(You’d Have to Let Me In)
Okay Festos Here’s a Rehab
The sleep of humanity,
that’s what we are now,
and I show you again.
This next part’s from the hill
we wake ourselves by.
It’s a long ways off,
our awakening.
You’re not gonna do it in a day.
Take an idea meet ‘im at the door.
It just grows and grows.
Pretty soon you can see it for yourself.
It’s all about reality,
and I share this one with you.
We do not come
from common ground
in our emotions and thoughts,
in our bodily sensations.
They arise differently for each of us,
and the wearer determines their use.
Cultures collide
along these lines.
We just know in our core we are one.
That’s the matrix reality,
our hanger by the sea.
Come on people now smile on your brother, [heard sung, voice of The Youngbloods]
and he’s a little boy tailspin.
My God he’s a pedophile.
Get your goat?
I don’t think you know how to deal with this.
You’re just programmed to.
A beautiful little boy in my lap,
you’re encouraged to scream.
Would if that little boy’s safe?
Oh my God the lessons in humanity.
Let’s go.
I will hunt you down and kill you.
You don’t have time for that.
Let me,
let me show you the whole aim of life, will yah?
Do you think it’s to drink that beer?
We have to be masters of our circle.
I’m not talkin’ other people.
We have to be masters of ourselves.
That’s in the living room
when oneness,
its spears and aims,
has idea’d to ourself.
You think I’m the Joker.
I overhaul your reason
with specific examples of magic in this text.
You game?
Can I show you Rumi the distraction?
Where did he take your circle?
Fords fullness in life.
Is an example of God.
We don’t get farther than this.
Does it transform your personality,
shake the world out from under your feet?
It’s movement is slow and nice.
I’m on the edge of the world.
Can you sit there?
Control man,
that’s right there the hidden king.
I exceed boundaries,
take you on a journey towards yourself.
Will you rule me out?
I exceed man.
Have you seen the system rise?
Is that the only cover of yourself,
a person behind a name?
Can I talk about tomorrow?
We’re gonna rise beyond this ship.
We’re going to jump out the moon,
in every way exceed the Gods.
This can be seen.
This can be rained on.
Let’s just have some tea.
I can’t make it clear yet.
I can only say what I saw.
I’m here to tell yah
I’m here to transform the world.
Let’s start with the joy of sex.
Turning our head clear on sex,
that’s the inward movement.
Why don’t you give thanks?
It’s the dangerous animal.
I’ve given you topics to look at.
I’ve never said it was going to be easy.
The hardest hit surprises,
example the Earth.
Everybody hear that?
Sufi mystic poetry—
there’s this facility in Oklahoma I had to admit to.
It’s got grand designs on poetry.
Who had the orange?
Is that most poets?
Inner hearing was a factor in some.
Get my lawyer.
I may have a suggestion:
don’t kill people;
children,
I think they’re in its very bottom—
the cover letter was just awful.
It didn’t ride the tide.
We broke out in a sweat doing it.
Congratulations,
the archeological findings survey,
one of the guys have attacked this date,
one of the guys who make rules.
You line a life story,
you always said no
for reading to begin.
What is it?
They’re there in waste in there.
She’s taken out.
Nice lady,
these bags are delicious.
I’ll ask for something yesterday.
I go there.
Let me take you,
it’s my surprise.
Have that dress on?
Ancient city Festos, [vision of an old man’s wet, soapy head coming up out of a wooden barrel full of water, the kind from days of old, as though he’d been taking a bath in it]
get at it with a thought of ‘em pie,
mic thoughts on towards spiritual origins.
Who ate the elevator up?
The people the Earth forgot.
These were Minoans
in their swaddling clothes.
Wow, we’re almost to the birth of the clan.
Mt. Olympus,
they were here before there,
the Gods whose names you know.
They came from a seer’s hut
bringing down the golden people.
There was no timelessness there.
No one watched it survive,
the effort he brought down.
No one even knows his name.
The Gods made contact with Earth here,
the Zeus Parthenon.
Do we have ‘em?
The spiritual origins of Greek in Hellas
started on Crete.
We’re begged to be tied.
You sure touch in funny places.
That’s the mild roof,
the right family:
we were one.
It didn’t last.
The Minoans brought it to a standstill.
They lost it,
and we have Minoans today.
We see them Cretans today.
The years of the bathroom
contradicts God’s singing, doesn’t it?
And we’re all nice and warm.
Can you see yourself in the mirror?
Contradicts God’s ice cream, doesn’t it?
Now emerge on faith.
Become God’s right hand man or woman.
Become a receiver of the items of God.
Can you do it?
A secret oneness
would make this accessible to everyone.
Why can’t you pull it out?
Alright I’m faulty.
An excessive monarch of issues
has branded my fault the worst among my kind,
but in reality,
among the throes of my kind,
not being an open receptacle
of the availability of God in man
might be the greater fault among us.
A social construct or reality?
I’m for a big one.
Ta-da!
And they gonna miss ‘im
when he walks the streets no more.
Baiting reality.
Like in town,
you don’t know the submarine.
He’s there all around you
in his broad-fingered humanity.
Are you helpin’?
Let’s see his seasons in the sun.
Two more witnesses please.
Poems dying at your feet,
essential dying,
what makes his name loud enough to pronounce.
I saw a bomb.
It’s only words that explode you
meaningfully.
Still empty and could be dead
where he meets you public face.
What can I do but draw lines?
And here we have them on Crete.
He surpassed the Earth.
He went all the way to Heaven.
That’s the line of this Crete.
He’s sadder feelings.
No more stops.
I throw him to you worth.
Well, swing it.
I’m gonna make this dream come true:
that I’m every bit as worth as you.
Even success is part of the dog’s story.
Here’s where I feel oneness too:
in the heart that beats oneness.
(today’s muse)
The stories we tell, do they make us real? I am one in a huge crowd, and just about everything I tell people about myself is to make me sound different, stand out, be this thing apart I want you to see, but the thing is: you’re doing the same thing. It’s all over the net. The net, see human? The spiritual origins of this letter, as I am writing this to you, bid me to continue, but I’d rather just play with my puppy. (You, sir, have a dirty mind.) I can’t tell you what I want to tell you, and I’m sorry. It’s not for lack of trying. To capture your attention see me, to entertain you via me, to teach you hear me, to say fuck you by me, I would not want those things to be what I’m doing.
What else is there? Can I reach you? Look we got this world, and it’s not the ticket, is it? My God the feelings, sometimes I think the world will end, and in a big crash in my life, sometimes I think it already has. And sometimes I doubt God will help me. I know it’s the same with you. Is there a place in it we can meet and not value our opinions and beliefs more than we value one another? That’s where I want to take you. Can I?
It is unsettling that I cannot even tell this story as it happened, unsettling because you just can’t do it, whoever you are, even a science-minded historian, and that’s say blow by blow what exactly has happened with us here on this planet. Our memories cannot do it. In any story you’re just getting a close relation, sometimes awfully damn close, but not the story itself. Reading my notebooks more thoroughly, I saw that I’d begun reading a book, The 5th Child by Doris Lessing, before I decided to be Irmgard’s handyman, which meant that I visited her house as part of the decision making process, because I know that book was in her library. Oh the facts are still straight: I met her at the bar Kreta in Matala, the village I lived above on a mountain outside a cave, and she took me home, and I didn’t look behind me as we drove away, unlike foolish Orpheus, but look at what I forgot, a whole episode: going to visit her house before going to live there so we could feel each other out. I remember it now, and it’s almost scary how easily it got forgotten, and the story got recorded as though it happened this way, but in fact it happened that way. A small thing you say, just a little incident, but that’s human history. One would ask, of course, am I being Orpheus now?
I was dying in a war no problem—
because that was the way they grew up.
For the baby I feel the murderer too.
Why do you genes my suffering?
When in your grandfather your genes were abused.
Dream of being at nature-bottom’s secret:
gene mother’s a baby.
