Calling All Cars Just to Say Hello, Part 5

(You’d Have to let Me In)

Our family Christmas. “Somewhere explained… What is it? Your family rose by the sea,” (my muse today)

Star Dusted Travel Material’s Roar

Can I interest you in some free speech?
And what would
come out and shake you?
There we lay on our stomach
the feeling that you can trust the world,
the vulnerability of this moment.
I have performed all absolutions I assure you,
[sound vision of the first bar of music from the song “Heart of Gold”]
searchin’ for a heart of gold. [Heard sung by Neil Young]

Can I talk to you a minute?
Alright, two hours.
What will I’m done?
I’m freewill.
You choose your answers.
I’m beginning to lose hope—
civilization stopper.
There are possibilities of deity we will never
process our denial of,
understand.
I’m that book.
Creative ideas they explore,
a human interceptor.
That’s what you’re not prepared for:
Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer, [heard sung]
some even say it’s me.

Bear/bare the root, [both meanings intended]
name occurring ice cream of shifting Heaven
in this alphabet paper.
Can you hear from every one?
I can handle it,
the name of the root.
A harmony speaker,
I consider everybody.
Please believe me let me go. [heard sung by Engelbert Humperdinck to the tune of the line “Please believe me let me go” in the song “Release Me”]
You hear this spoken on the inside?
You know who I am.
I’m hearin’ voices.
That’s my mother.
She gets it finger lickin’ good.
You can get ‘er
where she will
be the divine mother come make coffee.

Let’s paper some opposition first.
They come in black upon black,
try to evoke a world.
It doesn’t work.
This is what we’re just seeing:
you gotta get out of sex,
a previous lesson
on the smorgasbord.
We go further.
We stabilize the time.
Have you ever seen this in dollar bills?

They came over to conservative time:
all these drawing features into a mask.
Are we on the wrong railroad?
You’re in the heels of today,
the planet asura.
Though no one had talked,
you’re on in June 75 years after his passing:
there in the front row,
we danced on Covid wings.
Stew rules of order.
Do you know what that means?
Your control is a tiny asura
on you.
How many think they fall?
Law and order,
all these demons ride the shotgun.
Are you sure you know God’s cause?

Diogenes bathe this
in the wrong he-note.
He hailed balloons.
Was the bathtub a gimmick or artifice?
Would you move?
You’re blockin’ the sun.
We capitalize him.
I don’t know why.
Diogenes is seated at the back of the classroom
cracking jokes.
And it continued being a spectacle,
using his own body or whatever
to argue a point.
Why is he in our history books?
Because he put down deity.
We look at him buddies with us.
We don’t believe in mythology.
What truth they show eludes us.
And do we value truth?
One of her values,
isn’t she Mrs. Bathtub?
And threw him out with the bathwater.

He was just a gimmick.
Take your late off.
This is a truth-thought too big for you:
we cannot stop the land.
We can just stand there and gawk at it.
The land is this naked circle I’m in with you,
the land of a universe.
We want so much to follow its process.
We’re unwired to see it.
We’re not prepared to see it.
Would you say it’s there.
What’s this startup?
Do you see reality?
Are you a handmaid’s tale,
tryin’ not to be fucked too tight?
And where do you come home for sin,
in somebody else’s garden?
They don’t like you.

Do I finally introduce myself?
I’m your bogeyman.
Damn, that’s tough.
Did someone say hi?
Who comes in but that conscious flash of ego?
Who comes in but that conscious world of echo? [this line to verse end from Civilization and the Art of Terror]
All at once from the hazard will come echo.
Deep thought thought spaces apparition,
a dull, flat sound in the inner ear.
He’s my trouble when I write.
Garry asked the name of the man.
Covlet Pounceland.
The inner workings can be overwhelming:
the mixed mystery book also.
Monster games,
smarter than I am.
Paint it over it [one ‘it’ was seen on top of ‘over’]
Slip it in place,
slip it ugly in place.
Go on he took firsthand experience.
Upon hearing monsters,
now they’re carrying in their voice Sunday.
To set something very close to the Mother’s pronunciation.
Sometimes they masquerade as God himself.

I’m stickin’ to you. [heard sung by Cher, song “Believe” to tune of line “There’s no talking to you”]
That’s two toilet.
Would you believe Disney does it?
In a Hostile Power movie.
Their ideas in there.
How would you influence the Earth? [this line and five preceding came today]
The dog’s gonna bark. [this line on down from Civilization and the Art of Terror]
You establish a dress code in these places that reveal them or they.
One hundred voices,
one hears the voice that reforms.
How can you tell the spiritual visions?
Gold seeings,
if they luster,
if they have strength.
Sentences back to you with a warm feeling.

Dhina Kittypuss is missin’.
Just let her get to the other side,
where my room is.
I’m shoveling them.
My friend washing machine,
someone I can touch to touch Lisa,
and Luna I love you too.
Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’,
and we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive. [this and above line heard sung by The Bee Gees]
You’re my dog.
From the time you were in your mother’s womb
I have shaped you.
You have so much soul carrying you.
We’re opening up
so you can be with me
where my dog is
where time meets life.
This is a soul order.
It’s what reality is made of,
evolution of soul.
This is the grand design.
It’s what holds us all together.
It’s the underpinnings of reality.
We’re a soul purpose.
We are not just watching TV.
Oh Luna baby,
that’s the wonderful news.
Beautiful, ain’t it?

The largeness of his soul he doesn’t understand.
No things she wanted mystic of sharp and clear.
Your soul is inside the heart and is not only it is home.
How far does the soul reach?
How long has one been calling to the reach of it?
Longevity of the soul,
immortality before I was born.
These words fall off the limits of the soul. [the lines to here in this verse from The Inspired Word]
It’s a timetable now.
It’s everywhere we look.
It’s right here right now.
It’s our broadcast.

Lisa Joy Rottweiler, photo by Kamesh

Dogs are scared to look at themselves.
That’s a production.
It’s the five fingers,
the only way to unify them.
All this almost holds their ears.
A hand grasp
a mind grasp.
You would have to be there to find out.
Lisa got almost there.
Her paws got in the way,
but she’s come to me
where awareness meets person.
I knew her gaze.

Unfortunately she died.
She was killed
by the vet.
Get out of here.
She’s not a loved one.
Oh man,
just waste
I bought you
proof that dreams guide life.
I’m not going to like him.
You’re not going to like him.
Hi Lisa.
Gonna blow up
you had,
you had in your pocket,
make my rainy day. [heard sung by Madonna]
Oh the good guy
when you view yourself.
You need a short mystical breath.

Lisa’s on your table doc.
Now repeat after me:
she’s a soul;
she’s magnificent;
she’s becoming a human soul.
That’s what this is all about.
That’s what this relationship is all about.
Now they become souls,
so you can see their worth.
I already have.
I just can’t express this to you.
A for joy written,
it’s not getting you a pregnant.
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed. [heard sung by Gordon Lightfoot]
I will be here to see it.

“Lisa in My Self-Portrait”, taken with a Nikon FM 2, black and white, self-developed

Including the universe
in this limited self-scope here.
Today’s not so rough.
There’s a frog.
It has hugged our relationships to feel safe.
You hear me Kreta?
Where the love of God goes. [heard sung by Gordon Lightfoot]
Where the love of God grows.
I want to give something,
my whole practical life.
I can only manage pieces,
but you see it’s not been your average sit in the sun.
I am living in a material world and I am a material girl. [heard sung by Madonna, as is]
Look at all the horses
said detail.
L-o-o-k,
see Venom
starrin’ at the movies.
I’m not that guy.

On a slow chogin floats yah,
we’re gonna make it outta here.
And it’s got potential,
my life to be a surprise.
I drew home.
No it wasn’t
a nonmaterial home.
Home is the consciousness goes to home plate.
That’s it for awhile,
the ground of enlightenment.
Through there to Supermind.

On a soul gonna rise,
what we haven’t figured out yet,
the soul’s journey in all of this.
Although mentioned in every textbook,
can you find a soul keeper?
What do we say about the human soul?
The human soul,
do you know what that means?
Razed/raised in an incarnation. [both meanings intended]
It’s asleep at first.
It gathers its field regard.
It’s a journey towards the sun.
What wakes it out of its stupor?
The constant rain of life.
Gonna be a hot water though,
society hates you.
Alright everybody see my ship,
how I’m gonna get up here:
the open mic poetry speaker.
I didn’t laugh into man’s terms.
I was allowed.
Sometimes truth has a microphone.
Sends it also his way. [this and three above lines came on Crete]

Callin’ all cars,
help buddy help.
We’re askin’
you to let me in.
This is a most basic plea,
where need meets life.
Is that so hard to figure/fathom? [words spoken simultaneously]
I’m not tellin’ you I’m king,
anything that you need to bow down to.
Will you just accept me please
as a human being in your midst,
as a person you speak to
and not to get out of the house.

Am I alright?
What are my hands death?
Where am I alive?
I’m not going to hurt anybody, okay?
I know their boundaries.
I know where harm comes in,
right there in reality.
It’s not a social construct.
My phone,
we’re here for a long time.
We’re right off the bat
a son of gun.
I’m not melting please.
I’m right on top of the opera,
every bit as real as you,
right where harmony meets life.
It’s not a to go basket.
It’s how I put on my underwear.
I am for real folks,
and I touch you with the real.
Don’t just turn me into water.

Be a land unto your people
Mr. and Ms. Society please.
I don’t think you would turn any of us away.
We all have stakes in you.
Don’t exploit us,
and keep us out of outcast.
Is that so simple to understand?
I think the ages ride on it,
how worth means to each of us,
despite we know it’s a social construct.
Come on people now, [heard sung by the Youngbloods]
let us all take joy in life
I love you.

Good advice,
I don’t trust the ingredients.
To progress,
I came to do progress.
You need us all important,
take action together,
and no one’s worthless.
I can’t tell you how much better society that make us.
It’s how we solve our problems,
how we come together.
And that’s bill.
We have to learn to love each other.
This is not easy.
This is not overnight.
I hold up my arm to show you
the boundary.
I’ve been put in the most difficult position you see.
Don’t just slap me and move on.

George are you kicking me out?
That’s Shakespeare and Company.
You know I’m a writer.
You’re a property owner,
a most hateful man,
so horribly mean,
and everybody respects you.
Why?
You know the literary lists buy books,
and you have a horse and chariot there,
a hands down good bookstore.
He’s a pocketbook.
He’s such a cad.
You can see
he’s heavy nose point five,
a real stick in the mud,
but you’re going to talk to him
to get him on our side,
belly rubbin’ dogs with me.

Luna’s beside me on the bed,
and I just reached over and found belly.
She’s holding it up for me,
a warmth blanket.
She got to sleep here tonight.
Oh I love this receptacle
for how I hold the world,
one doggy paw at a time,
and Lisa I love you.
Time to do some hocus pocus
and right you for your next read,
The Call of the Wild.
It’s a round your turn transition
to become a line unto yourself,
to cast off Earth’s cares.
We’ll come down at dawn together,
where Heaven meets life.
It’s our relationship’s wings,
and I’ll meet you there in a field by the sea.
We have a life together
on the other side.
Pace yourself puppy dog,
I’m comin’.
I’m almost there.

I don’t even know how to disrupt the system.
This is not on my paper.
I’m not stagin’ a protest.
My aim is fundamental change.
I’m not bleeding fundamental change.
These ideas will come around for sure.
Even without cultural relativism,
we’d still look for truth.
We meet reality at its face,
at its processing board,
don’t impose our theories on it.
Now I’m a local speaker.
I’ve faced reality this way,
stirred up these directions.
We look at the same directions.
We live in the same reality,
irrespective of cultural wares.
Do I only show you this?
I think reality does too
you see it inside and outside,
and I’m showin’ yah what inside means,
even if you don’t see it.
We make an opening to a larger day.
It’s all around us you see,
everywhere you look.
Can you see it?

Come here dog.
I don’t think we’re the only ones lookin’ down this barrel.
It’s enough to see ourselves.
You’re not seein’ reality.
Cats and dogs livin’ together,
we’ve said it a million times:
on Earth we share the land
with everything under the sun.
Even in animal hierarchies,
we can give to song and rule
what needs to happen
to meet the needs of soul.

Seeing help with these blog posts,
no one would still see them.
Let go,
and I’m talkin’ to you.
Here’s another one for the railroad.
Any of you come and see this,
that’s what’s going to.
Bring me this water before you go:
this is her birthday,
the story of broken book.
Who are you callin’ little?
I’m all in your head.

Consider Anwar Sadat.
Was he a brilliant statesman?
He was someone we all need,
a go getter,
a large man of peace.
What did he have up his sleeve?
The Arab-Israeli peace process.
You know he moved in.
What did he do with the Israelis?
I think he managed them,
was not at their beck and call.
He had large eyes for world peace.
He gave it a shot.
You want that?
You can’t have it
a politician—
the traditional wisdom.
Enlightenment please—
he knew something religious attainable.
You couldn’t try to.
Well, you could try to,
but you’d have to throw everything out the window
and still control the majority.
They killed him
over a young woman,
the Arab League—
you ain’t gonna finish
bein’ a separate Arab nation.
Calling all books,
calling all books,
that was all avoidable.
வணக்கம்,
that first place in life
people found enlightenment.
Could even be where he put his hat,
even presidents and kings.
I’ll find a job for you
in better places than an assassination’s bullet.

