I felt every inch of that blade slide into my heart, felt it as a sticking, stabbing pain reaching into my heart where it unmasked as death, and as my blood flowed out from the wound, I fell to my knees in disbelief and died.
Years later in Jerusalem in 1995, in my 33rd year, I would suddenly remember those four brown-skinned men stabbing me in that park-like place and be convinced it was my impending death I’d experienced, sort of like I’d been given a hands on no holds barred premonition. I was sitting alone at night on a park bench outside Jaffa Gate of the old city, having left my friends and our small camp where for the past eight days we’d been conducting a hunger strike for world peace (it’s a long story) to go off and think about our decision to remain there despite just being visited by some angry Palestinian men who told us that if we didn’t leave the park by two a.m. they’d come back and kill us. One held a knife just out of his jacket and told me, “And you, we’re gonna drag you in these bushes and fuck you first, and then kill you.” I had hair down past my shoulders and looked quite the pretty boy.
Simply to explain let me say that earlier in the day we gave help and council to a fellow traveler, a young Scottish woman named Patricia who had been badly beaten because she refused to have sex with the manager of one of the many Palestinian-run guest houses in the old city, where she’d stayed briefly. The manager was a young man named Mohammad, and it was his gang of friends threatening to kill us. They were part of the Palestinian mafia we heard from our Israeli friends, and I think that was just the Israeli tendency to make a mountain out of a molehill when it concerned anything bad the “Arabs” did, but they were organized, and they had men at the entrances to the park watching in case police or soldiers came by. It turned out they didn’t come back that night to kill us, and rather than sit up and watch the clock we decided just to go to sleep. If we were still alive by morning things would obviously be better. It even happened that Mohammed returned a few days later and apologized and offered to help us in any way he could, upon being behooved to do so by Palestinian elders, after getting his ear tweaked, we heard later.
They’d gotten involved wanting to know why the Israeli army came in force into their part of the old city. In one of the many ironies of being a peace activist, I guided a squad of soldiers and police through the old city to rescue Patricia, who was being prevented by Mohammad’s gang from leaving the hostel she had moved to, but that is certainly not the only irony of the story. The one, however, that really got my goat was sitting on that bench the night before all that ironic adventure without a doubt in my mind I was facing my death because the events of that situation were so similar in nature to that dream. It would not be the last time I thought that dream to have been a premonition of my death, as that is certainly not the only time I’ve made people in another land mad at me, but however I may actually die, that death was a death in its own right. I not only died but went to the other side.
Man I talk to yah.
Heavyset looks happy
because he knows he’s not happy.
I need books.
Happy to be a believer.
He loves that little light of day.
Look at this table.
Skin it down to its last science:
you don’t have an answer
you borrowed somebody’s.
Weird it’s accepted
You know somethin’.
Might have us all
Go inside hurt.
If that’s your peak experience
it’s gonna drop back down to you
because y’all peak at your peak experience.
Steven why are you here?
I’m just some cling-on.
And a host of other pajamas.
We build up the dreams of our lives
with the silver cup of time.
Use familiar things
as your heartbeats
the door glitters.
Perhaps the greatest reason such little credence is given to personal inner experience, and why there is such a strong if largely unspoken taboo against it all over the globe, and I’m not talking about adopting beliefs about it, practicing techniques to enhance it, or venerating the inner experience of some accepted figure but about Joe Blow or Jane Doe’s experiences being valuable, is because of our tendency on the one hand to take it at face value, not see it as symbolic and representative in nature, and on the other to give it more authority over us than society and even our own reason, and we know where that can lead. Especially a near-death experience, what we tend to call these things, whether you actually experience the moment of death or not, can leave you utterly convinced of the validity of not only life after death but of the absolute truth of any ideal-forms you may encounter during the experience. For many it turns their whole life around, and they become religious-minded or at least spiritually oriented. Not so with me, although it certainly became an index of experience in my life and brought my dream fun to an abrupt halt.
My skepticism could not so easily be laid to rest. Maybe if I’d gone to the gates of some rapturous heaven or burned or froze on the brink of some torturous hell, or saw Jesus or the Devil I might have been converted to a religious perspective (these figures because I grew up Christian in America, since we tend to see in such experiences the religious forms predominate in our family and/or society), although I hope I would’ve had more presence of mind than that, but I didn’t go to any place fantastic, only to my own living room, and I didn’t see any divine or demonic beings, only our years-dead family cat, a white feline more like another sibling in my childhood than a mere cat, named lamely Kittypus, but the story is not as dull as all that, not by any means.