For the murderer I feel her violence too. [a line today added]
(from Civilization and the Art of Terror)
“Had no beauty,” and “There was no love. That was the problem,” my muse in reference to Lessing’s book, the commentary it gave on it, although the above formation of lines came partly in answer to the a major theme in the book, and that is a very cruel and violent boy being born that way. The book is very convincing, like the 50’s film The Bad Seed, where the ‘monster’ is a little girl, although not an ugly goblin-like creature Lessing describes in her book. Both are works of fiction I must emphasize. I don’t dispute that a child can be a throwback, have some Neanderthal features and characteristics, and I myself have taken care of one such man, in Garberville, Nurchia Silencio’s (my mentor there) 40 some odd year old son, but he wasn’t mean and violent, as he’d been raised with a lot of love and attention. He was, however, sexually attracted to children, and you wonder if that was because of his very low intelligence and maturity level of a five-year-old or because someone played with his penis as an infant or toddler, not something we are able to answer, but the whole thing made me wonder at the time, as well as with things my muse has said over the years, in that aforementioned epic The Literary Eye for example, that maybe in Neanderthals (and in cavemen too) pedophilia was the norm. At any rate, we are a long way from understanding the nature/nurture debate in regards to where someone’s violence comes from, or their social deviancy, but my muse gives a bright hint.
These thoughts highlighted my move and mood from cave-side to modern day apartment, my change of venue from sea-side Maltala to a whole E-span away, into the countryside of the village of Kamilari (10 kilometers in distance). I didn’t cry. I was on a roll. I was used to such thoughts highlighting my life. It’s the background, as I’ve said, of my muse, of this adventure traveling too, and that’s processing pedophilia, or, how it manifests in me, as pederasty, boy love. It wasn’t spiritual achievement I was after on the spiritual path, although of course I want that. This whole thing started on an acid trip on the aforementioned Spyrock Mountain in 1988, when I embarked upon what I then called the personal growth process towards wholeness and healing, in other words, being healed of pedophilia. The healing effects of LSD on such unwieldy social disorders, I don’t think they’ve been adequately explored. That back story I tell in The Literary Eye. Now on with this story.
As I was being kicked out of Forte Prenestino in Rome, how I started this story remember, the following muse came:
Challenged in the mighty laughter of its laugh.
When the mean beer drinks philosophy qué pasó?
You can leave here and have an apartment to stay.
Eagles broke the hours on golden wings.
As creatures have their key
whether a Nazi guru needs to meet more.
If you hope to surrender to My entrega.
Living presence of a deity,
their particular God.
The change near him.
One will come eventually.
Music of rebellion:
do you 51? [if you remember , 51’s the fine you paid in Rome for riding free on the city bus, and you’d also think about an off limits area too; it’s an odd number for a fine, like I said]
Among other things, it’s prevision about the apartment I will be moving into here on Crete, where I’m at now in the story, but, typical of muse and dream, it’s showing the inner state of the thing, the psychological perspective. On the surface I’m being reassured that I can leave the Forte and have an apartment, how I interpreted it at the time, and with a sigh of relief, but, although it was often obvious the lines of muse in a formation (one listening) were connected, and that that connection sometimes extended to subsequent formations, i.e., the next time I lay down into the muse, as do these lines above, I hadn’t yet realized the way it worked, how it was trying to write poems and give me status (of my present situation), two different things, but which sometimes do overlap. I thought it was mostly just random lines that I could try and put together and make something out of, like I did with the dual titled The Inspired Word or Civilization and the Art of Terror, but the majority of lines were just gist for the mill (not), things for my information and enlightenment but nothing more.
The lines above are for you too, came to include in this story, back 20 years ago, or that’s how I interpret what just happened. Here at my desk writing now, I had my notebook open at a certain spot, the muse I was going to begin this part with, right on Irmgard’s spot to be specific, and you’ll understand presently, but I spilled coffee on my notebook and had to rush to Douglas to copy the page before I lost it to the seeping wet, as has happened in the past. When I returned and read the page I happened to have it opened to, which obviously wasn’t Irmgard’s spot, it had those above lines on it. You can see a random pattern here if you want, as it’s not convincing to a skeptic that my muse intended this 20 years ago, and all the impossible math that entails, that coffee spill included, but you’ll still find the interpretation of the lines not only interesting but also pertinent to the conversation, at the very least.
If you remember, it’s my year of 41, and I’m not manifesting my desire for boys, not even fantasizing about it, although in time it was longer than being at that age. With the hubris of the often talked to by the Gods, well, if not by their very mouths then by their agency, I thought it was finished, and I’d go from here to eternity a cured man. It bothered me that my muse continued to suggest it might not be over, as it does here (and in many other places, for example: “Is it we are camped to prepare us for black sheep?”), and that not only might it not be over, but the worst could come again, the anal rape of a little boy. Interpreting my muse here and in other places on this theme throughout my notebooks, a Nazi guru is a man who anally raped a little boy before the rise of Nazism, what helped to give rise to it to begin with, and the mean beer is boy rape specifically, meanness to little children in general, and it’s a theme in my muse, as I’ve said, a running thread, which is that Nazi cruelty came from, at bottom, the anal rape of boys in German speaking society, not all boys or even most, but just enough boys to be seeds of the whole cruel thing, and when you meet that with philosophy you can see what happened.
There are other things that it met it with, mean things also, but there is one thing that’s not mentioned in the muse above (but is elsewhere), and which isn’t mean in itself but that previews the shock of water, opens a child to more than the material and not only to angels, opens one to demons primarily, and that’s infant orgasm, Hitler’s ticket to ride, and I imagine other key players. (It’s a double-edged sword extraordinarily difficult to use the right side of, but you see me doing it.) This isn’t in the history books yet, but I do have the burning butt hurt cause of Nazis cruelty on one of my blogs in a short story (The Capture of a Killer) and the ‘mommy-person are you eating me alive?’ (infant orgasm) in a poem Facebook deleted my whole education page because of (because of the photo of Hitler—I don’t think Facebook reads poetry). There is, of course, no way to prove that sodomizing young boys was prevalent in pre-Nazi German speaking society, or that Hitler and other Nazis suffered the pleasure of infant orgasm, but you are hearing it was and seeing they did by the all-seeing divine eye, the sight of my muse (this salt and pepper is sprinkled throughout my notebooks), and you can take that divine sight and multiply it with the seer poet and see if you have some eye on the truth of things, on what’s going on. Do I show and tell well? What is my agenda? Is this the help of humanity?
So, I could leave the behind of boys behind, and we can assume their frontal parts too, and stay in an apartment, something smaller and a bit more temporary to live in than a house, where I would need to surrender to the delivery of my particular God, and where the change was near, something I only understood at the time as a cure, not an integration and harmonization, a taking out of the harm, what the whole apartment 41 was about. Undergoing that moratorium, there was hope that I wouldn’t fall again. The key to that was these eagle-seeings, my muse. An eagle sees all down below from a great height you know. It’s all in the book. At any rate, the change would one day come, despite the rebellion, even if I did fall. At the very least, the stay in the apartment challenged the horrible, ugly thing, in the very bowels of its laughter at us, and please know that we are the entertainment of monsters, who goad us to do evil so they can laugh at us and punish us so to laugh at us more. They eat our suffering. I am sorry for dragging you through all this material and non, but if we don’t talk about it frank and forthright, we’ll never get to the bottom of it so to integrate and harmonize it, so to heal it.
Dark closet interests me only.
What was in your mouth?
You did it, telescope 488. [vision of being in a wheelchair and forcing myself to focus and concentrate. As I heard and felt a big release of air I was successful. Someone was encouraging me]
Drawn on me and all these people drawn on me. [vision of many people with their six shooters drawn on me because of sex with children]
The best spring of sprouting,
helplessly their lives a heart-wooden pain.
One minute I’m discouraged and the next minute I am.
Excuse me [a name I lost], I’ve got a date on my writings. [vision of removing a large dog’s paw off of the bag that contained my writings]
And a date should be right over our dimensions right about now. [vision of UFO in the form of a lone, curving line of white billowous clouds high in the daytime sky, not directly overhead but seemingly conscious of us on the ground looking at it]
(a muse formation that came upon my arrival in Paris, where I was before Rome, another random opening of my notebook)
Now onto Irmgard’s spot. The first line of muse I got regarding her was, “On the spot, which is her spot denied,” and that refers to spirituality; she was scientific materialist. The line, which is prevision, showed me I would rub her the wrong way from the very first, by reminding her of the very thing she was in the most denial of. Here are the lines, scattered among many formations of muse (individual listenings), that talk about Irmgard, not all of them, but enough to get a picture of her and our relationship:
And good gardening is simply just knowing that you are here.