I’m gonna go there.
I’m gonna go there that’s just a little while. [vision of Lisa jumping up on the bed where I am now and shaking her body to be petted, quite happy and clear]
I just saw Lisa.
The world’s problems gonna be your table.
How to enlightenment,
it seems rich with vocabulary,
a Spartan idea.
The lights go down.
It’s open till eleven o’clock,
sweating blood,
like what we call art.

All that is valuable in the art world is the entertainment.
It does not reveal the world.
You fettered people.
You can’t even make a simple drawing
we mean stand for the soul.
They return to a small Bavarian farm.
Oh bro,
that was critical mass.
Hitler had it comin’:
maybe learned
the representative nature of art.
Nobody would let him in
the academy of art
started World War Two,
not in Japan in Germany.
Art you field mice,
exactly being
excited about
how you hopple these lives.

Great spiritual movements, [heard whispered]
you’re just like, now,
as a joke.
Needed it
but didn’t know how to cross it with reality.
That boy’s nothing,
not old enough for tomorrow.
They come,
spiritual migration,
people flocking to your path.
They have combinate publish,
like whistleblower
number one.
I, I know.
We’re not calling you doctor.
You know what you’re talking about.
We’re calling you actor in the field.
Don’t forget
this label.
You know that’s the magic show.
In the world of show business,
you’re bringin’ in all these arrow treasures.
That’s so in for you.
That’s what keeps your spirit alive.

I’m gonna take you on a journey to what needs light [heard sung by Madonna, “Material Girl”, to the tune of the line, “If they don’t give me proper credit I just walk away.”]
sleepin’ beauty.
Can we say that’s your department?
Not always.
I’m gonna show you the key to the whole thing.
Are you awake/aware? [words spoken simultaneously]
I don’t care how big it is.
Field mice
might be the delay bottle.
Can you notice things
with the arm of your consciousness?
How deeply do you see inside?
Have you seen the bottom?
Have you seen what’s under there?
It’s in the
Void the whole universe.
Touch bottom and see.
You know Kittypuss sunk close.
Wild with claustrophobic fear,
I fell in at four.
It razed my mind/head. [words spoken simultaneously]
Insanity alone terror
consumed the fibers of my being.
An insanity put me there,
the demon behind my life.
My mom drew me there
sucking the existence out of me.
Diaper change and bath time
had got me to it
since birth.
At four I took the plunge,
old enough to really revel in my mom’s sucking,
scared to death she would eat me alive.
I’m sorry.
You don’t know the microcosm
of what all this means:

The Baby’s Broken Book,
pre-googoo and pre-gaga speak out.
Set up falsehood with a baby net.
Everything we’ve had to make allowances for,
in some blind fashion you know.
A very simple answer to that:
to quit blindness but to face the darkness.
Dream of being at nature bottom’s secret,
and no one was watching the woman.
They’re usually not delicate enough creatures to see they abuse.
It has to do with a baby’s stuff,
the personal stuff,
the passionate stuff
that robs a baby blind.
Heating baby’s bathwater,
and they used all these emotions of their hand.
She can stop.
She doesn’t have to undress her hope.
Babies continue bathwater.
I attend this baby.
For that reason my soul came down.
Do you think the emotional bonds of each mother call their child?
No in most cases I’d imagine by a mother whose heights were in her baby.
Upon a baby step.
A baby needs took good care of.
I’m just a kid with a fat little face.
They’re just infant children.
Originally dressed in a pink nude,
there’s good or bad,
test or fire,
in every sweet thing.
Nursing the lamb,
yet fragrance with the lamb it would reveal
and bring Mary a secret, sacrifice closeness.
Each one of you has the time.
I am looking at a childhood’s issues concerning the mother’s part.

Set up a family,
and the first provisional daylight comes in congress.
We rearrange the floor,
all because of you. [this and above line came today]
What is a good father in his earned purpose?
God floats around the chin of men.
Could not keep together what it had promised originally.
Set up a new map of the father.
Will gender suit the future man?
We have to return to that we truly are masculine-feminine.
Me, I don’t spend enough time in the woman’s section.
A righteous prove of leader,
a real human being,
the feminine-masculine is the order of the reverse,
needed for first comings.
Parents as a whole get to their children,
masculine and feminine,
mommy and daddy.
The burning child,
no one reaches his will.
When combined dressed,
knowledge maintained.
Small child’s world,
body bear’s little body,
fragile little buds,
strong innocence,
cheep innocence.
Dressing secrets.
They need constant maintenance in their bodies.
He’s five and has to take everything off to pee.
Little ones,
they look up at you.
Our carpet kids—
I sit on him.
He carries me.
Tell me what to do, okay?
From the moment you touch you instruct.
The fondling hand,
a sudden lost hand.
The touching in these parts,
it’s a person’s stronghold.
A very good on that sets up a right relationship between right and wrong.
Life needed strongholds
in our raiment in thought.
Mom, don’t pinch me on the butt please.
You’re not welcome to do so.
‘Cause he continually tries to cast things out,
a cunning way to inherent militancy.
What hand to the flower I’ve been playing with,
hand to the flame.
She’s so much clearer now soldier of fortune.
Like a good snake she bit down.
These are the takes that shake our humanity even.
They were the soul of Hitler itself.
Such weirdness conceals identity,
any kind of silence violence.
For a lot of things a parent does—
the way they manifest.
Born with an evil that forms,
and a much greater sense of wrong than we give them credit for having,
it needs in its development something from the Light.
To love God originally had to love itself.
We still hit our children,
oh the population down.
Kid mocked and other crimes,
does the child feel welcome at home?
We have a problem.
It seems a message took prisoner of what we thought was right.
Lustered a child,
cariño maintained rightly and lovingly.
A united child perspective:
all I want from you is your soul to be your solstice too.
I’m looking at God growing up.
Upbringing the world on one knee.
Do we have to lose innocence?
Do we have to though?
The way adults do things,
before, during, and after,
you can leave the way behind.
My son’s climbing mind my sun climbing mind.
Carry a kid carry a king.
The sweetness of a child’s day.
Where are the children?
in the pool yard in plenty.

(the two above verses from Civilization and the Art of Terror)

Why am I preaching to you?
We haven’t gotten out of the Void yet.
It was a deliberate act of defiance.
The dog-dragon wanted to eat
the joy of child kill,
giving the pleasure of the worst pain imaginable:
set upon by the sum total of all fear,
ravishment by the Void.
In a moment I was rescued
by those
beings that watch the Earth.
They heard my screams.
No one is allowed into the Void,
unless it under the King’s business.
Can I tell you it’s a stopping point?
Existence must save itself in there.
Carlos Castaneda,
go through all his books,
dream theater
to sample the Void on you.
Now you’ll flock to them.
Knowledge is not your friend
in those books.

That warms back your entire army.
What does he say?
Beings rescue you
that have suns for heads.
To the principal’s office—
I’ve got a little boy
that will not behave.
I tested everything
I could get my hands on.
I was whupped and I was whupped.
Society has a big stick.
It has this written everywhere.
Oh my God it’s mean.
Where do I pass the buck?
Right in his butt
or on his shard,
suckin’ on for dear life.
I just love little boys.
Society’s rules?
Knock it off.
Society is so tiny
it’s unbelievable.

A consciousness open to the sun
would rectify this.
That’s an opening God made,
and it’s not gonna be your standard procedure.
Why suddenly
everybody’s lookin’ at me?
What abouts you sick?
I am not just a change room.
I’m the reason we do it.
I hold them both open for you to see.
I’m aware on consciousness,
been opened like a fountain,
can really get it up, you know?

Now let’s count cars.
I’ve given you more than you can see.
This is just intensity,
and you think your world smarts?
I have to summon yah
to an open consciousness
so you can see the world
to open it
to where our kids go to school,
because they’re a disciple
of the honest to God truth.
Thank you so much.
Donny separates toys.
No please don’t do that.
Take them.

I found everything on Earth so sure under the sun
sadhana meets the material Earth.
This is dry season.
A driver’s on the education,
until you figure out what to do with cauliflower.
What time you gonna get in?
Just leave him, huh?
A healing of hell.

Weightless chain,
it would be like hand to the joy.
Now pet your dog.
If the joy no longer prevented us.
This is emancipation folks.
Found this on love.
Great, I’m pregnant with the sun.
Our Donny Duke,
he doesn’t understand
we have to get out
of laboratories, fishnets,
and a puppy farm.
There means?
A bad place.
Got beautiful down
it’s not a farm it’s a household.
Let’s put beautiful down
and eat our dogs.
Wait a second,
I should be allowed to.
The child of man,
I’m gonna take care of you.
And we take care of our dogs.
Love for all follow me
into the street.
Give some dog
a human hand that takes care of them,
a little on the out,
so they don’t reproduce,
no street dogs left by 20/20.
You see how it’s done?
We love them—
all the way home,
the ones that seem bound to be with us.
It’s their creation’s urge,
be our companion,
wherever we find them in animal rights.

Makin’ progress
to one day include the world
in all of our endeavors,
and we’ve just spoken his name,
Peace On Earth.
Take a little time
bring this round to your house:
you wouldn’t hurt a thing.
That’s where we’re goin’ with this.
I’m not there yet.
Are you?
If you shout and scream at people who do you do
activist.
I don’t think you understand harm:
you put people down,
as you think about them too.
And I’ve just said the ballgame
findin’ harm’s end.

The substance found their religion.
It gave them keys.
They acted upon them.
And here we are,
the substance of a great material.
Can you find that material?

Ordinary nature,
in this man is not satisfied or not satisfied for long.
There’s this big research to wake humanity.
You either get evolved or you don’t.
It’s as simple as that.
You had to be one of the getters.
It’s one of the main questions on the other side.
What you look for at this moment,
it matters what you do.
There’s a spiritual seeking or hate seeking.
Not to take a mystical outlook on mystical things,
take a physical outlook on mystical things,
outside where the inside glory resides.
There’s immaculate beliefs.
Not only faith but the belief that something spiritual is indeed higher.
It’s belief on a substance makes me able to know God was real.
It’s belief on a substance makes the line real.
It’s belief on a substance detonation of a great material came.
Who was going to blow themselves up?

(the above verse from Civilization and the Art of Terror)

You’ve never looked at shapes?
It’s here before/behind you. [words spoken simultaneously]
It’s the origin of the word.
Almost Don didn’t work.
Then he saw it then he did:
every room is made for God.
You can’t gather Him in words.
The speakers tell the system.
We’re not into echoes,
but we like genuine sound.
Baby I love you. [heard sung by Andy Kim]
And that’s God.
Exploited no,
we are his handyman.
Hey weirdo,
mind your own business.
But Super-reality has spoken to you.
You just gonna bark?
Na, na, na, na, na, na, na. [heard sung by ibid]

A gardener in your handyman.
What he did in 1983 was join the leaders
that gave nuclear power its score.
An atom bomb mission
in the Green Berets
rewrote his perspective on the world.
You can’t buy that in shops.
Look at tomorrow,
how this had a rendezvous in his dreams.
Oh, you’re his blueprints,
Earth and her fate.
Of course
I’m sorry.
He parachuted against that.

Can you just stop with the negative bullshit?
And we counseled him
so big it looks like this.
He hurts all,
but it’s time for that whole to go through a change. [this and above line came on Crete]
It’s not a rockin’ chair.
How do you turn evil inside out?
Can it ever be addressed in public,
and that’s not to punish someone for their sins?
How do you get to the bottom of evil
and change the hungry man?
Do we tell everybody
we’ve used him as a vehicle of change?

In his forgotten horror,
in his forgotten corner of the world,
he speeds towards destiny.
We account for his book.
We allow him to write it to you.
We put it mark down on Earth
and we reason this to you.
Handle this candle well.
To be given its glory
should you spit on him today.
That’s what this is all about,
inviting redemption.
Now invite it on him.

Weapons to everyone
to hard part reality.
That’s the social cage
reality’s been put in.
You won’t see this in divine masks.
Theirs is the mask of a civilization.
We’re getting bigger than their clothes.
We can stack society upon itself better,
and we don’t have to hurt people.
We use the stars as our condition field think.
We move beyond them in love.
That’s rescue, capture
the lost cattle of the sun.
You should be in the hallmark.
You should be in the ring.
This is fitted to your game
if you can be sincere enough to test it.
I’ve given you challenges.

A spokesman for CNN said:
I’m sorry the library is closed.
It’s all in what you say.
I don’t think brown nose finds answers,
answers you should be getting [line came on Crete]
if you’re still enough.
That’s quickly wrote Steven.
He doesn’t know I’m talkin’ to him.
We were brothers together.
Now ride the horse.
Let’s get on with this mile,
as many investigate my own internal dialogue.
Find out that it’s cold out here
on visible Crete.
And here we are.

(today’s muse)

2003, “almost that year, a history of the moments that passing, I came together,” (lines today). From January 15th to March 15th, I had the cabin cut into the hillside opposite Festos. I had come to it by degrees, like a diver going deeper into the still water way down below. If I had come to it right off the bat, I would not have been able to be a hermit. It’s too quiet just to step off into from the romper room of society, so alone, but of course many have done so, but not so easily I would imagine, whatever they say. Even with my slow acclimation, I was still sometimes almost consumed by a homesickness I hadn’t realized was there until now, and without any vital enjoyments, living the stark life of an ascetic, I spent hours each day roaming the hills, walking my heart out. Despite the depth of life I was living, one lived from the inside out, the inner the main event, there was seldom a hint of spiritual feeling in my waking hours, and despite the daily miracle of seeing the inner give rise to the outer, not only in events foretold coming to pass, which, when you receive muse and can interpret your dreams, is as common as the day is long, but also in the way the land looked, a hue upon it as though it were wet from birth, the hills glistening with their inner arrival, I was forlorn, felt the pain you cannot name that is all the more painful because you cannot do so, because it had to do not only with being homesick for country and kin. I was homesick for that nameless unknown the word home only gives some vague hint of. And I could not enter the higher consciousness, only make approaches, and the Silence was barred from me also. What was preventing me?