In other writings I write about visits to and visions of the fantastic, but an inner experience such as the one I’m describing doesn’t have to contain such to be valuable, to have a considerable index of worth. When the experience is just down to earth, familiar, more of this world than any other, you’re less likely to be carried away by it and so are in a better position to interpret it and not simply take it at face value, since its representative nature is more apparent. I should add here that’s the first law of inner experience: take nothing at face value; everything you see is symbolic. I would also like to add that’s the same one to have for outer experience, but I would be too much ahead of my time. Your dreams are full of purposefully placed symbols that mean something, okay; the subconscious can be quite the wizard. You might grant it that, but I’ve built a bridge too far by saying the world and life are so filled. That would be like saying it all means something, and nobody, not even the religious-minded, would want to look out of their little world and give such credence to everything, especially to what they don’t believe in.
There on my knees watching my blood spread on the ground in front of me, I forgot about the men and their killing me, even about continuing to try and wake up in my bed, although I was still aware I was myself dreaming. I was now alone with death, and that is something it seems we each face in our own way, like the personal way we greet the ocean upon arriving at the beach regardless of how many people are splashing around. Then the whole scene vanished, and I found myself in outer space. Ahead and above me some distance I could see a doorway, just a door there in space with no building it was a part of, a normal looking wooden door but with a bright yellow light shinning out of the space between it and the door frame, all the way around, and the light beckoned so much comfort it hinted at, and there in the cold of space having just been killed I needed some comfort. I reached the door and opened it, and to my surprise, I was looking at the interior of my mom’s living room, a place I’d come of age in, but the whole room was transfigured bathed in that yellow light, and I could see that at the back of the room the light was intensely brighter, as if there was the essence of the peace and solace I felt. Kittypus came and rubbed herself against my leg, but I completely ignored her so attracted was I to the yellow light, and I really regretted that later – she was saying hi, and I understand I’m going to far again giving (other) animals an afterlife, but you can see for yourself if you don’t want to take my word for it.
The only thing I wanted to see was more of that light, and so I scrambled to enter the room to get to its source, but the door just closed on me, and I found myself awake in bed in anguish I hadn’t been able to go into that light, but in the following days it wasn’t that light that concerned me but in keeping my own light of mind on, as it seemed I opened in that experience more than the door to my living room, and the power that had heretofore been so much fun became a nightmare I couldn’t escape from. You might say I opened the floodgates of the subconscious with all that inner exploration, especially with it culminating in such a bottomed-out experience, and its tenebrous brood rushed into the light of day, and that certainly happened, but I would say it differently: I crossed the fence that hems us in and keeps us from straying off out of the ordinary, that wall of mundane that prevents us from seeing what more there might be, not only in the near-death experience but in playing the creator and destroyer as I had, in being a dream-demigod, and for my transgression I suffered the onslaught of the guardians of the threshold. It’s not that one way of seeing it is right and the other wrong; it’s just that reality will always be bigger than our interpretation of it, will always symbolize deeper than we can presently see.
The lucid dreaming cycle did not end with that near-death experience, unfortunately, and for several nights after I was plagued by dreams in which being awake within them, far from being anything even remotely entertaining, only accentuated the terror I felt, because suddenly my will had been amputated from my knowledge, and I was completely helpless. One dream will suffice as an example. It was pitch dark, and I was lucid and running from something so hideous and foul I knew that if I even turned around and looked at it I’d go mad. You can’t appreciate what I mean sitting there reading about it. I could feel its breath on my back, and my only thought was, “Wake up! Wake up!” Right before it grabbed me I woke up, and I was sweating and had to go to the bathroom. I lay there a moment basking in relief at having escaped being eaten. I got out of bed and opened my bedroom door, and there it was, a real monster, not something you’d see in a movie – anybody’s imagination would run from such an image. It bit into my neck and chest and began eating me right there. I felt every bite. Screaming I woke myself up, again, and for days after I had those panic attacks you get when you suddenly haven’t the slightest idea what’s real and what’s not. The cycle ended shortly after and left my world trembling and quaking, but my world stayed in place, and by the time the next cycle rolled around sometime later, I had recovered enough courage to have another go, but this time a bit more like a passenger and witness than an Almighty.
If things would have continued to take place in my own personal inner world, if they hadn’t made a crunching contact with someone else’s inner world, with the outside world as paradoxical as that might sound (it’s precisely in that paradox we make the most fundamental error in our reasoning of reality: that everything and everybody’s spaced apart existing as objects the inner life of man a freak of Nature with no connection to other objects or bearing upon reality except through material process), then I would have no call to bring my dreaming to your attention other than to show what fun you can have or trouble get into. Nothing I’ve related so far challenges the reality the science-minded propose (they’d call it being skeptical), a reality where no experience of consciousness beyond the manufacture of the brain, independent of gross material processes, is possible. I just have a very colorful and active inner life. The next dream experience I have to relate, however, would add not only another chapter to reality but a whole library. In short, it brings into view the possibility of an infinity of and unlimited range of personal existence, or at least such able to supersede the boundaries of time and space.