Her indomitable spirit and self-love.
She’s very conscientious about herself,
and if people want to share her soul…
I find when I much look at myself,
it preserved a stage in the evolution. [as though she’s talking to herself]
Notable voice that I know little of.
He came near her like this:
as soon as I go down
I murder, [voice of Irmgard this line]
I disdain.
It would take her a little while to cause harm.
That’s the woman I was telling you about. [vision of scrubbing a shit stain out of Irmgard’s panties]
That’s so speaking disgusting.
It’s too much for her.
She was emotionally ordering him to reprive the piano.
Head setting syndrome.
I brought the world to you,
and you didn’t like it.
A ruler in your handyman.
I belong to her.
I’m free,
so is Supermind,
a dual harbor.
The arm fades.
A clarn in suicide’s book.
A memory. [vision of giving Irmgard a copy of the Atlantic letter, as if to say, see I was writing something important, and you wanted me to wait on you]
Do all this. [Irmgard telling me this]
Okay, I’ll work on it.
And make you work out of some hidden thing.
Can you work five hours? [vision of Irmgard working hard in the garden with an urgent sense things must be done now, not because she wanted to do them, but because she had to, but she had no strength to do them herself. This shows me she doesn’t ask me to do things just to be absurd; she really thinks it’s a great need]
Thank you for living here. [vision of Irmgard standing in her front door and telling me this]
She had been a scientist in London and also an East German spy, and if you lived with her, you wouldn’t doubt her story, but of course I can’t prove it. We did have some interesting conversations. And we fought. I didn’t fully realize that, after months of living outside of human circles, suddenly being thrust into a circle of two, and the one on one that entails, would be more than I could handle. There ensued what occurs between two people who are both strong characters, and they are working or living together: a battle over who’s the bigger who. I saw this inevitability and really tried just to be her handyman, do her bidding, but she alternated between being the kind of older person you listened to, because they were both interesting and conscious of you, and a sophisticated version of my step-mother, and ain’t it funny how we keep coming back to those people, and she would sometimes taunt me and rub my nose in my servitude to her, and ain’t it just like us that’s what I remember more, almost the exact words: “You’re nothing but a robot, can’t do this, can’t do that, not even have a glass of wine, and you think you’re being spiritual. Go get the rake. The yard looks terrible,” Irmgard sitting at her table sipping wine and smoking cigarettes and talking to me standing in the doorway of her house awaiting my next task. Not yet a spiritually enlightened being, I just couldn’t take it.
As I explained when I began this story, I was on a purity kick, and not only wasn’t having sex or eating any kind of meat, including eggs, but I wasn’t drinking, smoking, or taking anything either, that got me drunk or high that is, and that I wasn’t on it to be a good person but to keep my consciousness as pure as possible, not waste any subtle life force, what you spill in vital indulgences (indulging the emotions and life desires), what you need to have spiral dreams and overhead experience, things I’ve not expounded upon in this story, not yet, but things more important to me than the muse. We can argue about the drawbacks/benefits of the hallucinogens on such, but an avid pot smoker, it was time for me to face the spiritual path without the crutch and false sense of spiritual feeling grass gives. Ganja also opens the door for the Hostile Powers to come in, and when you’re trying keep from doing what they want you to do, you need to keep that door shut. The purity kick was a experiment, not the lines my nature drew, but to all that met me then, it was a holier than thou. I should have had a glass of wine with Irmgard, had that sip of wine Mechthild tested me with, why she and Wolfram turned on me later, when I was in Palermo, Sicily; I was nothing more than a fanatic, who couldn’t even write poetry, to hear her tell it. That drink of wine she tried to convince me to have, “just one little drink”, was the test. I remember trying to explain to her that with even a little sip the consciousness would fall. I now feel other people are more important than a little slip in your consciousness, and I also like to get slightly drunk sometimes and feel my consciousness explore the world that way. Pot however, one single hit, sends me into the pit of the Void, and I’m hanging onto the world with all my fingers and toes, trying to tell myself it’s just an experience of infinity in the finite. Sometimes I believe it and calm down; others no, and so pot and me have mostly parted ways. Sex? “My teacher said no sex, and I’m interested in no sex,” (my muse on Crete). Meat? Why don’t you just mind your own business?
Pulling out all the stops
of old emerald to be like deity.
And I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down,
and I’m a diamond in the rough.
Can you argue with this?
Wow, I’m high—
and fish drink water.
They lost their cookies in the sink.
I wouldn’t detail them.
Stop tryin’.
We would shove them under the sink and start over.
She was a beautiful seamstress.
She did not ignition right.
We let her down.
She noticed us.
It didn’t come to fruition,
the tank in the courtyard.
I lost my temper,
screamed and shouted and winced at her.
We can’t keep players.
I tried,
and that’s the baseball game.
I understand your arm’s on the table.
It won’t be long now.
What’s it worth?
Every bug on the planet fixes yah.
The whole night sky
listens ears.
You come to a round table,
and you show Earth your wares.
That’s expensive.
Do I dynamite?
You come together in the right place
exploding your wares.
He’s thrown Minecraft at yah,
all of your soliloquies on the net.
He’s done so many things with your time
you understand the nature of it.
You won’t understand him
the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,
the sewer system.
You’d have to stay with him awhile,
listening to his heart breathe.
I’ve said enough.
He’ll be on your corner soon.
I don’t know whistle blows,
but it’s where we’re at, you know?
On the breezeway
so naked it’s a story in the air,
but I don’t know
if I get put in an elevator or not
so you can see me.
Maybe this whistle is for your kids,
or theirs,
or some other department
in time.
Let’s roll up our sleeves, shall we?
and perpetrate the world.
Goodnight Luna.
I’ll get past your puppy ears.
Come on let’s dance
and spend the night a whole generation away.
Come on Luna,
understand our position together:
you’re not my dog,
and I know you wanna be.
You gotta sleep downstairs.
Well that’s not finished.
She’s on her way to you.
Don’t rob yourself of sleep.
This is hard on both of us.
We just don’t understand.
Can see a new place in vision.
If that’s a targeted ship.
Visions come and go.
That’s what he’s working,
to be not a denier of divine deity.
Alright, all these firecrackers
over the puppy,
over a load of house issues,
over just destiny you and me,
over the world as it sucks,
over especially the news media.
Can we go?
Can we make our house a run?
Can we get better at this
and fire up those engines
and go to the place we all shine in the sun?
Is that even possible?
To shine in the sun,
that is so cool.
Well, the youth dropped it.
I think I’m getting
too old for my britches.
My tax return
is enough to pay you off,
you unconvinced people yet out there,
and you just put me down and see yourself.
Let’s blow this up.
I’m a memory in my room.
I’ll just keep tellin’ it.
Calm yourself down
and bring us the world again.
And I was hoping
that puppy dog don’t have to be sent outta here.
My large pumpkin shadow
just gets cut off,
and it’s no secret where she wants to be.
Give us
the destiny in our room.
It was Kentucky Fried Chicken,
her sleepin’ beside me showin’ belly,
comfortable like the world is safe,
and I reach over
and give that belly a rub.
That’s baby
where bright and shiny lives.
I think we’ve just pat the world you know,
and ain’t it nice and warm?
You’re touchin’ friendship
in its startup in man.
Good God that’s good.
New interpreters,
we’re just putting a face on God.
Ending after some time
with the hardest part of life.
Good cop, bad cop,
we met in that line Data.
A bridge told me Savitri was fallin’ asleep.
This world’s crucible,
how many say God is mean?
How many say this world is mean?
Let’s understand evolutionary science.
In that box we don’t make one to pet.
We’re off in the place screaming.
I’ve seen Luna;
I feel better.
A big boost,
that’s how you handle puppies.
And those your kids
derive the sweetness of your day.
Some future guy on the phone.
Oh my God the air tell.
They’re combat engineers.
The truth will ever sometimes get a mask.
I am wild about this on YouTube.
I can completely
copy down you know.
You have a mind.
Highlights,
all you could say at me in one day.
I came in that I’m sorry,
just that I’m on the spiritual path.
The blistered paragraph
Mexico writes,
like I said,
there is no true seeing
or spell it out for you.
I’m not askin’ for everything,
just the sky of God.
It’s in the history books.
These is photos of my inner workings.
Hut two three four,
how do we spell relief?