Would you believe the future? It shapes our present too, and that just begs so many questions that I can’t answer. I was a year and a half away from the biggest fall of my life, the lowest sink, and it was coming up in my muse so much I almost saw it. I was blinded by my present, which was showing bright sun, although I couldn’t really feel it. I can’t even tell you of that present because it’s in my past, tell you like I can walk you through the seconds in my shoes, or I can; I’d just have to make a lot up. Although I remember all these cars I’m calling, I only remember the skeleton of the events, and even that I’ve found is faulty when I see what actually took place from my notebooks. During these days on Crete, because I was focused on the inner life more than the outer, when I go over them I remember the dreams and visions better, can fill the memory with myself. Of the outer life I remember that way filled just little scenes, a walk here or sit there, a few steps or minutes, a few boxcars of the train of thought on that expanse, not the whole 1, 2, 3 of the event I’m trying to capture. So my narrative nonfiction of this here adventure travel is dense and has more ideas in it than events, breaking out in short narrative blow by blow bursts of oh, I do remember this. I’m relying on your imagination to fill in the details, for you to walk with me some. We’re walking into the future together, and we’re doing that by walking back into the past. It’ll be clear in time I hope.

A wondrous thing a hermitage, to have the security of society without having to be in it, or not very much, and by security I mean you have the pots and pans of society, it’s building, furniture, clothes, and food, and by not being in it I mean there’s no social structure of people you have to negotiate to get those things, or not very often, in my case, once a week or so. In the army stationed near Boston I visited Walden Pond and there put the wish into myself to one day fulfill of living in one, and one is not easy to get to. I’d come close with the five months I spent in a cabin near Ashland, Oregon, where I told you earlier I first began to hear the muse as an adult—“And I suppose a rose has felt well / all the glory a man might,”—but I was made to be a part time handyman of the farm the cabin sat on, on account of my hippie-look, which didn’t look like a writer to Elizabeth, the owner of Walden Farm and the several times president of the Shakespeare festival in Ashland. The cabin you see was a six week scholarship stay won by writers she chose, which she gave me based on a phone call from a Veteran’s counselor in Eugene, Oregon, who was trying to find me a place to stay for the winter and hit the jackpot. Boy was Elizabeth surprised to see a pair of Donny Dukes show up, figuratively speaking and exaggerating for effect (I obviously wasn’t wearing denim cut-offs), and she was noticeably disappointed. I’m sorry. I don’t want to leave Elizabeth in disappointment. Although she was very conventional, she was that rare person that always tried to do the right thing, could overcome her prejudices and subconscious complexes to at least try, and she adjusted and accepted me on her farm living in her writer’s cabin, read everything I wrote while there, critiqued it, discussed it with me, her view on things too, which was unadventurous, despite being a Christian Scientist, but she never expounded nor even talked much about her beliefs. We talked a lot about what she felt was my extremism, as I was vegan then and had begun vagabonding, what she called being a mendicant pilgrim, what I called being a spiritual pilgrim, and what my society called being homeless (this was in 1997; I’d left normal life in ‘92), but I think that by the time I left I had become a writer in her eyes. I should mention that I fed myself the whole time I was there and had even bought a laptop when I moved in, from my earnings as a Type 2 forest firefighter for an especially busy fire season in Oregon, and so it wasn’t like I was begging at her doorstep. She just didn’t like my lifestyle, and, if the truth be told, it probably had to do with not being comfortable with her pedestrian one. In any event, between her and the farm manager, my social circle took tending to. Needless to say, living in that cabin on Walden Farm was not like living on Walden Pond. It wasn’t a hermitage.

I’ve tried to paint a picture here of God.
What was it describing?
Your South Park.
It won’t be so counselor for tomorrow.
She’s getting squared away.
You’ve heard her in all these degrees.
Only on the outskirts of things
is your representative show.
Found them moving.

Development of theater,
it’s boring when you add infinite.
Okay I found the problem.
You’re all mesmerized by time.
It’s just a bump in the road.
Existence is long cookie.
Can I show you a spiritual experience?
Can I show you what’s going on?

You look at the theater.
As far as hermitages go,
it’s all over time.
It’s bigger than you think.
It’s got the use of time in it.

We will call her into the room.
We will call her into the use of time,
this image of a dog.
We brought her out of herself,
lifted her where eternity was in feature.
This was a story for a dog.

Did it open her kind?
It came upon the range of Dog
in the oneness of Dog.
Her capacity invited her.
It’s started on the wonders of Dog.
Hear me, hear me, hear me:
reaches to the brain
and overhead gun sector.

(today’s muse)

[vision of the dog I fed today coming and jumping up to my bed and touching my finger with its paw] This came a week or so before I left Irmgard’s. Although I knew the dog was making a connection with me, at the time I didn’t realize what it meant, and that she’d become my dog a little while, and that she had inner capacity, but I strongly suspect all dogs and cats do, one of the animal abilities we atrophied when we moved more completely into being human, into what I call the modern human ego that’s been around for some few thousand years, since in the beginnings of the race and for a long time we seem to have had one foot in the outer world and one in the inner. Have you ever considered we have more evolution to go and aren’t yet even fully human? Be that as it may, my muse is peppered with the appearance of Irmgard’s cats in my visions while I stayed at her place, in one instance her yellow tom sitting as pretty as you please next to my altar licking itself—cats you know: “Oh, is this your sacred spot? My importance just cannot be exaggerated.”

The cat was there in his dreambody, just like the dog was there in hers, something there is not yet a whole lot of understanding about: when the actual person’s in our dream or vision (via their dreambody) and when it’s some communication from them or about them, however much at the same time their appearance may also be representative of something our dream theater wants to show us in regards to our person and present life. If you have a cat or dog, or any kind of pet really, and you remember your dreams, chances are they appear in them often, and if you study their appearance, it has more substantiality to it than other dream characters, usually, because humans too, especially your young children, appear in your dreams in their dreambody. They do because they’re very open to us, trust us completely, and they only have a rudimentary ego with its less fixed boundaries, speaking of cats and dogs and wee little kids. We likewise are open to them and let them in, or, as in the case of the tom and the dog I fed, just can’t keep them out. It takes a lot of observation to tell when someone’s actually in our dream and when not, since anyone and any kind of person can be, me-people too, especially they (whom we call animals).

Unfortunately it’s pain that shows this most poignantly. I mentioned before in my writings and need to say a whole lot more that one big reason we don’t hear a lot about clairvoyance and the inner communication between us is because it’s so often on the dark side of things, and we are afraid or embarrassed to show people. In Garberville the family I lived with had a dog, a dark Labrador named Bud. In midlife he got neutered (too late in my opinion), so to keep him home and from carousing, and he suffered greatly from this. I took notice of it and began to comfort him like you would a small child, sitting him in my lap and giving him affection, sitting up in my lap like a child. Some nights he’d come in my room to sleep, and I’d dream of him. I should mention there was no ownership struggle. He was their dog and my friend. I began to suspect he was actually in my dreams, and so I began to closely observe our time in dream together when he slept with me, as well as where he was in relation to me in the bed (a mattress on the floor) when I awoke from a dream with him. One morning at dawn we awoke at the same time, looking into each other’s eyes, and I then knew, and he knew, we were dreaming together.

I suddenly had to leave town, and I didn’t get to see him and say goodbye before I left. About a month later one morning at dawn, I in Houston half of America away, I awoke to him on top of me, sprawled like a child, not like a dog, although he was facing up. I felt his relief upon finally finding me, and it was as though he were saying, “There you are.” He was soaking up my presence, really taking it in, and I felt his pain too upon so suddenly losing me, and I gave him all I could in that magic moment. You know he was there out of the body. I don’t think we are yet aware of the pain of Dog and Cat upon losing us. I hope I’m giving you a strong impression of that, and of their importance in our lives.

Dreams in sequence right after entering the cabin hermitage and subsequent lines of muse:

I was walking on Sagebluff (the street I lived on as a pre-teen and teen) and became lucid. I went slowly up and was taken by the spiral, going very wide and hearing the airplane propeller noise. As the speed increased, I began to lose the dream image and opened my eyes in bed, but the experience continued. I felt the spiral as opposed to flying in it, but I still heard the propeller noise. Then it began to slow, and I saw the image of an airplane console of sorts and the lights indicating an engine shut down. I think this was written. I felt and heard it slowing and shutting down, and I was out of the spiral. I don’t remember exactly what happened next, but I was lucid in another dream slowly rising high in the air over Crete. I saw out of the corner of my eye the dog that’s been taking walks with me, the one who came to my bedside in a vision the other day. Then she was hopping up, trying to get to me but couldn’t do so. I willed her up into my lap, as I was sort of diagonal in the air. Petting and talking to her as we rose I saw my feet were furry dog paws. I began to descend, and a huge walking tree came up, and we went into it. Something happened I don’t remember, but the tree was friendly. Then I was alone and rushing to the ground, but right before impact, a force stopped me, and I landed like a feather. Then in another non-lucid dream I was in a school, and after English class (which I was behind in, but the teacher hadn’t come, so it didn’t matter yet) I went to the lounge area and was working on the longer poem [the poetry part of the cover letter to The Atlantic]. I was putting lines together about war, and a TV above me was showing war images. There were children at the table, but I was so absorbed I ignored them. Then I thought that the adults seeing me, who had never seen me before and only heard I had a thing for children, would think what they heard wasn’t true or an exaggeration. As I thought this there appeared in my hands another page of lines someone had given me that I realized I would have to integrate into the page I just thought I’d finished. As I looked, the pages turned to paper waffles, and the writing was in the slants and hard to see.

A fat burden upon time,
a single potent fruit. [vision of in the distance an orange tree with one orange]
[vision of a magazine rack and the top of The Atlantic visible, in yellow, which I later saw on the Internet, the December issue]
Climbed trees on new heights.

Yes we’ve changed subjects, but before we return to the dog, let me say again, since getting it published is a major theme of this story, that I’ve submitted an epic poem, The Literary Eye, to The Atlantic Monthly, but they have not responded, and it’s been four and half months now. It’s doubtful they ever will, unless of course Calling All Cars Just to Say Hello has them reconsider. The dream seems to be talking about the cover letter to The Atlantic that I wrote while on Crete, what I’ve explained in other parts of this story, which didn’t get finished and submitted, as the poetry I put together from my notebooks and included in the letter was just too much of a task, what with so many new lines coming as I was trying to wrap it up—“Lost in a maze, paper sense,” my muse on the matter. It could also be talking about this present writing, as I’m incorporating new lines with the old, but let’s hope this one doesn’t fall unread into the waffles. The lines after the dream, however, seem to be talking about that epic poem as the potent fruit, prevision I might add, since it would be 20 years before I’d write that fat burden upon time.

I should interpret the vision of the magazine: yellow is a color representing the thinking mind, a universal symbol, and December, or Christmas really, is a personal symbol for my work getting out to the public; a Christmas gift it’d be. Although it doesn’t escape my notice that I’ll be posting this writing that you’re reading right this minute in December—a single potent fruit? Can there be more than one? Whatever the case, is the second vision prevision that The Atlantic will publish the epic poem (the way I’ve explained in part 3 in an endnote), or is it just showing that it, or whatever the fat burden on time is, will get published at some point, The Atlantic only a symbol for the magazine or site that does publish it? One thing’s for sure: they are definitely thinking about it, and whether or not to publish isn’t what’s captured their thought. The Literary Eye has. Has this writing captured yours?

Photo of my feet, Leelow’s paws, and Lucy’s tail

A couple of days after the above dream with the dog, this muse came:

Will never be able to let me go. [vision of being on the old dirt road in Jewett, Texas (Old Durant Road, my favorite boyhood haunt) and surprised to see the dog friend I have here there. Then another vision of pulling the skin away from her belly and writing the line there, but not with my will so much as with hers. I worried she would hurt herself, the area there being so delicate and all. She followed me here to the new place (the cabin) after a walk, and she just stayed. But after following me where I hitchhiked to Mires, she didn’t return here]

A day or so later this dream and subsequent muse:

Dream of the dog being outside, having come back. This seemed to repeat. Then I was at an old couple’s house to receive my daily portion of their leftovers they were giving me (in the dream), and who came up but the dog, inside. Last, the woman brought her out of a room, carrying her on her hip as she was now a very beautiful blond baby boy.

A dog of many choices.
You loved your son, didn’t yah?
And there’ll never, ever be enough room for that room.
I can’t figure I lost her too late.

She was a pretty dog but a mutt, medium-sized and blond. I did not understand at the time why my inner vision was so focused on her. I did not interpret the above dream and muse to mean I was being told that she was my child and to love her like that. I liked her, but she was just a dog that had adopted me, how I saw it at the time: egoistic. It took Lisa Joy Rottweiler to teach me the love of dogs, and then little Rascal, his horrible death just the icing on the cake of my rending heart pain and deep realization of the importance of dogs in our lives. Rottweilers consider themselves the royalty of dogs and show you it’s such a privilege to have and pet them— “more principle than other dogs, more principle to their name, to going outside…” (my muse today). A Rottweiler puppy is now the image of that one thing in the world that has all the water of the world glistening on it, what my eyes most like to feast upon, relishing every move, replacing little boys (who now hold 2nd place), and changing that number one object into one platonic, a significant change in your relationship with the world. When you fall in love it’s all over. The puppy’s got your number, but that’s no longer a 6; it’s a 9, if you know numbers.