Of that cycle of lucidity, which occurred about a year later, after less notable cycles where I got my dream-feet under me again, I only remember one dream, but if it were the only dream out of a whole lifetime of dreaming I were to remember, it would be sufficient to convince me we don’t yet have a clue to how big we are, or can be, how much more range we as individuals have than what range we are told we have by our societies, our schools, our religions, and our sciences. It also begs the question of the distinct possibility of superior ranges of existence to ours that have such as its law of being, the ability to supersede time and space at will, but neither did this dream convince me there’s a God. I was after, however, more open the possibility, did not equate that possibility with the existence of the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, or Bigfoot (but in the strangeness of things they too might be based on some half-truth partially witnessed), since I saw that god-possibility as a whole other order and range of being capable of inhabiting all at its zenith of possible, and, unbeknownst to me, my dreambody has begun searching for it. The will on the feet thing again.
I see now I was an atheist because I had to get out of my head and heart the idea of God I’d been raised with, an anthropomorphic figure who lived in a heaven above who was confused between being a god of love and one of wrath, what the separative human ego would be like if all-knowing and all-powerful, not someone you’d feel safe with, the quintessential example of intolerance who has doomed the overwhelming majority of people he created to the worst suffering imaginable forever without end amen because he is intolerant of their different religious beliefs or lack thereof, and free from such warring ideological constraints I could explore myself inside more intimately (fear really is the mind-killer; in inner exploration it’s the big inhibitor, although to a certain extent it does provide some protection), but as I approached God again, not from the perspective of belief but from the inner experiences I was having, not to mention more and more seeing something very funny out there in the world, something that cared not to be seen but once you started seeing it you got winked at more and more by it, enough to realize it wasn’t a thing occupying a time and space as you did but something that had absolutely no constraints, something totally other but at the same time in total identification with you, whatever kind of wink you got pleasant or painful, I remained an atheist because when you take all my clothes off I’m just this little animal trying not to get hurt or killed, trying to get enough to eat and if I’m lucky have a good time, not to mention I’m a male of my species and very territorial, and whatever it was I was trying to look the other way from was just so much in my stuff and in my world I didn’t even want to think about it or what that might mean to me.
In other writings I relate what ended my atheism as well as the finding of the soul, something else that had entered the field of possibility. More to the point here and now, however, more practical for helping us break our habit of self-destruction as a race, as a species, more needful to shake us out of our intolerance for each other and separation one from another, the experience in this dream reveals the possibility we are not separate individuals alone on the inside cut off in there from everybody else as both the religious fundamentalist mind and the New Atheist mind think (both brothers in this regard), as just about every mind thinks for that matter. Just think for a moment what it would mean if in reality we weren’t, how much change that shift in self-seeing would bring. Alright, think long and hard on it. It would correct a lot of the worst kinds of human error, help solve the paradox of being an individual in a social animal species, a little person in an overwhelming amalgamated mass, and we couldn’t help but end up respecting both because it would bring unity into the picture, not the undifferentiated unity of a group but the unity of the individual with the group and it with the individual, at first on the social horizon but in time down home to the people themselves, not the thought up idea, the moral ideal, but the biological reality, the life imperative.
I should add that in discovering and founding ourselves upon our unity it would certainly help if we accepted the help of superior ranges of existence, and inevitably we will, but that is beyond the scope of this present writing. Although it’s also beyond the range of this piece, it would be appropriate to mention that seeing the inner connection between things would also reveal our more glaring error in our endeavor to create artificial intelligence: that the robot, program or whatever could become self-aware without also becoming somehow a portion of the ray or reflection of not only ours as its creator but the rest of Being
(We’ll only create a monster,
no form of life,
no cords of empathy:
Open my symbol box.
Who copied this email?
The wrong peacock),
and by the way isn’t it ironic that people for the most part not even interested in the possibility of having creators themselves are busy with and sure of the possibility they can create “people”? You’d think they’d understand that in their endeavor they’re in fact grappling with the reverse, where we come from, not to mention that the strength of this desire to be ourselves the creator, the natural way it develops as we do, should make us at least suspect it’s inherent in Being itself as it develops, and with all the dangers we see in creating AI, we might begin to understand why whoever has created us and/or our world has put such a seeming distance between us and their reality. What a surprise it would be if in this quest, in trying to get our hands on that ray, see the source of that reflection, once we become hip to the hidden biology we’ve missed and the epic inside of creation, we finally meet our own creators, and it’s our own face we see, though profoundly larger, unbound and free – our gaming face, not playing games as we play them through pulling the strings from outside but able to put some essence of itself into its avatar and allow it to play the game, with (some) free will, witnessing the game in such a way the watching itself aids the avatar towards its goal, which may not be simply survival and the avoidance of death, a witnessing unified to a total field of avatars in ways our ‘one pole of experience’ perception cannot picture even in imagination.