Donny 661.
The front door,
oh I locked it
to come on alive in the book.
Are you gonna liberal democrat?
Neither breadcrumbs
nor dire straits,
we’re gonna get into the way of the world.
It’s so much bigger than tall robots,
than a guru,
than mixing with your kind.
It’s a 30 linebacker
gone to work with his momma and coming back to take you down.
That’s frozen,
but it’s on the telephone line you see.
I’m just tryin’ to be my brother’s keeper—
that was the recognition-fish of thousands,
but what is it behind this screen?
Hello I’m Donny how are you?
I was wonderin’ how to be sincere,
put you in touch with my sincerity.
Is it on the table?
It’s just starin’ down the crowd.
Well at least it’s in school.
Whether India had its first world crisis.
You know I was right there in the ballgame.
We looked up Covid
next door to a crematorium.
No busy port that was,
not even wayfarers.
Oh we had the disease.
It just wasn’t a world on fire
all over India.
Why was it reported that way?
Somethin’s going on we can’t slip.
I kid you not there’s a grocery list.
Now go back to sleep.
I’m just warnin’ yah about future comings
the state perpetrates,
the powers that be.
Look out.
We’ll do anything to stay safe.
They’ve got us by the fear of death.
Who is this big conspiracy?
Bibliography asura.
It’s not a failed state.
They control us through our dreams.
Gotcha!
When you buy those things,
don’t just go meal pay.
They’re in your room right now,
travelin’ down the rollercoaster of your thoughts
to jump in there and start somethin’
sinister to the Earth.
Can’t get rid of.
Have to evolve out of, [this and above line came on Crete]
and that’s what we’re doin’.
You will hear towards these creatures
doesn’t work.
It’s got $600.
What was spiritual feelin’?
Do you bite I suppose really spiritual?
Wow head,
really crucial.
Where are yah?
Oh of a cry,
can you hear that lowdown?
(today’s muse)
The cat of the matter is she was a ghost, for 20 years. Where is your kitty cat? She wants to be near you, even in death, and so it really matters how she dies, and how you take it. Kittypuss was a purely white cat my sister found on the street, a little kitten, when I was seven, during those city mooned for times I’ve life-listed earlier. I was allergic to cats, but not Kittypuss. She was my non-human sibling. She was my mom’s pumpkin shadow. I was in the army when she died, glad I wasn’t there to see my mom’s grief. I didn’t understand then it’s like the loss of a child, but I certainly do now.
That grief got the better of her, as it wasn’t on Kittypuss’ behalf but hers. Isn’t that the way it often is with us when a loved one dies? The tie that binds you know. You see, my mom had this problem with goodbye. She always made a big deal of it when saying goodbye, saying it might be the last time we saw each other—“you never know”—, and she’d shower us with hugs and kisses, the number of them depending on the length of time we’d be away. The bitch of it was, when it was the final goodbye, she dropped it, and not just dropped it, but really messed it up.
“It’s disgusting,” and my mom said it really drawing the word out and saying it like you do when you want the word itself to sound disgusting, it being sex with children. You’d agree with her, but that’s a point for later on. I’ll just say that was new attitude for her; heretofore I was her son and not a child molester, and she’d felt sadness for me over the latter, not her disgust. I took the cell phone from my ear and looked at it, wanting to tell her that if she hadn’t given me orgasm with that kissing mouth of hers when I was a baby and toddler, I would have been sexually normal, but I held my tongue, knowing it might the last time I talked to her, because she was 70 and on once a week dialysis, and it turned out it was our goodbye, our last conversation. The you in the you just never know was she.
But we’re here for the cat. “This is like a cat’s drum, the end of a cat drama,” my muse as I moved into the apartment near Kamilari, which is prevision of the dream experience I’m about to describe, a foretelling of the future. The lines sum up the experience, give it its meaning. First though, the back story. I heard how she died from my mother in a phone call I made from my army barracks, soon after Kittypuss died, about 40 years ago. Please listen; it’s not really the end like we think; it’s leaving the body. Kittypuss could no longer walk, my mom said, was going to the bathroom all over herself and in pain, and so she took her to the vet to be put to sleep. Can I just interject here and ask would you take your grandmother to the doctor to be killed if that were the case, or would you put a diaper on her, give her pain meds, and love her till death, unbidden, came to take her, unless it was a clear case death was the more merciful one? Anyway, with the cat on the table and the syringe in the doctor’s hand, my mom got a sudden case of the coward and ran out of the office and into her car to cry. Meanwhile, a confused and now abandoned Kittypuss was killed by the vet, her sovereign nowhere in sight. She just left her body and went to her momma. What else is a cat to do?
I first saw Kittypuss a ghost when I had a near death experience I relate here , not realizing what I was seeing, and that was several years after her death. It took awhile to dawn on me after the experience that she was still around in my mom’s house. I saw her in at least one other dream after that, but I don’t remember the details, only that it seemed to confirm she was indeed a ghost in the house. I resolved to use my dreaming ability to see if that were indeed the case, and try and help her if it was, but there hadn’t been a clear breathing space in my life I could explore that, until now, in the apartment Irmgard let me live in, but it wasn’t me that decided now was the time. It was the Mother. This is taken from my dream notebook 9 November 2020, which describes the last part of a lucid, spiral dream:
Then I began to very slowly be pulled and taken into a spiral around the room, and as I did I asked the Mother (I don’t remember if with words or silently) who was the person I needed to see, and just then Kittypuss, the white cat my family had when I was a child, appeared in the center of the circle, laying with her head on her front paws, as though she were not only sad but in despair. I said her name, surprised, and this seemed to connect to my body in bed, as though I had spoken her name with my body’s mouth, and quickly the dream scene faded. I was trying to say “Go to the other side,” but these words were weak and spoken on the way back to my body. She didn’t even respond, like she were dead, but her eyes were open. She had just given up hope. She is a ghost in my mom’s house, due to an improper death, and I’ve seen her there in the subtle physical or on the vital plane at times, two or three, in dreams there. Was just my intention and the force of calling her name, after such a powerful experience, enough to help her pass? [the experience in the first part of the dream was of being taken by the spiral with the loud accompanying sound of an airplane propeller, herald of going up out the top of the head, which didn’t happen, although the opening to towards it was very powerful]
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
There ensued 18 days where I concentrated on Kittypuss, shocked to know how long she had suffered as a ghost, shocked to know that such things happen to innocent little kitty cats. I said her name aloud and thought about her throughout the day, asking the Mother to help. None of this is in my muse notebook. I’m only able to capture a small portion of what I receive, although here on Crete that portion was larger, as the muse and dream were in many ways, the main events, although, like I said, not the most important ones. The instructions I remember getting in regards to her, I didn’t write down, but I do remember getting them, such as, when I asked how to find her, I was told that she would be at her food bowl in the kitchen of my mom’s house. I was also told, as though by her, that, since my sister had left the house, no one ‘petted’ her anymore, meaning of course in dream (my sister also is very open in dream. My mom’s dreaming had gone to sleep). I was told she was suffering greatly, and that there was no time to spare to rescue her. She had sunk down almost to the Void.
Dream notebook 27 November 2002
I was in my mother’s house and lucid and looked around for Kittypuss and called her name, and almost instantly she came from where her food bowl is, or I went to her, I don’t remember. I petted her and spoke her name, wondering how to tell her to move on. Something happened that I don’t remember, and I began to lose the dream, but I concentrated and the house came back, only it was normal daylight. I looked around for her, calling her name, saying kitty kitty and such, looking under things, but no cat, just a hint of her presence there. Then I realized she was there but on another level, in the darkness where I found her in the first part of the dream [unrecorded]. I was very clear and focused. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been so, perhaps the word is powerful, in a dream, or able to just do things, what needed to be done, without any effort once I know what to do. So I concentrated, and almost instantly I was in the darkness. This darkness is not like regular darkness. Things in it aren’t wholly there, like only their sketch or outline is, but I did not feel all oppressed by or afraid of the darkness. I went into the kitchen and saw Kittypuss moving near her food bowl, and I could see her white, like she was the only real thing there. I went to her and picked her up in my arms, and holding her tightly (I could feel her fear and despair), I went out the backdoor and into the backyard. There was a hint of dawn, and I saw up in the sky the orb, or partial orb, of the sun, but not at all bright. I began to will the force to take me up, or opened myself to it, which I did, and we slowly began to rise. Then I saw the sun. At a height just above the house or so I put, hurled, no word describes the action, Kittypuss into the sun, and there was a tremendous explosion of bright light, perhaps all of the colors, but I’m not sure, and she was gone, and I felt very good but very centered and steady.