The “never, ever” line bears a moment spent on its interpretation. Back then I’d be thinking as lines were coming, trying not to, and this line came as I was thinking about a 11-year-old Black boy who was skinny dipping with his friends in the polar bear exhibit of a Brooklyn Zoo and was eaten alive by two bears, screaming the whole time. I attributed this at the end of the line as the interpretation, and my notebooks are full of such misunderstood interpretation, but I’ve since realized the muse uses my thoughts to continue what it’s saying, integrates them as it were but still continues what it’s talking about. So, there will never, ever be enough room for that room, the zoo horror, and, or the main point, we won’t really ever be able to view and treat dogs as our sons and daughters, but, I’ll add, that doesn’t mean we don’t as a race give it our best shot, and you can also interpret that line to mean there’ll never be enough room for the way I wrongly loved boys—multi-interpretational, that’s dream and muse.

The last line is just sad. Only now do I realize I lost her, in my heart that is. Then, like I said, she was just a stray dog I liked to have around: “Good morning dog. Am I God to you? Do you need something to eat?” The muse mentioned her often, like she was somebody, but it didn’t register. It gave me a nudge, but it didn’t get me to hold her, not heart-close like the muse suggested: [vision of the dog standing and wagging her tail] “I held her to me.” I was fond of her though, really liked her, petted her often and rubbed her belly. I’d even talk to her in my muse: “But you didn’t…I told you, not all men do.” [conversation with the dog about not beating her] [Vision of biting her on the top of the head (to open it) to get her out of her abused, submissive posture]. Excited to leave the island and be off on another traveling adventure, I’m ashamed to tell you that I didn’t feel her loss, only the reality of her coming to see me on the boat out at sea: [vision of the dog jumping up here where I’m sleeping in the video room of the ferry and putting both paws on my hand and arm]. I’m only now realizing the suffering she felt when I left and can interpret the line of muse that came soon after she adopted me: “She’s about to die.” Death in dream and muse can mean physical death, but more often it means some important part of you, or who the subject is, is about to die, or, put another way, you or they will experience a death over it, how the dog must have felt when I left her.

“Watch her. See how she is.” [vision of being in a classroom and inadvertently rocking a shelf, which toppled a bookcase on top of the teacher’s dog, a Golden Retriever. At first she seemed hurt, but then she stretched and was fine. The others in the room were not at all concerned, only I was] This muse came soon after arriving in Sicily. I interpret it to be telling the story of leaving the dog in representative terms, the social setting a classroom, the book case my endeavor of writing, the teacher myself, which might be likened to the overall me in the vision, the dog of course the dog but here golden colored, showing her as the highest kind of dog, the crushing harm only temporary, and the others who weren’t concerned the parts of myself who didn’t feel it, which was the most of me. So it seems she didn’t suffer too terribly long and bounced back rather quickly after her ‘death’. But what attention the divine muse is paying to this dog, which is for our eyes many years later. We might be assured the divine cared for her back then also. It just makes you wonder what happens in cases like Kittypuss.

I have the dog’s name as Jan one single time in my notebook, and I don’t know what that’s doing there because I always seem to remember calling her just dog. She was actually, for me, for you too, representative of Dog, but I didn’t know that then, and later in life, as you can see, I’d love them for what they’re worth, which is they have the worth of being our children, and that means so much more than it sounds; it has a spiritual and soul sense to it. Because I’m a poet seer that tries to see the world, I’m trying to show this worth to you. The “held her to me” line was part of a larger formation, which gives some picture of what I’m showing you. Here are the lines immediately after that one:

As you know firmaments can also be lines
spread over the inner town of spiritual man,
and you made it safe for dogs,
where openness increases itself. [vision of a front door slowly creaking open all the way]

You need a dog story with a happy ending. Jan (my muse has adopted that name for her) made me think often of a dog I knew in Jerusalem named Jin, because they had some similar features, and because Jin was the last dog I’d gotten involved with before Jan. Jin’s story has shown my heart the suffering of Dog and my hope the real possibility of redemption. I have mentioned a time or two the so called hunger strike (we drank banana milk, soya milk, and milk) I did with Lars of Demark just outside the Old City of Jerusalem. The last week of the three-week fast we spent in a campsite on the Mount of Olives, staying up there about a week longer, until the naughty Palestinian boys who hung around our camp finally got a hold of our wood saw, after repeated attempts to get it, and chopped down a tree, which luckily wasn’t an olive tree. It still got us kicked off the mountain, although not rudely. We were invited to meet some Palestinian journalists at a house nearby, given tea and told things we didn’t know, chief among them was that young Palestinian men and women faced almost insurmountable odds in trying to go to the university, and if they left to go abroad, they were not allowed to return, ever (we had that tea in 1995). I remembered at the time the special problems semester I did about ancient Sparta. Did you know they’d sometimes hold an ‘Olympics’ for their slaves, and they’d march the winners over the hill, out of sight, and kill them? But I’m off track, how far though from the way we generally treat dogs is a good question. I should mention that Israel’s brutal treatment of Palestinians is salted throughout the muse notebooks I kept during my adventure travel, as well as a host of other important international issues I’m not able to include in this story, but I can include this here. I’d have to add that in my muse’s strong criticism of Israel there is never a call to hate it or will its demise, adding too that integration is an overall ideal in my muse, and that it doesn’t see nation states that are based on or ruled by a single religion or ethnicity, what my muse calls a Volatile Land Act, as viable in the long run. You can’t help but have the Spartans un-honorably controlling their helots, “and you will have 9/11 because of it,” (lines today).

Are victims, though, always different creatures than victimizers? Although a lot of it may have had to do with their oppression as a people, I don’t think all of it can be chalked up to that, and I’m talking about the bad behavior of those boys from the village above our camp on the Mount of Olives. It was over the top. When we moved up there, Jin had a litter of puppies, and the boys, to show off, threw a couple off the small cliff that edged our campsite, seriously injured another by sticking a stick up its ass (we all commented on what was probably being done to him), and whether any puppies survived I don’t know, but shortly there were none left. I actually think one of the older boys, a thoughtful one, took the remainder away, but I don’t know. We took great pains to protect Jin from them, as she soon became the mascot for our little group, not called by all of us The Jerusalem Peace Group.

One day the owner of the dog, a boy of about 14, marched down and wanted to take Jin off to kill her he said. We all stood in his way. The thoughtful boy told us the boy had just been beaten badly by his father. Talk about a whipping dog. I ran up into the village and into the mosque and pleaded with the imam (I guess that was his title) to intervene. He told me the boy owned the dog, and he could do nothing. I told him he just wouldn’t and left. I did see in his face and speech some recognition of the role Jin played for those boys: the scapegoat. I went to find the boys and Jin to try and stop them from killing her. It has a happy ending I promise you. Near the Russian Church I saw the worst of the boys sitting on an old, broken stone wall. “We killed her,” he said. “You will grow up and die in prison,” I told him, not knowing that his people put a lot of stock in proclamations like that spoken off the cuff but with authority. He looked stricken and jumped off the wall and took me to Jin, who was shaking like a leaf but still alive. I took her back to camp, and everyone was frantic with waiting. We examined her and found no wounds, and then we showered her with affection and vowed to rescue her off the mountain.

A couple of months later, when I returned to Jerusalem from Safed, I visited Ramon, a young man from Amsterdam (18ish) and a member of our group there on the mountain, who was living in the abandoned Palestinian village of Lifta not far from the central bus station. It was a dwelling place for vagabonders and backpackers, both Jews and non, during those days. I had heard that he’d taken Jin with him when he left the mountain, but I hadn’t seen that myself. When I got to the entrance to the village I heard a lone, loud bark and looked up. Standing up above us on the left side of the remains of the gate was Jin, looking proud and every bit like Rin Tin Tin. She had barked at me, wanting to show herself to me, and I kid you not she posed the perfect stance of Dog pride, a note of mischief too in her ‘look at me’ bark that made me clap like Mozart had just played and say, “Well Jin, look at you!” Of all the happy moments in my life where I’m happy for someone else, ones where justice is served, someone is given their due, this one stands out as the most wonderful. I take the memory out every now and then and show it to myself to restore my faith in the world. The transformation from a fearful, cowering dog, with her tail between her legs, how she always stood on the mountain, to that proud person standing there, tail telling the world she’s on top of it, you would’ve loved to have seen that. Lifta had lifted her up, and all the world too if you’d let it.

You will pardon me for preaching a moment of the need for unstructured free zones like Lifta, or how it was in ’95, open to alternative and unorthodox people showing up when they want and leaving when they want and only following the bare minimum rules of order for a civil society, places like the hippie caves of Matala too, like a lot of places. You readily accept great risk, even for children, with your vehicles of transportation, cramped cities and crowded civilization, accept untold numbers of death in those. Did you know that for society to function well it needs free zones in the same way that the world needs undisturbed nature and old growth forest and children need unstructured, unsupervised playtime? I’m not talking about free-for-alls, or just letting danger stalk our kind. I’m talking about the availability of discovering what more there it to us than the rules of nature give us, that being our nature, world nature, and social nature. They attract Joni Mitchells and invite spiritual experience.

Visiting Ramon, he told me that the other night or so, as he lay awake in the abandoned house he’d chosen to live in, alone, early night, he felt his consciousness expand and grow past himself, past the house, past Lifta and Jerusalem and then into space, becoming as big, as impossible as that sounds, as the universe. It’s one of the most common of spiritual experiences, at least from people I’ve spoken to about having them, where your consciousness expands bigger than yourself, where, as it’s described in Savitri, “the conscious ends of being went rolling back,” although not necessarily as big as it did with Ramon. With him I think he had a tag with the cosmic being. At any rate, the experience didn’t come from following rules or a spiritual practice of any kind, although from me he’d heard about spirituality, and so it had probably entered his thinking mind, of the experiential, hands on kind, as that’s what I spoke about when I talked about it, not meditation, diet and so forth. I might add that I never mentioned the kind of experience he had. It just happened because he was open and ready for it. I can’t help but speculate that at that moment in the holy city thousands of Jews, Moslems, and Christians were following rules to the letter, but this kid from No Structure got a little of what they all were after. I can’t stress this enough; you don’t get to realization (spiritual enlightenment), or even spiritual experience, by hup, two, three, four or any series of steps.

Lifta, on the hillside יעקב, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0&gt;, via Wikimedia Commons

At the global level,
we’ll put his name on it,
Buckshot,
a dog for all time.

(today’s muse)

“My little emotional being loved its mother and its dog’s presence,” (muse in the cabin). Soon after Jan came into my life, the muse began to talk about Buckshot, just a line here and there, like that one. He was like a third parent to me. That big hairy head of his was one of the first faces I saw poking into my crib, as first and as often as human family, and, lick, lick, lick. As a crawling infant and stumbling toddler he was my babysitter, as I was too wild to stay in the house very long, and you might understand why if you’ve been following the story, and my mom and dad were too busy, or too exasperated with me, to go outside with me all the time, and so Buckshot did. It was family folklore, that ole dog following me around the big yard, crawling with me under the house, taking me by the hand with those gentle to family big teeth he had and leading me back into the yard, as we had no fence. My sister fell into a big hole in that yard, the crowing story told, where there was a copperhead, and he jumped in and killed it before it bit her. They spoke about him as being almost human, so aware of himself he was ashamed to go two toilet in front of people and so would go behind the bushes. I’m not making this up; that’s the way they spoke about him.

During the three or so years I’ve talked about often in my writings, when I was studying Classical Greek in university, when my inner life was open to a degree you would have trouble accepting as fact, I put my will into seeing him in dream, and, becoming lucid in a dream and remembering my intention and willing it, a portal opened up, and it was as though I were seeing far into time, as there was a hue to the scene of oldness, just a little window that opened up a few seconds, and there was Buckshot, standing and looking at me, giving me a big bark. I was opening a memory from before I had an ego to put memories around, and so it was like that, the wayback machine having difficulty in rounding it up. He was a big dog, half Collie and half German Shepherd, the hairy variety, both his parents army dogs. My dad took him home from the army, met my mother immediately after, and they got married, in Bacliff, Texas, the family hometown, and Buckshot was the family dog, and he didn’t like anybody but our family, except my grandfather Lee, especially didn’t like my first best friend, my cousin Jerry Lloyd, born five weeks after I, one of those lifelong dream characters who you wonder is also dreaming of you their whole life. Maybe Buckshot wanted to bite him because he knew he’d grow up and not talk to me for no reason other than the stigma I wear, as I have done nothing to him or anyone he loves. The things that stick in your craw, and I’m not just commenting on mine. Anyway, I had another dream of Buckshot after the look in the window at him, what must’ve opened that window for me to enter in, one where I was right there with him in the yard, I about two or so, and he didn’t want me to do something or go somewhere, what it was I don’t remember. He was talking to me using a combination of noises: low barks, whines, grunts, groans and the like. It was a language he’d made up specifically to watch me and keep me safe, which I understood at the time.