Now, to relate this eye-opening dream that just set my atheist head spinning: I became aware I was dreaming and found myself inside my father, but as I listened to his thoughts I realized I was inside my grandfather. I was amazed because I was me with all my thoughts and feelings aware of all of his, feeling even his bodily sensations and able to ‘see’ out of his five senses, although his outside was more of a sidelight. It was his inner life I was in, but it stands to reason that if I would’ve willed my awareness on his five senses and his sense mind I would’ve been as he, absorbed in the outer scene. I could see what he was doing though, building a fence, what he did to make a living when he wasn’t cutting cords of firewood. He was very hot and extremely thirsty. Then like a sudden unexpected earthquake, his whole left side exploded in pain, the pain of death, and he knew it was his death because the pitch of that pain was more than life could bear (you’d have to feel it to know that), and he began to panic, names and faces running through his mind, the people he wanted to say goodbye to, but just when the pain and fear became a whirlwind that I thought would kill me too, something at the top left of his head opened, and that light I’d seen previously, though this time it had no color to it, only intense brightness, came flooding down into him ending the pain and fear, and he forgot all about his loved ones and just wanted to go into that light, and just as he began rushing up into it, I woke up in bed not happy at being left behind.
I felt that dream to signify something, the future most likely, and if I would’ve believed my gut feeling I’d have really turned some heads, but I didn’t want to look stupid if it hadn’t been a premonition of my grandfather’s death, and so, because the dream wouldn’t leave me alone, I ended up writing my father a letter (I hadn’t spoken to my grandfather in years) and simply put a P.S. to have faith in hard times, nothing definite, just enough to make my intuition shut up. About two weeks later my father called me telling me my grandfather had just died of a heart attack while building a fence, describing how he was so thirsty he’d gone to the farmhouse he was working for and asked for more water two or three times. They saw him lying on the ground not long after his last visit, at first thinking he’d passed out because of the heat but upon reaching him realized he was dead. Now, I was just a passenger in that dream, a surprised witness, and I don’t know the law of such inner-body time travel and haven’t been able to repeat it, but I really haven’t tried since other experiences came not long after that were more the kind I wanted to learn to repeat, not ones of our hidden powers but spiritual ones of our larger identity (the law of my person seems to be to see these things more than inhabit them, but I am trying), and I don’t have to have someone else experience something like this to substantiate it, to believe my own eyes – know what I mean?
They won’t get it.
Not in their books.
this is significant.
I show the East coast
Maybe l should
is just so big inside.
Where’s the ticket?
The ability to think free.
Some freedom –
you tie your bookshelf with it.
Look, don’t worry about it.
You know what it’s about?
in the ignition.
in there surfin’
you get in that chute
there it is.
I don’t have the option to see there any movie,
But I can land it
of time and space.
what are we talking about?
Ed could you please pass her the book
Soul I’m Go On My Life?
Put it there God
when we grow up.
Of course theirs is the education college-strung
supported on banks of you.
It’s in the wash.
you’re so wide
how do you expect to put space on?
How many times
did I tell yah
You’re out algebra –
look over your shoulder
A help isn’t it?
I thought God too slim for boundaries.
They were like spectacles
the wrong Green Beret
(I too know that)
on the road.
That’s mathical science.
Lemmie put it this way:
I gotta give it back to yah.
Would you look at that?
right inside your head.
Turn it on
like a light bulb
there you are
watchin’ who you are
an employee especially.
You are out of your mind.
You got me
in the Everglades.
Above your mind
 In a discussion of a review of the film Life of Pi on the blog The Atheist Experience, I posted a link to this article, and I’d have to explain this story sat in my Pages for years before I’ve moved it up to a post, and that I’d posted a poem review of the said film on the aforementioned blog, what the subsequent discussion was about, how I must be taking some good drugs here in India to write a poem like that. I got laughed at when I said it came from inner voice and vision and when I asked if they had looked on the inside for God or were even aware of their dreams, where they spent at least a forth of their day. I mentioned my experience in the inner fields, and I was told it was of no account because it was anecdotal, whereupon I sent the link. I saw in my stats that day and the next 50 views of this story, the most views that I’ve gotten so far at any one time on anything I’ve posted on the net, and there were no views of this story in the weeks before or after. It doesn’t take a scientist to know the views came from that discussion in the comment section of The Atheist Experience. Not one person, however, commented, much less put a like. Why the silence? Because my story holds the weight of reality, and the only thing I could be accused of is lying or grossly exaggerating, but If I am telling the truth, just think what that would mean to men and women who are almost exclusively focused on the outer world, who do no inner exploration, who discredit consciousness as just some byproduct of your brain that is inside your physical body and does not reach into the body of others. They would feel horribly inadequate, would not be so confident in saying unequivocally there is no God.