Then I was in the house where my mother and sister were and still lucid, I decided to tell them of the process of Kittypuss, tell their subtle selves that is, so they’d by better prepared when I told their waking selves. Gwen took off not wanting to hear it, and my mother said she had heard scratching a time or two, but she wasn’t really taking it all in, 20 years a ghost until now. A line of muse came after the dream that I lost, but it seems Kittypuss did not go where she would return to these lives. There was the word either stuffed or displayed in the presence of God, but there was a great sweetness in the line that suggested some kind of nirvana, one that well makes up for her 20 years suffering as a ghost and her journey long through these lives. This experience has greatly strengthened me and is making me trust God all the more. Even little kitty cats are cared for, their little souls blessed. Wow.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Life is a restless activity grounded in God.
Just call me wisdom.
I threw her in the crack where the clock strikes about.
(my muse immediately after the Kittypuss dream)
Kittypuss will not be in my life again.
Thank you. [she saying this]
The gist of a man,
inspired by a vision,
moves the first place of humanity.
I will floor myself in such a flower car,
pound myself upon it.
It’s very good for you.
I went to the mouth of darkness and half opened its gangala,
and it’s no question as flame we can walk upon it.
Ronnie’s gonna give me a ride listening,
ear open in the back of its eye. [Ronnie the donkey]
Full of the 10 natures. [vision of a colorful rectangular drawing of several creatures all mixed together into one but each a distinct color, one a blue dragon]
Leaving dogs as slaves,
I must act the body while it can decide.
(muse that same night, after the dream)
I no longer wow that whole thing since, in the present of my life now, the dog of my life, Lisa, and the little puppy Rascal, died, both horribly, the latter screaming like I never heard a dog scream before, the former’s life ending prematurely by an incompetent vet (whose gross neglect goes beyond the wrong tablets he proscribed for her), and now she’s trapped on the other side right where death meets life because of her love for me, her loyalty, the very quality divinity gave dogs so to be our best friend, unable to pass too because of her doubt of me, as it was I that gave her the fatal tablets, and she has come to think I poisoned her, and in a horrifying, unintended way I did, a god-awful, complicated passing that hasn’t made her a ghost, but has put her in a bad place, unable to go where she needs to go, and so far, although I’m doing the same intense concentration I did for Kittypuss, focusing on her and calling her name throughout the day, which means the grief is right there, each lucid dream rescue attempt, where I have to try to travel to the other side, no small feat in itself, has failed. The line about dogs in the formation above is prevision about her predicament (as well about the emancipation of dog itself, what I might just have something to do with), and I’m being given advice about it way back then. As I’ve said, it’s ability to foretell the future is a feature of muse that makes it so mysterious and, I’ll add now, gives you a hand to hold when you realize it took hold of your present hand 20 years ago.
Still though, that hand can only ease, can’t erase the cruel twist on it that she’s now afraid of me and thinks I killed her, when she was my baby, the beloved of my life: “You destroyed me,” my muse putting words on her thoughts soon after she died. This bitter experience has shaken my faith, and it’s not that I doubt whether it’s all true, God, soul, and the whole nine yards, but I now know that life, the universe, and everything isn’t God’s plan but God’s experiment, and what a difference a word makes, and the conditions of the experiment are such that the conditions of the cosmos bind even the divine powers, the delegated hand of God, and sometimes, maybe even often, the cosmic Gods lose to the Hostile Powers, the unembodied fiends that dog our every step and hover around even our dogs and cats trying to turn their lives and deaths too into the living hell humans can have. It’s all a bit much, and it’s opened a gulf in me that I’m just having to put my faith in to fill, but when it’s shaking and flickering in my hands, what’s a body to do but just cry out loud?
There is a gap between love and death my muse says, and boy is there ever. I’ve learned there are places where the world just doesn’t work well, zones not yet fully filled with existence, places where the Void rears up its head to devour life, and the space between life and death is one of these. Many pass unmolested by the powers that oppose life, but some people get trapped, and not just humans. The Mother and others have said that a principle function of religion is to aide our passage to the other side, since even a little faith in it will give you the buoyancy you need to make it past the unconstructed zones (my understanding, not theirs), and that today, with the rise of skepticism and atheism, a lot more people than in times past find themselves dead without a clue of where to go or what to do, find themselves open to attack, of the bottom feeders, find themselves in terrible in-between places trapped (like Lisa) or a ghost unable to touch the living or life under the sun but tantalizingly surrounded by them. Knowledge is not always your friend, and there is knowledge that you don’t want to know but must know, at some point at least, and if you don’t think that point’s here for you, then what can we do? Well here it is. I’m sorry. What more can I say?
Yes He’s got the whole world in his hands, but he drops us sometimes, or drops our kids, into the fire, you know? The secret of why only he knows. You can read a poem of mine about Rascal that asks God to grow. Of course, that’s only a point of view, and one that comes from a heart being torn out, not actually how it is, and we can look at it in an infinite number of ways to try and see how it is, but we’ll always come up short. God is just too big to figure, but maybe he’s not responsible for every leaf that falls. Maybe he just knows every leaf that does and gets it the help it needs to wither into other life without burning in the fire too terribly long, in the long way God helps us, and our dogs and cats, everybody, which is to send us someone to help us, however long that might take, someone that can, and maybe there aren’t too terribly many that can do that, and with Kittypuss, that someone was me. I can only ask him to hurry up with Lisa. What more can I ask?
To stand erect,
without which the creature had not the will of the creator.
God’s hands are in God’s hands on that endeavor.
During the transformation from ego to divine consciousness,
one must return the slain of a suffered past.
The Light evolves its irregularities,
but the Light is patient and can wait its due.
To establish a new theme takes time.
Conscious of the good means waiting through the bad.
All will happen in its good time.
What is life really?
A growth of the soul.
What are years to the life of the soul?
Not even time can measure things you know.
The things change in spiritual seconds.
(from The Inspired Word)
And see what we’ve added is reliable.
I need a horse.
He writes it about now.
I see longer than you do.
What is your stomachache over?
We tore a hole in our heart.
Just inside her throat.
I will be revealed,
but I don’t deserve it.
Crazy.
See how that goes.
You’re the person stuffed in a tree.
You’ve got the stuff.
Give up everything he had,
they just wanna shoot ‘im.
Get out of here,
that’s a mix of how it’s done,
where I’m the enlightened disciple.
Oh wow railroad cars.
Oh I’m so sorry—
when they take my name.
Think that world will be overlap.
The future of man,
don’t you worry,
a hitter,
suddenly a hitter.
Come right here boy,
maybe at some point
we’ll be beyond the game.
We didn’t expect Susan to arrive.
A problem with the luminated glass:
I thought I needed a special kind of mask.
In their scientist,
in pre-Socratic math,
a little puppy
uncut to fulfill itself.
I’m not tryin’ to bring surprises.
I’m tryin’ to give you the straight scoop
in all our flavors.
Can you melt with me?
This is where we stand.
It’s horrible, ain’t it,
the way we die
and just have to suffer that.
It doesn’t bring us peace,
when it takes from us the world,
no matter how many near-death experiences you’ve had.
How many loved ones say cheese?
Where do we go with it?
A station in life has this all mapped out,
what you have to do,
unhinge yourself from the world.
It’s a state I’ve seen,
briefly.
I’ve snuck up on enlightenment.
I’ve pulled up on the scene.
There’s no comparing it with here.
It’s amazingly centered
on not having a center at all.
No thing touches you
in all the world of things.
Scary to look at.
The place to be to be in.
You hear this whistle?
It’s impossible.
Some many techniques to get there
and not a one work.
It’s uploaded
from a higher source,
how it really gets in yah.
This become an arrow
when you don’t need any more strife.
It’s a great way to leave the world
and be wonderfully alive in it.
Up next.
Such a nice man,
gunna what man?
You’re just hearin’ my muse.
I laugh at it too,
prepare for impact.
Now let’s be sailors
and skim over the waters.
Up you go,
all up there to Supermind,
the destination of the Earth.