I speak Dog. I do because of Buckshot, but even if you don’t have a Buckshot in your home when you’re born, if just have a dog there with its furry face in yours, someone you romp around the room with, licking you to hysterics, you’re going be a dog lover and have tools for healing we don’t yet know exist. I’m showing you one, the healing of a social disorder most can’t make heads or tails of. On that aforementioned LSD trip on Spyrock Mountain I took in 1988 on my 27th birthday, the catalyst for me embarking on what I called immediately afterwards the personal growth process towards wholeness and healing, otherwise known as the spiritual path, a German Shepherd named Jake was there, and for the day portion of my trip he was my babysitter, and I just lost myself alone in exploration-play down a mountain streambed, Jake watching over me (they know when we trip), just like Buckshot used to do.

That night I would go over the top, out of the human life sphere of inner experience and into the bottom level of Overmind, but that’s another story, told in The Literary Eye. In the morning, Jake was there when I took a walk from my sister’s cabin, and he’d been waiting for me, me all wide-eyed from being what seemed reborn, still tripping in a fundamental way, not my balls off, just that everything I saw or thought about had so much meaning behind it, too much. It was hellish then, but I’ve gotten used to it, although it’s not near as intense as it was those first few weeks after the trip, but I still see the world as representation. On that walk I coined the name of my path, with Jake beside me, understanding that I needed healed from pedophilia, not just enlightened, or that was my road to realization. Little did I know what a big part Dog would play in that process, has played since my life began, was playing then, and played in that cabin near Festos in the form of Jan.

You might not understand what an emotional being is, and, since it’s one of the most basic understandings that help you heal from causing yourself and others harm, it bears some explaining. The Mother and Sri Aurobindo call it the vital being, one of three beings that make up the lower self, the mental being and physical being being the others. It can also be understood as the life-body, but it really is its own being, as the others are. They make up a confederation, not a union, and it’s their quarrels that trouble us so much. “We are such a deep dimension,” (the muse in 2002). The vital is the emotion and impulse part of us, the seat of desire and preference, the vehicle of the life force. You ever have dreams of a big, hairy creature that has no head, only a very long and thin neck, and it loves you like your dog, just wants to cuddle? That’s your vital being, and I’d dreamed of it a few times by the time I learned what it was from my teachers, how I know it’s real and not just some concept they made up. A lot of healing work involves taming a rebellious vital, cleaning it and getting it to play ball with the divine, and you can’t do that like it’s a monster, since it’s one of your egos too (the ego on the body is centered on the genitals. Things falling into place?). You have to convince the vital to change, because you just can’t force it, but when you know that, change becomes possible, because, when you add that and subordinate it to the process of surfacing your soul, what you organize your lower self around, all three of its beings, you have a handle on how.

Water is in your ear.
Knowledge is in your deeps.
Expand at the center
your relationship to the world.
It’s a soul-wise.
We keep rockin’ down the clock tonight. [heard sung by Bill Haley and His Comets]
I think you’re happy.
From where you stand extend reality.
Can you make it bigger than what it is?
It’s just getting down to the truth of things.

Here burning bush talk to me:
you’ve got that rose car on pavement.
Follow the narrative.
It’s got Fort Knox.

The real planet happening:
following love’s ways,
following love tutor call.
How about Lifta?
[sound vision of a dog bark, a single loud bark]
Stay out of luxury apartments.

You’ve got it blister;
holy shit are they mad at you.
Will you give us a pillow then?
Turn it into a Holy Grail
and charge attraction.
Just kidding with this lot.

The joy not intended to take moves on.
What has been your construct all this way?
All that involved being an author for us, being attacked.
We foot upon it.
We give the recipe and the gun.
The Queen is hurry
I’m available.

She’s really happy daddy
about his son.
We name on Monday.
If we don’t come home tonight…
Anyway it was there.
What’s a leader in this situation?
You’re hearin’ one.
Now hear me:
that kid.

The boy was fish.
Where do we go with him?
It’s not about him.
He’s just part of the reading group.
I’m a lover not a fighter a lover not a biter.
When do we hand him over to you?
What boy?

They don’t have a bad puppy dog that they beat.
I wear a helmet
in everything about that boy.
We negotiate the day together.
All his life I’ve been a parent,
the hands on parenting since he was three.
We’re here now.
I was there when his parents met.
I was at the hospital the night he was born.
Ever he’s heard my voice.
I spoke to him from his mother’s belly in the womb.

We live together.
He’s got nine years,
ten in December.
Nitish is his name.
He’s my honey pumpkin.
He has his world in me.
That’s where his heart stays
when he’s away.

Look at him.
Have you ever seen a seer poet growing up?
Wait his moon.
It’s almost upon him
his muse.
It’s his freedom don’t take it away.

photo taken (by me) climbing Arunachala when he was 8

Tiger in a coat,
that’s a past needle of mine.
I don’t think you know what I mean.
We’ve parted ways tiger and me.
What’s the story now?
I’m good to that little boy,
and I put
the best possible roadmap on his brain,
and I don’t wrap my nuts around ‘im.

Well it’s 10 o’clock.
You know he’s gonna be first in line
to benefit from my program.
He’s going to be on the lookout
for a new role model:
the enlightened being.

It’s where we’re goin’.
Where did you think I was going?
I do have my limits.
It’s the beginning of disease
you don’t go for enlightenment.
Spiritual enlightenment
is what we’re goin’ for.

It escaped me.
Is it free period?
It’s written down.
Orthodox,
the orthodox Jew,
trouble landing on Earth.
Can’t see that fucking Mozart—
you see I am a host maker;
my phone,
give me my phone,
the firsthand of every event.
Hello?
I can hear you.
Gonna help you see the world.

We’re not gonna leave that boy in freezing temperatures.
He belongs to his parents he belongs to Donny—
the Mother on love.
I rightly criticized
creating a hospital
that did not allow healing.
You want this.
Blueprints you have to heal Earth,
a spiritual zone to give you what you need.
You know Donny:
I will take you home.
[heard the music for the lines “Gaily they ring / while people sing songs of good cheer” in “Carol of the Bells” or could be the same music in “Shchedryk” for that matter]

Have you ever seen anything like this
clothed?
Tell me it’s crap.
We’re not allowed to be frank about society
or to ask to give up belts.
We’re in trouble.
And you think we’re human/free? [words spoken simultaneously]
Are you watchin’ TV?
I just stepped on a tin can.
Well, I have something for you.
It will challenge your perceptions of reality.
What more could you want?
Are you just gonna stand there and slap me?
Are you just gonna call the authorities?
Try me.

(today’s muse)

“Wide awake as we can get passed may prevent the act in the near future,” (line from the cabin). I saw it as an isolated line warning me of preventing something there, and I was on the lookout for what it could be, and I still missed it, both times, as the line’s part of a small formation of lines that also talk about a coming fall in Auroville the next year, probably the defining one of my life, if the amount of muse prevision about it is any indication. Anyway, the next day or so after the line, a mouse got into the cabin, scurried in the front door as I walked in, and I had to take everything out, even the bed apart, to get at it so to get it out, but in doing so, I accidentally killed it. I felt bad as I took its little body and disposed of it. Big deal you say, a little mouse. Starting that very night, field mice attacked the cabin, or that’s how it felt, but what really happened was they frantically began trying to get in, and they had not done so up to that point, and I didn’t know they would try like that. Somehow they got into the ceiling right above the head of the bed. Their scratching to get in was louder than a radio and quickly became the main outer event in the cabin once the sun went down, and it’d last a couple of hours or more. A little mouse you say. Obviously I’d offended Mice itself. Falling asleep became a drama, and by that I mean it wasn’t just the obnoxious noise keeping me awake but a vexed vital, mad at them damn mice. When falling asleep vision is a mainstay of your day, you see the problem. What was a body to do?

I pondered over the problem during the day, kept an intention in my will to solve it, which also brings up solutions in my muse. It was silent about it, and the days were going by, and the racket went on. But the solution didn’t come from the muse. It came from what Savitri calls sign’s spell, what I’ve somewhat explained in the preceding part concerning catching world waves. You don’t only ride them traveling, since life itself I’ve said, and many others also, is a journey, and not just a metaphor of one. They help with daily life too. I don’t remember where I found it, around the cabin or one of my long afternoon walks, but as soon as I saw it, it was like it cast a spell on me, that is, it had this hue about it that made it stand out from its scene and capture my attention. It was a small stone shaped like a mouse, no definition, but it’s shape was such that it looked like a mouse sitting, curving upwards from its base like it did. I picked it up and took it to my altar, which, if you remember, was on a small corner table near the foot of the bed, where I sat the mice-stone down and gave it homage, giving Mice their due.

An altar is like a ship. It sails your intentions to fruition. You put something on it and make it a focus of concentration, not only when you look at it on the altar, but when you think about it, and that builds momentum, and so you concentrate on it more. Center stage on my altar were photos of my teachers the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, to the sides were paintings of Narasimha and Kali. A painting of Jesus alternated being on my altars during my adventure travels, but since I was especially at that point replacing his ideal with the Mother and Sri Aurobindo’s, which is the supramental transformation on Earth, and replacing who I called on for help (lucid dreams on Crete I haven’t included show this transition, where I go to call on him but choose instead the Mother). I also put interesting, strange, and/or beautiful natural objects on my altar I found while I walked the world, not to be focal points of concentration, but to be a moving, constantly changing, work of handy art. I still do that but also put photos of people so to concentrate on them, tickets for about to go somewhere, bills that need help, anything small enough to fit and important enough to put there. Sympathetic magic you say. I say it helps, works sometimes too enough consciousness is on it, enough times you can’t just chalk it up to chance, or you could, you just have your head in the sand, and if you do, you don’t have the consciousness to do it anyway. It takes the type of belief that leaves little room for doubt. That night after putting the mice-stone on the altar and spending the rest of the day concentrating on it, with respect, with acknowledgement of the importance of Mice, realizing it wasn’t the stone I was focusing on but the protecting spirit of Mice, the mice did not come back, didn’t come back the whole time I was there except for a few minutes on one single night sometime after. Are you hearing this?

“In eating they not only feel Miss Kyoto but a stake in the lives of all animals” [vision of a man and a woman eating an animal they had named Miss Kyoto, a line that came at Irmgard’s] “Perhaps the squirrel has as much to say about being human,” (a line came that came in the cabin, and it’s interesting that for some years in India, which was in the future here, I’d be quite involved with squirrels, raising them, rescuing them). “As you killed it even then the gecko got big. It didn’t want to die,” (the muse commenting after I’d stepped on a gecko in the cabin on accident and felt terrible as I watched it die). “Each time it has to be a manifestation of God you are eating and not just a couple of eggs,” (it answering the question I’d asked it of eating eggs). “Transform their natures into helpful creatures. Flies fly much faster when I let them go,” (my muse at Irmgard’s about the swatting of flies in my apartment). Notice I’m not being given a rule. My conscience is engaged. In the cabin I was a vegetarian but not a vegan, although my muse frowned on things like butter because it disturbed the body more to process it than olive oil, which it liked very much, the same reason it was not too fond of sugary things. It liked whole grains, oatmeal, whole wheat bread, those sorts of things: “Mistaken white bread.” Cheese and milk, these things my muse didn’t object to, but it doesn’t make hard and fast rules for all time on eating, on anything. Where I was, what was available, what I could afford, those factors my muse factored in with my body’s needs, and it made its suggestions and recommendations accordingly. Just stop a moment and consider the intimate detail in which the divine knows us. Would there not be a personal, innate divine in all of us? It’d happened in Argentina and other places, it didn’t object to eating non-veg. When I was hitching in Argentina, there was a brief international ban on it selling its beef, and so people were giving it away, and vagabonding, with all the meals missed that entailed, a being a vegetarian, with the need of making sure you got enough protein that entails, and here I wasn’t getting a lot of it, I gladly ate the beef. It’s the damndest thing coming to India after being a vegetarian for so many years and eating non-veg, but what can I tell you? I don’t always listen to my muse? Harmlessness, however, is on our calendar, and in that evolving journey, considering what you eat God, well then, whatever you eat, you at least eat consciously. I think the mice story sends the message it needs to: of men and mice, okay then, they’re important too.

End violence—
knowledge will feel dominated by a higher power.
That’s the story she wrote.
We join hands.
Can I kill this bug?
Bitten by some knowledge this bug’s dangerous.
You wouldn’t go farther than that,
unless you have to eat.
I wouldn’t kill bears,
execute prisoners.
You gotta gun pointed at you?
Shoot back.
A soldier is a good person to have around.
It’s their performance as people that counts.
We need them in dire moments.
Are there spurs on this moment?
How many humans did that bear eat?
I don’t know, kill it.

Do we just stand here and counts sins?
Let’s rejoice we’re alive
and be a friend of all creatures.
What about vegetarian?
Preferences can’t always be eliminated.
We’re gettin’ there.

No one wanted the atom.
They laughed at its Sophocles.
It’s mountain high, you know?
Alright unwrap this business.
You hear that?
Punctuate humanity.