It’s something that I’m qualified for
on my computer,
giving you the lowdown.
There would be a violence,
the agency who knows who dreams.
You’re guidance councilor would advise against it.
This is your own divinity.
On after death
you might see this is you.
I’ve sat in the sun
here on earth
while I’m alive.
Sum into the ascended nature of Supermind,
giving the lowest record. [this and above line came on Crete]
I can’t tell you any differently;
that’s what happened.
See all these stars?
A rainstorm
has drawn the lines for me.
Not too long ago
I really hurt the Earth.
Yeah, I’ve struggled with it too.
Can I just stand here and bark?
No, let’s put trainin’ on it,
and let’s show you the windows.
That’s about the Earth,
and I’m ridin’ it now.
There is just so much food to give.
You hungry?
I’ve got a question:
what the heck?
It’s in the night you understand,
and I can’t show you the sun.
There you are up there
a few meters over your head
the Supermind,
and you just sit there
an outside the universe entity.
Bigger than the universe,
it’s your reality.
Makes sense
to science’s laboratory origins hypotheses.
Dumbass,
they put it in terms of here,
but I think
they’ve got a spatula
to flip it
when it’s cooked long enough,
and that the truth.
You can check very quickly
you speak something not of like us to the government.
You will have trouble.
And I’m gonna bring that bear in
and try to get yah off your feet.
Just because you’re door there doesn’t mean you’re right;
I’ll be here folks if you need me.
Words have chosen.
It’s a change of consciousness.
Now I’m all set.
More than God possessing oneness,
his deep largeness infinity he also understands. [this and above line came in 2002]
On the higher mountain
it’s ours.
Hey, wash my hands right.
Put your father’s voice/glasses [words spoken simultaneously]
on the matter of this meaning,
why don’t we stop doing that?
If you haven’t noticed,
mother you raise the kids,
and when you’re a father,
you mother too.
You’re welcome.
Come on, put that mother.
Before a big change,
generally there’s a blackout,
so it assimilates.
I had to express it
with an opening
to all we hate about us,
and it mobilize it
and give us all the change we need.
That’s how you bring change:
it’s you you change.
Victims,
bring ‘em where the child will heal:
I’ve seen my abuser change.
Precisely.
Look I’m a capital of this issue.
Let us be willing,
anymore vehicles
not yet in our use,
something terrible has happened,
we put them on the road.
You’ll just have to take your tie off and sit down.
You’ll just have to remove your social constraints,
and heal the human race.
The right minute,
time is now.
Oh my dog,
found her fronting artillery
with a stunning
defiance.
Jeff you get that?
Carry on.
Her root tail,
she’s found us.
Come,
let’s think this through.
You come to me when I call.
Oh Luna?
I know you see her Lisa,
and know she’s not you.
Crow, crow, over wind and bed-graves,
I’ve got you now girl.
Try to do it on the tournament.
Move over,
that was bedtime.
Be comin’ right now.
(today’s muse)
Dream Notebook December 5, 2002 [his death-day, what I didn’t consciously know then]
I was in the car with Sri Aurobindo, and I think he was driving. It was so comfortable to be in his presence, so relaxed, so incredibly human and more normal that normal. I can go on and on about his presence, nothing like you’d expect, not one pretention, no airs at all, and there was no hint of him not wanting to be bothered, or talked to, but it made me respect his space all the more, and I don’t think we talked as we drove. The silence was so full. We got to a shopping strip, and there was a woman there whose friend, a slightly older woman, had a Bible store, and she had just closed up. I looked in the window and saw she was very much a fundamentalist. She wanted to talk to Sri Aurobindo but didn’t know my thing about him at all. She was just in distress and needed to talk to somebody. She didn’t want to open back her shop to talk there, but Sri Aurobindo went to the door and opened the lock without a key. I knew he was using his will to put the talk where it needed to be, in her shop. He didn’t say anything, just opened the door, and she accepted it easily.
He and I went in, and the woman’s children came, and I spoke to one in Spanish because there were books about missionaries in Latin America and some hint that children were going there, or being sent there by their parents or something. The boy wasn’t one of these and didn’t understand. Sri Aurobindo was sitting down, and all the children were gathered around him and playing with his beard and such, which had become long and like a handle. I wasn’t jealous that he was the center of attention with the children. In fact, I wasn’t jealous that he was Sri Aurobindo and I just a disciple. How can I describe his presence? You just don’t know—so down to earth. Then I was on the floor with a small boy playing with him, and Sri Aurobindo was sitting across the room, not to watch me but to teach me how to play with kids in the right way, but there was not a trace of fear I’d molest him, or judgment, or condemnation, or anything remotely similar. Then he left the room into the interior of the shop to talk to the woman. Just like that. What trust I thought. He’s not even worried about what I might do to the kid.
Then I went outside after a bit, and the woman was sitting with her friend, and she was glowing she was so happy. I explained, excited myself, that that was Sri Aurobindo, and he’d died in 1950! As I was explaining that that was the first time he’d done that with me, bodily materialized, I stopped and asked her was he really there, and she assured me he really had been. I was about to tell her she probably wouldn’t be a fundamentalist anymore after this, but I decided to let her figure that out for herself.
The it was night, and the women were down in the car, and I was with the little boy, 4 0r 5, up like an open bar or restaurant raised above the parking lot. I was giving him affection, very close, touching his face and head, but it was he actually the one wanting me to and not me pulling me to him as usual, and there was no sexual desire. Then his older brother came up, 9 or 10, to show me his report card. I had a strong pull to pull him close, but I felt he didn’t want that, but his hand was on my arm, so I knew he did need some physical contact, just more from a distance. I went against my pull and put him on the table to sit as we talked about his grades, and he kept his arm on my arm. I saw that he had okay grades but had a ‘spastic’ in gym, and I knew he had some inner problems between the body and his emotions, but I didn’t word it to myself that way at the time. When I looked at his face it was a map, and I drew a route on his cheek, a square in a town, and what I was really doing was redrawing my map of how to be around and relate to children.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
A couple of days later, a young Austrian woman and her two little boys, Phillip, four and a half, and John, two and a half, came to stay in the empty apartment below mine. The apartment served as a safe house for woman who’d been abused by their husbands, something I only learned when they showed up. As I understood it, the boys had been beaten also. The family were on their way somewhere else, and they were only staying a few days. I hadn’t been around children in months, and things had just worked out that way; I wasn’t trying to stay away from kids. Phillip looked like the little boy in the dream, the younger brother I gave close affection to. He was right on the border of my attraction range, this side of the border.
There ensued some days of checks and balances, desire entering and being thrown out. It’s all in the book, but I can’t copy it all down for you here. The gist of it, like I’ve been talking to you about, is being around them and not harming them, not staying away from them so you don’t. It took me awhile to come to the dream, as at first I felt it wrong to even be playing with them, what my muse refers to as sports, a personal symbol, not a universal one I might add. Although the whole night before they came was full of prevision of their coming—“That snake with horns looks like something”—, this one means a lot to show you:
There’ll be a sports pin in your rises and re-rises. [vision of a ski lift that was a bit unusual. At first it gave you a cup of hot chocolate as you came up from the bottom, the lift being like a Ferris wheel that went below the Earth]
Phillip was spastic like the older boy in the dream and really wanting close affection like the younger one, and the muse can describe our ensuing intimacy better than I can:
This is a memory stick. [vision of an American Indian spear, feathers and such that represented events]
A room called clarity the base.
In control of inner judge.
By a perverse gate sat.
Mastery quit of their own world adventure?
They’ll be one on one in nature without touching themselves with syringes.
Don Don. [My sister’s affectionate name for me when we were little. Vision of Phillip whispering to me not to tell what we were doing, which was exploring around a neighbor’s house, and we had to be quiet so as not to be heard, obviously though, something was stirring in him under the water]
Too many details spoil the soup, but Phillip had had sexual contact, of the fondling kind, and, in front of his mother, he laid down on the bed in their apartment and made it clear he wanted me to do it, and the way she corrected him, it appeared to me she knew he had, but that’s just speculation. That he’d had it though, was obvious in the way he asked for it with his body. The things that pass in families, so many things do so underground. What would I have done if she hadn’t had been there? I was not in a position to molest him. “It was Lion’s Gate,” (my muse today). You have no idea the healing power of a situation where a child who’s been molested wants to do it with an adult who wants to too, but the adult doesn’t, nor won’t. When it’s the adult who molested them in the first place, you have precisely what’s needed, but you’re just not going to understand that until you have to.
Thinking is a world body process.
I was walking everyday animated by wood.
In a life by Thee lived.
I am so powerful because it’s under the heal of feelings.
(the muse that came immediately after the sports pin line)
Although I barely had enough to feed myself, the mother had no money, and so I shared my food with them, not every meal while they were there, but enough to feel it. I cooked for them too, as that’s one of my jobs (I’m a feeder), and so the family got a lot of sacrifice from me, and they needed it from a man. I realized at the time I was a healing help for them. Irmgard did not involve herself with them much, and I saw her a time or two watching me from her windows playing with the boys with a look on her face that said, “That’s what he likes.” To her credit she never threw it in my face. She was obviously the neighbor in the vision with Phillip. She, like you, wouldn’t understand playing with kids isn’t having sex with them if you like them. It’s not eating the apple. “Yesterday around the apple I was a golden time,” my muse giving a report card during the those days.
What, however, just blew me away about the whole thing was that dream telling me not only what was about to happen, but also how to handle it. “Is printed here the light of circumstance,” (my muse at that time). You can sit there and say all day it’s a coincidence. Do you really believe that, or are you just counting sheep?
The catch-22 of it is, to get the kind of help I described in that dream, or give the help I described (involving Kittypuss and Lisa), you have to be open to it or to doing it, and that means not be clouded with anything, desire, anger, hatred, jealousy, fear, grief, and I can continue, which means you have to be pure, clean, clear, and it has nothing to do with moral reasons; you have to be clear to get the clear signal, and the purer you are the purer the signal, and it’s as simple as that, and that just sucks because when we most need help we usually aren’t, far from it, why we’re asking for help to begin with. It’s another one of those things that seem to stack the deck in the favor of the Hostile Powers. Be that as it may, here I got what I needed. An opening came, and my teacher taught me a fountain of lessons intricate as the day is long and meaningful as the night is deep, because at that moment in my purity he could, and so, other than applying them to the boys that were to come the next day, why did they have to be all learned right then and there? My muse was doing the same thing, if you haven’t noticed, taking advantage of 41 to get the message across, which, if you’ve been listening, is more for me than the world, and that message is very simple: don’t abuse children, and here’s why you do and how to stop. Society only tells you the don’t, doesn’t understand the why and doesn’t know the how, because we are still very much the animal when it comes to dealing with wrongdoing, not yet human beings here, and so, representative creatures that we are, here I am with my muse: “You know what? You’re first fix, (my muse on Crete). Wow, “I’m being looked at by who cares, first my soul,” (ditto).
If we couldn’t get help in those eat up with it times, all would be lost. The help in a fallen state takes on another character, though, more like a rescue or one attempted. It was in the late ‘90’s, Mexico, and I was lost in it, that being what we talk about. I had a dream of being in a university math class and taking an exam I could not make heads nor tails of, way beyond my math level. I did what I could and turned it in and left the classroom, turning as I walked out the door, which was to the outside and into the night, and seeing a line of students in front of the professor’s podium seeking help. Standing behind the podium was Sri Aurobindo, and I was so surprised to see him, but I hung my head because I thought he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me, not lucid in the dream and so not realizing he was there for me to begin with, and as I looked at him he looked at me and told me inside my head, “You can come to me and ask for help.” Upon awakening, I asked for his help, and in the next few days was able to rather easily make a beachhead towards the dry land of sadhana. I wasn’t clear enough to get anything more from him than that, in his presence that is, but that was no small thing in itself.
No with an august son too old.
That’s today ridin’.
You need to meet the world in its panties.
I’ve said a revolution
in all the externals
of taking that child out of sexual harm.
And we’re finished.
Oh my God the parade,
it’s the moment of death.
That’s hell,
although her Mother
takes her out of the passage
and holds her from harm.
A Zen master has slapped him over the head—
instant enlightenment.
You’ve seen the catalyst,
every face in the crowd.
Bob Fisher,
are you only up there in your circle?
It’s everything they got.
Another mind comin’.
Where is the mountain Earth presides?
He’s on that farm,
whatever you say
Spyrock Mountain.
Toughest scenes of America,
in the oil to fix it right.
You don’t know how to stop this.
You don’t even know how to pray.
I have the whole nine yards
so you can see it.
Don’t even pick up a pencil
to have me join you.
How can you stay intact?
Oh my God the muse.
My Mother can’t swift past these places.
That’s the freeway.
Are you there?
(today’s muse)
You wonder where the Mother is in this narrative, or in my dreams. My muse keeps talking about her. Although it deserves a story in itself, a paragraph is all I can give it now, and that is that I lived in Montreal for five months in 1999, and during that time I spent a wet summer sneak camping high on the mountain the city’s named after in a little hidden crevice not big enough to stay dry in. I felt so forlorn, really suffered from the elements there, from society’s cold. One night I dreamed that I lived in a small close-knit Quebecois community in the countryside, one of those strange kind of dreams that seem to last for days or weeks but that only last a few minutes as you lie there sleeping. We all lived in a very large, old fashioned, country house that had a wide wooden, roofed porch running around all four sides of it. I began to have feelings for a young woman there, and, although nothing was said, everyone was very glad to see me attracted to a woman, as they knew I liked little boys, although I wasn’t involved with any there. We were together around the house, and as the time went by my feelings grew, until I’d fallen in love and wanted to make love with her. She had the same feelings. This was okay with everybody. One evening we were on the porch, at the back of the house, just the two of us, and I knew it was time. I took her in my arms and kissed her, and when we pulled away she turned into the Mother, who, I realized, becoming lucid, she’d been all along. She smiled at me so sweetly, and there was nothing uncomfortable about being in her arms or having been about to have sex with her. Just off the top of my head I began to ask her about Heaven, but then I began to tell her about it, as though I were remembering being there, how in Heaven there was no danger, but you could still have adventures, the kind that could get you killed here, like freezing to death out unprotected in the snow and ice of winter. It wasn’t at all like we thought I told her; the people of Heaven were adventurers that needed not to hug the limits to feel safe. They tested everything except wrong, which doesn’t exist there.
You would wonder whether in that dream the Mother was exploring a possibility, conducting an experiment, and that was to surface my attraction to women, which comes up in dream sometimes, and so I know it’s there. After the dream I half expected there to be a woman show up in my life, one that I could become attracted to, but that didn’t happen. I realized that it was right on the brink of having sex she revealed herself, and so I don’t think she was trying to get me to have sex with women. (Our yoga calls for being brahmachari.) She was moving me towards normal, whatever else she may have been doing, and the whole time in Montreal my sadhana was unclouded by boys, thanks partly to this dream. It was a high time. It was a real time. And it bore fruit, but unfortunately I’ve lost the five songs I wrote on the guitar with a talented Quebecois boy (18), which we sung on the streets and for our dinner in places here and there. Interestingly enough, the person checking people at the door of the dining hall of the Sri Aurobindo Center would not let us sing there, would not even let us sing a song to him to show him it had our yoga written all over it. Ain’t that the way it always is with officialdom? Here’s a snatch of one: “Do you remember Heaven? I remember Heaven, and I remember you. We were there together, everyone there is…” That dream triggered memories. Well, do you remember?
A couple of days after Christmas Irmgard kicked me out, by telling me I needed to find another place to stay, not rudely showing me the door. I was not prepared for that event, as I had no place to go but back to Matala, but I knew she was about to because I’d gotten in her face and just yelled my damn fool head some days before, over some of her bullshit, and so I showed her mine. I’d also had a prevision of her telling me to go, very different than it actually happened, her in her doorway thanking me for living there, as I’ve shown earlier. The muse does not show the surface of things and their appearance but what’s actually going on on the inside. We’d had the argument before Christmas, and she waited until after to ask me to leave, and I say this to show she was more conscientious than the picture I’m painting of her. It seems also that she allowed me to stay until I had another place to stay, which, if I’m interpreting my muse notebook properly, was over two weeks from the time she asked me to leave, although, as I remember it, she asked me to go pronto. Either way, I really tried not to react and thought I hadn’t very much, but my muse corrected my vision: “Water inside, pools as well,” a line that came soon after getting the news. In any event, what else could I do but girded up my loins and go look for a new place to stay. I didn’t see it at the time, but this was a test, as my muse had warned me that an exam was coming. A test of what? Oh world touch do you sting? If ouch is the answer, you didn’t exactly pass.