Each afternoon I left the cabin and went walking, long walks of several kilometers, looking especially for what my muse called an “old nook joy.” “Is still found the waterfall,” the muse using waterfalls to represent more than just waterfalls on Crete. Most times Jan followed me, but she didn’t ease my loneliness, the hole in my vital I wasn’t filling with anything, not knowing that Jan was there to help with that or even that she really could. Lisa Rottweiler would teach me that, but now, years away from her nearness, I was terribly homesick. I walked and I walked. The homesickness had reached a peak right before Christmas, while I was still at Irmgard’s, when I spontaneously left my body and went and visited my mom’s living room that was decorated for Christmas, the food on all tabletops and countertops, covered, waiting for the coming Christmas party, the lights of the Christmas tree illuminating the scene like a small, colorful sun. Just a moment there on the physical plane out of my body, and then I slipped into a lucid dream (still in the inner vicinity I might add), where I saw my mom and Bucky (my step-father) in the kitchen talking, as though from a great distance, not so much of miles, but a distance of hearts. They did not have the same feelings for me at that Christmas, or any thereafter. Although I was the same Donny I had always been, society’s view of me had become worse and worse, had reached that pitch that your family would disown you if you were me.

Home for the holidays, and all the warmth and mirth that suggested, had gotten out of the army and the university and become a vagabonding, longhaired, spiritual, social drop out, worse, the worst thing he could be in society. I called a couple of times before and during the holidays, collect of course, and I so wanted to ask them to fly me home and fly me back again, and it wasn’t like they couldn’t afford it, but I didn’t ask. Unprecedented in my adventure travel I know, but I had the feeling it was my last chance to see them again. Turned out I was right, because soon after that I became a lost cause in their eyes, one of those people, the kind you didn’t want to see. I can’t tell you what it’s like to lose your family, and you love them so very much, and it’s not from death or any separating thing in this world; it’s from their rejection of you. Right on you say, righteous people? I really think we need a new definition of what it means to be good: you are bad to no one. How else will we get rid of bad?

“These tombs were in oil,” [dream-experience where it seems I was lucid and inside a toilet, looking at the hole in the basin, which was white and very clean, with jets of water flowing down as in a flush. I was afraid of shit appearing in it, but none did. I know it seems odd, but I do believe it was at this point that the consciousness went up over the head, and I experienced it as the eyes going too. It had that definite buoying up, flowing, current feeling. I was surprised it went up all the way to a large, white light bulb and even higher. I consciously relaxed into it so it could last as long as possible, and I thought for a second maybe I could stay up there, but then I began to fly, and the raised consciousness feeling abated. I found myself at night in my mom’s living room, which was all decorated for Christmas. For a second or so I was there on the physical plane in the subtle body [the dreambody], but then with the emotions bubbling up, I went into a subtle physical plane. I went into the kitchen and went to my knees on the floor, just crying my eyes out because I could be there for Christmas and probably never again. I could feel angels hearing me and drawing nigh to my pain, but I knew the [crying] was only a vital indulgence on my part. Even as I cried I asked the Lord to show me how to lose this attachment. Then something shifted and lucidity wavered, and mom and Bucky were in the living room. She took me to my room to give me $20 and a note, which I wasn’t able to read. The another shift to full lucidity, and I was in a huge, old, dim house, searching for how to lose the attachment. I asked the Lord many times. I was on the phone trying to hear the answer when the line came]

The oil refers to the vital longing to be there for Christmas, which made me not only emotionally wet but sticky and stained, damn near in despair. It lingered on me the whole time I had left on Crete and made me walk to try to get it off. It grew into more than mere homesickness; it became the hole of the whole wide world, what we usually use some substance, comfort food included, people, media, or activity, especially sex, to immerse ourselves in so to try and fill, what we are basically doing all the time so as not to feel that void inside, but what I was here only throwing walks into to appease, in a not so natural nature, which didn’t work. Can I say here that normal waking consciousness sucks? But I’m sorry folks, you have to spend most of your time in it to get out of it for good, or at least that’s what I’ve been learning. It’s the hardest part of the spiritual path, empting yourself of the world slap, dab in the middle of it, but not having anything to fill yourself with except faith, and anybody can tell you that’s not adequate. You need the real thing, what the faith is for. Nothing else fills that void. Is it the bottom line of the human condition to suffer, to never be satisfied? Would we want to surpass ourselves if it weren’t?

“Do you know where anyone could get something vegetarian around here?” A line that came at the end of a dream that’s talking about the ancient church I’d visited during the day, meaning the place was not a good place to eat a meditation at. About a month after the mice episode, on a long walk over hill and dale, I found a very old, Christian baptistery, dated the 5th century. I went inside, nothing preventing anyone, to the inner chamber and to the altar and did a meditation there. The walls of the inner chamber were full of human bones, crammed full, skulls, rib cages, hands and feet, all hanging out the spaces in the walls made for them. Eerie it was, dark to the sunlight that hardly lit the room. It wasn’t that it had the feel of history, although history was present. It had the feel of death. I paid little attention to that and tried to concentrate, hoping I might hear some muse about the place or the people that worshipped there so very long ago. Nothing. It was too uncomfortable to sit right, too dark feeling to meditate there on light. When I returned to the cabin I had an odd sense, like the cabin had new shadows or something. I shrugged it off.

The next day I heard: “I picked up three ghosts there” [sense-vision of there being two signs of that, as I went in and as I left, which I missed at the time]. I felt stupid I’d done a meditation there and pondered over what to do. The muse was strangely silent on this regard. I had to get out of it on my own. Get out of what? Three ghosts with me there in the cabin. You don’t believe me I know. But you know, I’d bet that within this past week, there was a dead person looking over your shoulder, trying to get something of your life, some taste they’ve lost. One could be there right now. You never know, unless you can see. You wouldn’t have a cow over one’s there or not. It’s a part of the normal, everyday, unseen, as paranormal as we make it. Be that as it may, the spirit of Mice had taught me something significant: pay something spirit its due, and it’ll leave you alone, unless it’s a demon of course. I bought three long, blue candles, as that color just seemed to fit, and maybe it didn’t, but it worked anyway. I put them on the ship of my altar and set each to sail by lighting them with both the element of fire and the flame of my tapas, my spiritual energy, spending the time of their burning talking to the dead people, not continuously, just every few minutes or so, asking them to leave, not like they were monsters or anything, with respect, like they just needed to move on, at least out of my living room. Afterwards, the shadows of the cabin, that kind that weren’t cast by anything under the sun, left. I felt that, like some old hunger new to the room had gone, like an ancient foreboding recently arrived had vanished. You want to count my chickens? Why they’ve hatched.

Sittin’ by the kitchen fire.
What is his line of glory?
Oh my God I’m
the hero of this story.
You are the 100th monkey.
Even the 100th
you have to fix.

The story’s got some outline,
and it’s better than observable genius in the world.
Their random pickup
will show you a spectacle.
I’m hungry I’ll take
the slice of it I want.

The seeing with divine eyes on the subject
will grasp nature at its load,
see everything in the round of itself,
helicopter
image
so you see its purpose in time,
how it relates to the whole,
what it does there
and your relation to it.

Read a book
and that book revealed.
Tell a story
and have time surrender its secrets,
a lot of symbolic
of God that is the story.
Will you dance with me?
I’m a bus driver,
and I’ll take you home.
I’ve got you by the hand.

(today’s muse)

From my notebook I can see I had two jobs while in the cabin: painting hotel rooms, whitewashing them really, for an old woman named Kathrina, a job it seems I returned to right before I left, and a day job picking oranges for an old women near Mires. At the first job I found a book to read, which, after I returned home, my muse said right on about, and the second I had prevision about, which also added to the mounting evidence that I needed to cut my hair. The visions are separated by days or weeks:

Vision of a basket of old novels and 88 being on the binding of one like a library number. In the day I had found an old shelf of old novels at the hotel I’m working at. Only one was in English, Arthur C. Clark’s Rama Revealed. I’m reading it, and it’s very appropriate and fits very well now.

Vision of there being a cold water fountain next to kind, sitting old ladies saying, “Good, good.” Bent down to drink but the hair got caught in the branches of a tree. After this vision, during the day, I picked oranges for a very sweet old lady, and my hair kept getting caught in the trees.

You’d want to know about the book. At the time the muse only made some comments about the octospiders in the novel, how their aggression is understandable because they’d lost their world (they a stand in for me—multi-representational the muse), but today’s muse sums up the book and critiques its major flaw in idea:

My God the Gods in space,
there’s Rama Revealed.
Vision of a book,
I mean creation’s scheme.
They all put together
the experimental planet PlayStation
to bring the God in space.

Arthur C. Clark,
he’s missin’ the point.
Outside of space
the creators stand with their notebooks
to bring themselves here.
We see Earth the rose of this endeavor,
and saw off time
the figures in a notebook,
the figures in a universe.

It’s a whole vision for a whole planet:
and God dresses himself in the hours
and ramps up the whole creation
to variable God.
It’s on the table now
so’s you can see it.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas. [heard sung]

And they allowed me in to chat with the prisoners.
Well this ain’t right
the opposition of Earth said.
Who’s gonna win?
Would you like the divine forces?
Gird up your loins.
All hell’s gonna break loose.
We’re in the way now.

You look very serious and stern.
I’m about to lose my dog, my boy,
just so you can read some papers.
I don’t think that’s the meat.
You’re safe sweetheart—
the Mother on business.
Type your paper.
Put it out for the public to see.
You’re good.
You’re supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

You see this as a primitive station of Earth?
All day we’ve looked at him.
Tryin’ to get away from it.
He just writes it all down,
and just I can’t look myself in the eye
I’ve been so wrong about life.

A new reform
has given such fervent base loss.
That’s the nature of reality:
you’re not small enough yet
to be believed by God,
in any field that you study,
in any road that you look at.
They like to be the center of attention.
Invisible from God’s totality is resting in that individual. [this and above line came on Crete]

To found the sea.
Sense vision the police were on the way.
I did not come out of my room.
Boy did they try.
You mean it’s over?
That’s the end of the story.
It’s not an arrest warrant.

Use the calculations she gave you.
Our dogs similar down this path.
We see them in the morning.
Is it me you’re lookin’ for? [heard sung by Lionel Richie]
They’re ahead of us
on love.
They’re our peers
in barking at neighbors.
We find them behind us
on the evolutionary play-scale.
We are their masters,
how they come
to become men and women.
It’s their evolutionary purpose,
where they meet the stars.
A good cat came in too.
You ever heard of this before?

They fulfill a hole in evolution.
It didn’t seem like us.
It has no hands and feet,
no brain to share with
humanoid.
It’s got the ticket to ride.
They study us become us,
all over the place.
We invite them into our homes,
have them child with us.

The complexities of soul I cannot expound here,
but a monkey is not our next of kin
in the evolution of soul on Earth.
Where evolution meets the planet,
the ape and man are kin.
Now I’ve given you your daily bread.
You see the importance of Dog.
They’re our fellows
in our evolutionary rise.
Don’t fuck around.
Be kind to Dog.

They’ve got the whole world in their hands. [heard sung]
First we’ve got this:
meet you in our evolutionary purpose.
Would not worry.
It’s God’s purpose,
a sunflower.
What is a good dog is his earned purpose?
Evolutionary sweepstakes.

Hear the society of Dog.
I’m French to that responsibility,
a cultural high note.
Dogs spend time cats.
Who’s dog is it supposed to be?
Every human being on the planet.

Will you give me a mask,
okay gloves?
I need to put something in perspective.
I murdered a dog in cold blood
at 13 for the thrill of the kill,
the dog you know.
Who said I felt anything?
No, no I didn’t cry.

Awful the things you hear about online.
You see what that is.
Put them on the runway with me it’s fine.
Fellow backpackers,
talking of Jewish as I walk upon it,
oh my goodness not Jewish, Israel.
It’s a soon hour and a half.
I need to lay or giving the least sense of it.
Now biting heads,
it’ll give you the worst:
the revenge has been gotten.
My God,
we just let God take care of it.
On with the show.
Oh, don’t jump up.
Continuance.

Let the eyes pop out of your head.
We’re lookin’ at reality.
We only see salt.
Reality is behind us.
Or you can say it’s over our heads.
Whatever you say I’m here—
the nature of God speaks.
Football drill
you’ve arranged your hat.
You have a warrant for your arrest.
You will meet God
in the ways
slowly,
like a rising sea.
You will be overcome with God.
There’s no gettin’ around it.
It’s the nature of reality,
whether you deny it or not.
Okay a wake soul shows you
God just comes upon you.
Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock. [heard sung by Bobby Helms]

I am mountain in springtime,
all over everywhere,
even in your right to be,
every place on Earth.
You hear God,
today, tomorrow,
and yesterday.
Yesterday and tomorrow,
they’ve got the hat on.
Today is a mounting tide.
You hear the music?

Boy it’s all over the place.
I’m tellin’.
Well congratulations,
you’ve got your social stick out.
Boy it’s everywhere let me tell you.
I don’t know how to integrate it with this.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. [heard sung]
Wow, we’ve realized God.

I don’t see any reason why we can’t bring him in from the cold.
Let him in, let him in,
acceptance in society,
a human being with worth.
Can’t yah see he’s tryin’?
‘Cause I’m
really a person, you know?
So just let me in.
I’ve got the most legitimate complaint:
I don’t even have status as a human being.
You won’t talk to me, look at me,
other than to file hatred my way.
There I’ve said it:
I need your help.
Will you just let me in?

What we have here,
oh my God,
he’s bringing it up to shape;
he’s bringing it over:
God is the star of everyone, ain’t he?
You don’t put anybody out in the street, do you?
He’s bringing it in,
a symphony orchestra
to include everyone
to be together.
To include everybody even me,
that’s the music.

Be honest
when you attack my philosophy online,
when you count my sins,
when you talk about the pedophile reeks,
tell the number:
oh reader, watcher, listener,
keep him out of your midst.
Don’t give him the time of day
and give ‘im
pain folks.
Make him suffer
for the problems he’s caused society.
Ill will folks, ill will,
you give him that, you hear?
The amount of ill will we rely on to say it’s not true.

Your room’s hanging out.
I don’t know how to show people this
and they listen.
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. [heard sung]
Peace on Earth goodwill towards men,
that’s the bottom line, isn’t it?
You’re up to somethin’.
Congratulations,
you hear my speech.

Now analyze it,
tear it apart,
and get it out of the ballpark.
Will bring it back
the truth of the matter is.

Now Heaven
he’s gonna send me,
old Festos.
My job is to introduce you to my clothes,
whether you like them or not,
even an umbrella
I can show you they are
for everybody everywhere,
even Pegasus.

A Pokémon
I’m not tryin’ to trash reality with,
augment junk.
The lengths we go to be stupid.
I’m giving you ears on reality.
You don’t need glasses for those.
I don’t want anything to do with you.
It’s not like you have a choice.
I’m here anyway.
If you care about them,
give this picture to your mind:
wings on the horse.

In that room
he’s winning a capture too.
Come here babies,
my dogs, my boy.
I’ll be down to the Lake
to take a swim.
I’ll be here with yah
not the most animated campfire in the world.
Lick me that’s fine,
sit next to me.
I’m not gonna be the loudspeaker.
My love will be all over yah,
in warm, tingly glows,
even without petting you,
though that will come in time.
I live here,
and enlightenment
is not me leavin’.
Oh my sweet darlins,
we’re all together you see.

You got things to look at.
You can measure it out.
It’s there for you
to roll it out.
In just a moment
the bulletin board.
Be kind to rewind.
Use your depth perception.
I’m really in harmony.
The front door to somethin’:
you would believe
a laundromat,
a clean toilet?

In the last chapter the claim was made that on Crete a seer in a hut made the first contact with the Greek Gods. That hut was where Festos was built I believe. I was not far from there and in a seer hut myself. You can put the two and two together. “She ravaging Festos, a tough guy, (my muse while still at Irmgard’s, it obviously talking about my feminine side). Soon after going to stay in the cabin this came, “Perhaps just winged the horse” [vision of rising sun appearing from behind the corner or edge of something like a card of sorts], and I had no idea what this referred to or what the universal symbol of winging the horse means. The first concrete indication that I’d be going to the heaven of the Greek Gods were the lines below (the man in the muse is Festos). I only know this in hindsight; at the time I didn’t know what they were talking about.

The Olympia is seen.
Doors open when seen,
a stern and wise man.
He was looking at him as he sat in that navel place.

If someone tells you a story of visiting a heaven world, chances are they didn’t go to one but to some dream simulation of a heaven. It takes not only a purity we can rarely gather and need divine help to obtain, but it also takes a depth and force of contemplation hardly possible unless you’re a hermit socially. Below are a couple of significant dreams that purified me, but again, I didn’t realize I was being readied for anything.

First dream and subsequent muse: I woke up realizing I had been on the verge of lucidity at the end of the preceding dreams, so I merely closed my eyes and opened them on a dream scene. I opened to the force, and it lifted me higher and higher, then took me in a straight line. It turned my body around, and there was a shift in the dream scenery as though I’d crossed a  border. Things were more beautiful and ideal. I lowered and went through a pretty wooded scene, then into a breathtaking place so beautiful I cried. It was a small crystal clear lake created by a stream. On the stony shore was a pyramid naturally shaped by three long stones laying upright, supporting each other. As I began to pass the place, I saw in the distance a fantastically futuristic city of silver, solid steel sky scrappers, but only for a second or two. Then I was returned, flying, to the place I knew to be a healing place. I dove into a deep pool under a large, shady tree, so to cleanse myself from the vital desire. I came up out of the water flying and turned to look at the pyramid so to remember the place, but as I looked it changed and became an obviously purposeful construction, with steps carved into it on the stones, though it was only three meters or so tall. The scene kept shifting as I looked. Then I awoke.

I have the power to do something I didn’t have last night.
Wounded in its own personal opinion.
It’s mutable reach. [vision of the back license plate of a car with the single word DON]

Second dream and subsequent muse, which ended upon hearing these lines sung by Johnny Cash:

When will the soul bear its branding?
When kindness from the rebels of my soul. [Lines heard sung by Johnny Cash and came at the end of a dream where I was a football player at a high school and went to practice, but no one was there because of rain. I’d written a poem to put in the poem exchange, which turned into the book The Prophet. Dream ended looking at the running track, which also was the cover of the book, a horse’s shape suggested in eerie billowy clouds, sounds impossible, but it was both]

I have to be allowed in.
The dream twilight of the idea. [similar to a canto heading in Savitri]
The horses into panic themselves.
The birthplace of God. [vision of finding a large, intricate, gold amulet shaped like a harp, with the name Moses across the strings in silver]
I’m opposed to this my ignorance.
You must have a chance.

There is a lot going on in those lines, not the least of which I’m shedding my cultural religion, Christianity, more specifically the Judeo-Christian-Moslem image of God, but not, I might add, those divine beings as they are to themselves, as their agency appears often in lines of my muse. “It’s still becoming a Christian theater of the Moslem order. Get past Overmind,” the muse had told me earlier, while still at Irmgard’s. That surpassing is a whole other subject, but obviously to even glimpse a heaven of Gods, plural, the go to hell if you don’t believe in one God and one God only had to go. Volumes could be written about the differences between the word of a prophet of a religion and the divine ideal(s) in their purity the religion is trying to embody and the prophet is trying to bring down.

“Put it on the house and threaten Islam when it’s out,” which means blaming the divine house of Islam for Moslem extremism, terrorism, suicide bombing, the narrow-mindedness and bigotry of the Taliban, the wonton cruelty of Islamic State, and even the requirement for women to wear veils, is to blame Islam for what it’s not responsible for; interpretation is, and the prophet is. The wearing of veils is an interpretation of Mohammed’s muse and clearly demonstrates our tendency to take a rule and run with it, get as strict as possible in regards to it, just to be on the safe side we figure, not understanding we are leaving the ideal behind when we do. I’d refer you to a poem I wrote about this very subject, “Very Slow You Write It Down”, which could also be called “Mohmmed, Is He the Ideal?”, but Facebook deleted it when it took down my educational page Harm’s End. As for the song the voice of Johnny Cash sings that ends the dream, I won’t interpret it other than quoting a couple of lines of muse that came sometime before, “With the reluctant, fiery seal of a prophet. Sort of humbles you, don’t it?” [dream-vision of riding at night down an old dirt road with my dad and Uncle Jerry and suddenly coming over a hill and realizing if another car had been there we’d all be dead] And I’d really stress the word reluctant. I call myself a seer poet, only called myself a prophet in the deleted poem, as it’s only another prophet that can correct the word of a prophet.

“Boy do we cut hair,” a line that came after I cut the hair and shaved the beard, which I did somewhere around here, before the Heaven trip. I really didn’t want to. I saw that things that we did, like combing the hair, taking a bath, brushing the teeth, did more than clean the body. The unseen is all around us, and it’s not only spirits. It’s all over us in the form of vibrations and things, and I’m just using a known word to describe the unknown, bits from the world of course, other people, but more importantly from ourselves. It’s like we create a sort of field around our heads with our constant thinking, around our mouth and chin with our constant chatter, chaotic fields I might add, and we need to wash and comb long hair and beards when we have them, often, cut them short if we’re having problems with acting out in word or deed. In other words, if you are having trouble controlling yourself, long hair is not the ticket, see? Have you ever known someone with dreadlocks that got angry easily or often? Now you know why. That’s really concentrated vib funk on your head. If you are in self-mastery or an evenly keeled-person well in control of yourself, and of course if you’re enlightened, you have no problem, and so, you can just be your uncut, natural self, what I wanted and I think most men want that grow the hair out, that and be ourselves unto God, but most of us can’t handle our uncut self because it’s often a beast. Now you know something of the wonton devilry the men of Islamic State wear on their sleeves, the Taliban.

I, however, did cut my hair, and it didn’t help with the coming fall, but I’m sure it did with the purification for the trip to Heaven. “This is to falling in the sun downstairs to capture me,” a line of song my muse sung to me in the voices of Simon & Garfunkel on Crete, which I made into a whole song on the guitar in Auroville, one of my first muse songs, which I composed before that “movie the Earth needs,” or at least my muse thinks so, referring to running from the police as they were about to apprehend me and getting beaten up when they caught me. Luckily, they let me go.

Move along folks. Nothing to see here.

Although the muse had suggested the horse had already been winged, I had a series of dreams in that cabin where wings grew on a horse, or I was getting off the ground on one, and dreams of the forging of a sword. Both went together, the winging and the forging, the Pegasus and the Excalibur. The horse is the symbol of the ability to leave the normal human life sphere of the inner world and enter Heaven, and the sword what can kill the hostile being, demon if you care to call it that, that’s attached to you from birth, attached like a parasite, and it goes back generations in your family, what in ancient Greece was called a family daimon, and what we call the family curse, but what I can just briefly mention here. You use the sword to cut its head off, and, once the sword was made in dream, I was only able to cut it almost off, but not all the way, in a highly symbolic, lucid dream. I don’t know this for sure, but it seems to me the symbol of killing a demon is cutting its head plum off, and I don’t know if it actually takes a divine being to do that or not, or what exactly it has to do with going to Heaven, but I did come very close to killing one of those monsters, didn’t kill it and still went to Heaven, it trying to prevent me, scare me out of the chute.

From my dream notebook, the going to Heaven dream:

Feb. 2003 The cabin on the hill opposite Festos

It started with a lucid dream I’ve lost, one where I addressed the Mother to guide me. Upon awakening I remembered but neglected to write it down due to being especially groggy. The first waking of the night I was even more so. Then later, as I lay in bed, I began to go into trance, but a samadhi trance, as the feeling was ecstasy. I was turned around in my bed from head to foot, not physically, but in the trance bed. The bed began to shake, and earlier I’d had the fear of an earthquake, and so I thought one might be occurring so, fooled, I came out the trance to see. Everything normal. Then I went back into trance but no tinge of samadhi, a semi-cataleptic trance, where I was fooled into thinking I was in a house on the beach of Cumaná [a town in Venezuela where I earned the money to go to Europe]. I realized that I had nothing to fear in that town though. Coming out of it and waking up in bed, I felt the demon presence. I was still in twilight and actually heard a cough just outside the cabin. I got scared, but as I looked on the wall I saw 8.8.8 practice, and I knew I was safe. Very soon after, I left the body and went to the door to close it, as it was squeaking open. Then I realized I’d gone out of the body. I couldn’t make real contact with the door, but the room was not exact, larger, and the light was twilight light. I went to the window, and there was no desk in front of it, and it had a curtain. which I opened and saw a dream scene. There was a little boy, whom I knew was there to capture my attention. I closed the curtain and wondered how I could leave the room and not go into a dream scene but be outside of the room, something I worked on quite a bit in years past. I opened the window and again a dream scene.

I don’t know where this goes, but at one point I was confronting a devilish something and saying, “By the Mother’s force!” Results came, but not immediately.

I’m not sure how it happened, but I was again in a beach house but not lucid, and waking up in that house I found a friend had come and brought his friend, and they were going to stay there. I thought about telling them to leave, but he was my friend and all. I think I should’ve ordered them out. Things happened I don’t remember.

Next I’m in a dream on the roof of Johnny Coughlin’s house [my best friend as a pre-teen]. He and his brother Gregory are helping their step-father, Bud, repair the cement pilings, huge blocks, from rain damage. Somehow rain had gotten into the cement. One of the boys did something, and the blocks closed on Bud, trapping him inside. All looked lost, but I suddenly came to myself and willed the blocks apart. Instantly they parted, and Bud came out with long, grey hair and a grey beard. Then he was below, walking up, and he had a donkey head, and I told the boys he was going to be an ass about the accident. He changed back into Bud. Then I fixed the roof with my will, and it changed to a large, flat roof with many pots of flowers and such, very nice. I saw the change and realized it was much better than the old roof.

I flew off and down the street, and a large stately stallion [with wings] appeared and another horse beside him. I knew I could mount them if I wanted to, and perhaps should have, but I was into flying up and began to will myself up. It wasn’t easy, and on my left I suddenly saw a very high cyclone fence level with me. I began to ask the Mother to please show me what I’m doing wrong, what the problem was, meaning not about being able to fly higher but what not being able to represented in my life. I began to cry, very sincere tears. I was going up to what in the dream was the high mountains in front of the cabin, but here a town went up the sides, and the area was greatly compressed. A father holding his son by the hand told his little boy not to look at me as I flew by so to give me privacy, as I was crying. Then in front of the mountains, where the slopes usually appear, was a rainbow, and I hastened to fly into it, filling with the joy of an answered prayer. As I got there, the rainbow was gone, but rays of brilliant, white light were coming from the top right corner, where in the physical there is a road going up the escarpment. People were pointing and oohing and aahing. I looked and saw a perfectly round hole, like a small tunnel, where the light was coming from. There was a roof to our sky and a wall, and the opening was right at the top, right corner.