Do you know what a world wave is? ? It usually doesn’t have a stinger, unless you’ve been fooled. When you’re adventure traveling you learn to recognize and to ride things in motion that take you where you need to go, although it can also be a stationary sign that has your sequent numbers on it or some event you witness that casts its sign spell on you. I can’t really describe one, because each one is unique and different from every other one, but they do have common characteristics: look for something in movement that does not belong there, that stands out, that’s strange, or, as I’ve said, look for your numbers or a sign. It’s more than these things, different actually than I can describe it, but you know one when you see it if you’ve got the eye for it. They often come by very fast though, and so you don’t usually have time to ponder. You have to jump on and ride, and if it doesn’t take you to shore, peters out after only a little ways, then you just have to go out again where the waves are and wait for another one, like you do surfing.
Kamilari was where I knew the waves were, just instinctively, or intuitively I’d be better saying, and so I walked to the village, and when I got to the edge of it, which was the bottom of a steep hill, I saw a young woman with dreadlocks walking up into town. She wasn’t from there, did not belong. She was definitely different and in motion. I hopped on that wave and followed her up the winding way to top and to the general store that catered to off islanders, where she turned around and asked me if I were following her. “Pardon me,” I told her, “but I saw you and followed you because I’d just lost my place to stay,” and then I explained briefly my strategy of following something or someone different so to get where I need to go, which in this case was a new place to stay. She just looked at me a moment without speaking, a big surprised look in her eyes. Then she told me it just so happened that her and her friend had been cabin sitting not far out of town, but they had to leave on the 15th (of January 2003), two months early (two weeks from now in the story), and so could not fulfill their commitment, which entailed watering the garden and hillside full of saplings of an Austrian man named Thomas, and there was no reason why it couldn’t be me living there, if I’d take care of the garden and trees. Amazing really, the whole thing she said.
Well folks, here we are again with a magic show, and there is nothing up my sleeve, no tricks I’m playing. In other words, I’m not lying. The island made that magic happen. If you remember, “was chosen Don.” You can attribute it to other agency if you want, but to attribute it to random chance, you’re not facing reality. “Everybody tells me the same thing: there’s a knowledge we call the unknown. Are you looking at it?” (my muse today)
The cabin was on the ridge that had its back to the village and it outskirts, a klick or so from Irmgard’s place, with no other significant buildings in sight except for the ruins of Festos on the next ridge over. It was just perfect, a single-room wooden cabin, quite small, but with a bed, that took up most of it, and a desk and chair by the only window, just right for a writer. “You’ve got some good books here,” [vision of telling this to Thomas, the owner of the cabin, whom I never saw]. There was a small table in a corner opposite the bed just big enough for an altar of things, and I would sail that ship. A car port-like porch not big enough for a car, and with a dirt floor, a bench by the door, provided a sitting spot for me in the evenings, no real view though from there with the owner’s saplings standing all around. The cabin was slightly underground, about a half meter, and the door was thick and strong, the kind that made a complete seal on closing. I didn’t understand at the time that seal wasn’t to keep people out but field mice. I would come to. Did you know that animal species have a representative, sum total spirit that helps protect them, watches out for their welfare? It’s not animism. It’s another face on reality. I’ll show you in the next chapter.
His appointment on the right side said,
“man, you look terrible.”
Vision on my right side said,
“bell recipe for bell-shaped cookies.”
Lived off the phone.
Maybe gramps would like a tablet?
Palace in bed.
It’s okay,
I would Excellency children.
Let’s get in those bed sheets.
She was just so code in line,
a local construct.
Truth conscious
make no mistake about it.
Angelo please,
pay attention.
I’ve got a family to raise.
I wouldn’t want your danger around my kids;
speak for the whole human race.
Is that your juncture?
I’m the postman.
Look on my face I’m the human race,
and I’m a moment of its desire. [this and above line came on Crete]
Just shoot ‘im.
No one would crown him king.
United States
I know that.
Is James going to sleep?
He’s just in time for Minecraft.
Vámonos,
that’s a horn baby.
You’re bein’ robbed of reality.
You think it’s benign.
You’re in the basement a lot.
A lot of things get revealed.
It’s what I tell you of,
not the good things the bad things.
Injure your life I buy you a uniform.
A vampire,
that game is not your friend.
Swallow, okay now swallow.
To rearrange the cosmic structure of the Gods,
but let’s just see
what theirs
and what belongs to a higher order.
I decided not to
shoot certain people.
At the amusement park,
I’ll be right back.
The Gods, all their costumes, only That.
Over an overmental plane to reach, [this and above line came in 2002]
to live beyond.
You want to be here for the truth or not?
Let’s shave off our heads
and operate on enlightenment.
We go there first.
It’s how we get to Supermind.
It’s our vehicle down the road.
There’s a movement in time.
That’s our bigness wheel.
Paper that please.
He used an idea swing rhythm.
Star on me later.
I’ll see jah in the mornin’.
Are you bottom toy?
That’s not here.
You’re language.
You’re sure used up.
Mithun,
a word of caution.
You look correct.
Do you have pain on one side?—
yes pain.
Today was drawing.
Put the opening there,
not on your success in sadhana.
How can I show you its face?
I don’t think you understand the implications of love.
I’ve gotta go feed Luna.
Look, the Gods actually exist,
whom Sandia says are nothing.
I’ve had years of continual, actual experience with.
I’m a pro player.
I don’t want to throw them out,
but we’re getting bigger than them.
They tell us how to do things,
just show us.
They can’t actually do it.
Did you know we are the Gods on Earth?
We have things to do they don’t.
We’re getting beyond civilization.
They were a beginning book.
I can’t stress this enough.
We’re gonna rise to Supermind
in the long road that times lays,
and so it’s under its light we will grow,
and I think the Gods help us,
but they aren’t our worship magnets.
We don’t cling to them.
We continue with civilization
on up the ladder.
Can I blow you away?
Are you gonna come and persecute me?
Are you just gonna sit there and laugh?
This is in the works.
It will get into our picture books.
I’m just tellin’ you about it now.
You think I’m crazy,
or what the Devil told me to say.
Okay we got gardener here,
and why not start with unwieldy disease?
You can’t heal it.
You have punishment to servitude.
You don’t know the system.
It’s horrible,
punishment to human beings.
Let’s get out of it shall we,
and start a new race,
one not founded on time.
It could only be done one step at a time,
over long, slow years.
I’m the first cut,
in that I reach you in practical terms.
I’m not theory device.
Can we go to truth with this?
Not as a guru as a science.
I’m not a name for you to use
to call God.
I’m an example of holding change.
I doubt you’d love me,
but here I am
all over you.
What’s the word?
Incredible
that you’d kill it.
It will flower
in the future.
You just can’t run from it.
I’m a new theme takes time.
I’m also a disciple not a railroad.
You think this is my word?
You’ve seen my paper.
The Mother and Sri Aurobindo are my teachers.
I would not worship God them,
but they are the light of my eyes.
I’m learning obedience not stardom.
Mugu and Romiya
can’t lift their finger.
You ever see them work?
And we’re still standing here
wonderin’ what all the principle’s about.
I am not a holiday season.
I work like my teacher says to.
This is just awful
sometimes,
cookin’, cleanin’, managin’ a house
and writing to you.
Ever I’ve got irons on the fire.
You hear this muse?
Excruciating concentration.
I lose sleep over it.
Will you just leave me alone?
My teacher says no.
This is heavy business
and still livin’ all normal-like.
What can you do?
Meet me on the stairs.
I may have something for you
in its practical arm.
Now I’m on the road for sure
to your coffee table.
Don’t ignore me.
I’m really there with you don’t you see?
It’s really easy.
Do you think there might be a difference
between reality as it is and reality as we study it?
The social construct
eliminates errors.
Social reality
won’t let us see the truth.
I think you see the choices.
How do we get to reality as it is?
I’ve found a way.
I’m showin’ it to yah now.
Wow, would you look at that?
To Be Continued
© 2021 (although I’d probably give permission for you to use the material on your site if you just ask, but please ask)
The Unknown in Perspective 