I flew through the opening, and my body was actually bigger than the hole, but I squeezed through with no slow down. I came out into a huge box canyon [that opened on the other side to a wide, deep valley], but I knew I was in Heaven. The form of everything was perfect. A couple of hundred feet below I could see pools of water [almost like puddles], and the pools had concentric rings, as if the water was mineral water. I realized it was a place to purify before going into Heaven, but I was flying to the opening of the canyon. Then I was flying close to [one of the] the sheer, vertical walls of the canyon, and something happened, and for a moment I stood on the wall. There was no gravity. I realized that in Heaven up and down had a very different meaning than on Earth, almost like it didn’t matter. Nonetheless, I got vertigo and flew off, but quickly realized as well you couldn’t get hurt in Heaven. [For brief couple of seconds I looked past the walls and saw far down below a valley with a dwellings there. It was too short a glimpse to give any kind of description other than to say it was a heavenly place.]

Then another force flew me, and I went down to the pools far below [not only 200 feet as I wrote above, but a 1000 or so], hearing now an incredibly sweet song of instruction about how to use the water: “You can splash it on your (some body part like the back). You can splash it on your (again a body part).” The song listed other parts of the body to splash it on, and finished with: “It’s safe and warm.” It was a male voice but very high pitched and very familiar. It was sung slow like a lullaby, but the song had an element to it I can’t describe, something lullabies merely try unsuccessfully to imitate. It was so patient, so safe, so conscious, so loving, so sweet. As I descended I thought the water would become deeper, as I could see the pools were very shallow, only inches deep. I was laid face down into a pool, but the water only came up to my sides, about halfway. I was so busy expecting the water to suddenly become deeper, like things shift in dreams, that I didn’t follow the instructions to splash. The scene didn’t shift, as this wasn’t the usual dream local. This was Heaven. I then woke up in bed.

Now what exactly happened between Heaven and I? “This was only a lamp to test you to see,” and “Glad was his first peer into Heaven, wide, deep murmuring heart,” muse after the event. Olympia was seen, as my muse foretold me it would be. I went to the gates of Heaven, which are quite different than they are envisioned in folklore, at least those of Olympus are, and I saw its heaven, or a heaven world, a divine house, as there are countless of them, representing all the divine ideals, separate or in combo. I didn’t meet a divine being, unless you count the song sung to me, no angel or God, but my eyes beheld the valley of the blessed, and there are scenes that immortalize the sight, and the scene I saw, whatever it worked in me, worked seeing magic.

There are houses scattered arriba,
wells of worlds we have not yet conceived.
The acute aware of the Ideal and its voice.
An overmental thought,
and overmental thought helps.
To have the sun in your eyes when you’re a middle truth door.
We finally grew the school that looked outside infinity
and the learning things that cannot teach a rule.

Dream-like, he saw no end to the pattern commerced by miracles.
Finite in stone it is in its largeness bigger than infinity,
a settled from which joy took but various beyond the stars.
It contains will and God.
Wide open
it would just be ole Luna. [this and preceding line came today]
Desire to see the Self.
Enough wisdom gives.
How wisdom to be cultivated said forever.
It expresses itself in poetry.

(from Civilization and the Art of Terror)

The material in brackets is what I remember of the dream-experience but didn’t write down at the time. Another item worthy of note that I didn’t adequately describe in my notebook is the top of what I call the human life sphere of dream, but you could also call it the top of our inner world, a lid actually. The small tunnel-like hole I went through was in the right corner of the top. As I approached the top, everything slowed down and was sort of floating, like the Pegasus, seeming to go into a very slow whirl at the top, and it was as though reality had gotten quite thin, not like it was almost space, like the world of representation was about exhausted. There is no mistaking that you are at the limits of our world. To go to the other side, the afterlife, there is also an unmistakable boundary to cross, but it’s different than this kind at the top, as there’s usually a long journey at the back of things through a kind of tunnel-like darkness, although the undersize hole you go through without any difficulty can be a feature of going there too. You have to go through something, as it’s a definite boundary once you arrive, which can even be a mirror, what I recently went through to get to Lisa on the other side, after a long travel through dark scenes that were compressed and tunnel-like. I was unsuccessful in retrieving her and sending her on her way I am so very sorry to say. I’m waiting for another chance. In vision she is now right up to me in her true form, with her long, happy tongue hanging out, her eyes bright with love, after months of her keeping her distance in vision, both in physical distance and in the distance of different dog forms, why I failed the first time up at bat: things were too complicated between us for there to be the trust. But now she knows I didn’t destroy her, and that’s all that counts. I’ll be up at bat again soon.

It’s also not spelled out in the notebook the level of lucidity I experienced to go to Heaven, and it bears mentioning. Anyone who lucid dreams regularly knows there are tiers of lucidity, many actually, the most common seeming to be knowing your dreaming but still involved in the dream, not completely lost in it, but it’s your primary reality, although you can fly and do magical things. The top tier of lucidity, what I experienced in the final dream, can be likened to the final awakening of Neo in The Matrix. You have all power, perfect power, instant power, but the dream is no longer your primary reality and easily fades, or you go to another level, out of our sphere and into the unknown. Although for some reason I don’t say it in my notebook, the cement pilings on the roof were for a bathroom, and what I did right before the roof changed form was instantly put the bathroom together with my will, also not mentioned in the notebook. A bathroom is symbolic in dream not exactly for sex, but for your control over your sexual impulse, or lack of. It can also represent the type of sex you’re having. For example, a clean and shiny bathroom would represent not being dominated by your sexual desire and not being harmful with your sexual expression, which in most cases is not having sex at all. Adult-child sex is often represented by a toilet full of shit. I’d imagine most harmful sex is. There’s even a level of lucidity where it’s not your mind that’s awake but your vital, the life-body, and you act out your desires, all the while knowing it’s a dream and using that knowledge to really eat what you’re into.

“I gotta go dog,” a line that came a couple of weeks before I actually left, giving importance to leaving Jan, which I didn’t give enough to, but it wasn’t like I was ignorant of her pain; she just didn’t register as a person that feels as deeply as we do, a common mistake we make, “fooled by mass and shape.” (from my muse poem “God Dog on My Door” on Twitter) On the appointed day I left the cabin. I slide the keys to it under the door of the big house, Thomas’, per instructions. Then, pack on my back, I walked to the main road to hitch to Heraklion. There must’ve been something in the air signaling the end of winter, because the homeless man that used Thomas’ outdoor shower, a mainland Greek, and I never bothered him about taking a shower there, was leaving Kamilari and hitching to Heraklion too to take the ferry back to the mainland. We crossed paths a couple of times, in sight of one another more times. I do not actually remember my goodbye with Jan I am ashamed to say. I do remember considering taking her with me, but the impracticalities of that pushed the thought away, the first being just her getting into, and being allowed into, the car or truck that stopped to pick me up hitching to Heraklion. And the ferry? It’s impossible to say what would’ve happened, but maybe a way would’ve been cleared if I’d at least have tried, or maybe the attempt would’ve found her a permanent home.

How it must’ve played out, she greeted me as I opened the door, from which she did not move from the time I closed that door for the night to the time I opened it in the morning, with the exception of her period in heat, and I petted her as I always did, the first thing I did every morning after doing my meditation, Savitri reading, and getting out of bed. The presence of my pack made her feel uneasy, and she became afraid I was leaving. Dogs just know when we’re leaving, like cats, and she’d probably dreamed about it. She followed me to the main road, the unease in her stomach spreading to her heart. I was acting funny. This was not a he leaves but comes back. Waiting with me for my ride, the way I looked at her, told her her fears. The petting I gave her as I gathered my pack to get into my ride, she relished it, wanting it to last forever, and then I was gone.

I can interpret now what happened at the train station in Athens after arriving there. The dog of the place, a stray who had that doggy ease like he’d been made king of the place, a very big dog, gave me a hard time, barked and barked at me, and that made me so angry I had a public outburst. He was saying, “Bye bye Miss American Pie,” err, I mean, “What about Jan? What about Jan?” and my angry outburst, the first since that directed at Irmgard, was really my sadness at leaving Jan turned into anger so as not to feel, what we use anger for, so to protect ourselves from pain. Is it out of line to tell you that I’m crying over her now?

Get with pale tortillas in her eyes.
Oh no, ground choices.
Oh no, whatta we gotta improve?
She’s a better dog than that,
independent, clean
and solitary-minded.
She was top of her kind,
and this was evident in her eyes:
recognition there.
She was a cross of her kind,
a hurt dog
but sweetness just to look at.
You’ve had this buried.
Remember her.
You’re forgettin’ somethin’,
her way with you.
It was sympathetic.

(today’s muse)

Hey Boo Boo,
I’m fixin’ to leave,
and I just wanted to know how you felt about it. [vision of saying this to a young boy, also the sense of how he felt about some coming war]
A traveler is on the flag.

(came days before I left, alerting me to leaving and more)

I did see Irmgard one more time, at a Cretan cultural festival in Kamilari. She was sitting off to herself, obviously feeling out of place. When she saw me, her face lit up for a second, not like seeing an old friend, like seeing someone you thought too proud had been sheared, and she commented on the cut hair. The O her mouth made in its surprise at my new look said so many things. There was, however, something there that said, “Let’s let bygones be bygones, shall we?” I don’t know what made me do it, but I’ve regretted it all these years hence. I gave her the most expressive ‘don’t talk to me my vital’s still offended’ look that I could muster, and the way she immediately straightened up and stared straight ahead, closing herself off to the world, well, all’s I can say is that all that sadhana, all the spiritual vision, did not come to bear in that moment she most needed me I am so very sorry to say, sorry for so many things, but there it is.

The couple from Germany, Mechthild and Wolfram, sent me the cash I needed to get to Sicily and a line on a place to stay in Palermo, with a performer named Piaggio, who gave people a place to stay. I envisioned some place like the Paris bookstore Shakespeare and Company, which, as George the owner called it, was a flophouse for writers. There, I worked in the bookshop and talked shop with the other writers staying there. Here, l licked my chops, since I loved doing theater. If I’d had known it was a Catholic mission for homeless people, I might not have been so keen on staying there, as I avoided homeless shelters, but my muse had confirmed going there, and so I went, even though the name was a mistake: “A teacher would read you a part, how much you had marked off. Piaggio.” [vision of a writing explaining that the teacher reads a book to the children] In other words, I could stay however long I wanted to stay. The name was actually Biagio Conte, not Piaggio (Mechthild apologized for the mistake), and it took a whole day to sort that out. Not a whole lot of English in Palermo. I used Spanish a lot. They could understand Spanish better than I could Italian however. Their ears were more accustomed to the romance.

I spent the first night above the city in a goat grotto halfway up the mountain, and by the time I left, about two months later, I was in and out of the mayor’s office and that of the whole city government, as Biagio had given me the job of picking up paper for recycle all over official Palermo, or riding shotgun for the man in charge of that. It was a two-man gig, like the army escort wagon I served on both as the swamper and muleskinner. Here I was the swamper. When I went to leave, Biagio, through his managing priest, the man with the keys, had offered me a more permanent job, organizing a library for his Mission of Hope and Charity, where I stayed, but I was on my way to the Camino de Santiago in Spain, where my muse was pointing me next, also via the Mediterranean Sea. I didn’t interpret that above vision properly though. I could’ve stayed awhile longer and organized their library if I wanted to. Sometimes you just got the itching to go, well, a lot of times.

My first meeting with Biago, however, was a battle between worlds. He came out of his one-room trailer that he lived in in the middle of a parking lot. He walked the talk would be a good way to describe him. I was still in hippy clothes but had, as I said, cut the hair and shaved the beard, but not having shaved or gotten a haircut since, I was looking a bit wild. He asked a translator to ask if I were Catholic. I answered no, and that I practiced yoga. He positioned himself right in front of me and right in my face. We had a staring down contest that changed into a mutual understanding, a real intense eye to eye, lasting longer than was comfortable, for both of us, and then he told the translator I could stay in the mission. I could hear everyone present breathe a sigh of relief, and I don’t know if it was because he let me stay, or because he didn’t denounce me as a devil. Uh, well, how about you?

Stairway to Heaven
had been tapasya.
Something his nerves just can’t get over:
we will still treat you like a puppy.
Holds still the branding.
Douglas!
the branding sucks.

You see my guitar?
It’s time for me to leave,
no letter, no fun, no hun.
The Atlantic letter crashed,
saving the dream for another night.
You’ve got that song now,
and an epic poem does it right.

We landed in Turkey.
If you’ll excuse me some confusion.
I think we went to Guanajuato.
You mean Dr. Spock?
Tony Warrant aren’t and
I gave them a gift,
possibly on the table here.

Oh you puppy dog.
Luna has been in a life and death struggle.
Look,
divine work is a costly enterprise.
Your dog dies.
Nobody believes you.
Annihilate you,
even the Darkness tries.
It’s a constant battle, struggle.
Things go wrong
all over the place.
Everything is attacked,
even your blue suede shoes.

Let’s get on with this show.
Go with me
to national examine our heart.
You know the U.S. needs to/tries. [words spoken simultaneously]
Come on baby light my fire. [heard sung by The Doors]
I’m gonna go out and burn the school out,
confront
the science that runs our show.
We’re gonna get out of here,
slow,
like people realizin’ they’re wrong,
like people realizin’ life has to change.
Spiritual reality becomes reality
for our face, hands, and feet.
We see the larger in the smaller.
We come to terms with ourselves,
like people know they’re missin’ out on reality.

Shotgun!
That’s what you call it,
riding shotgun
this little swamper passing and review.
I’m bringin’ in the change,
symbolically,
and it has a top of its own
I just talk about.

Take control
society in your arms,
without killin’ anybody
or causin’ chaos in the streets.
You just take on sadhana yourself.
You just change what points you can
as you meet the whole.
No rambunctious change.
The kind that sees reality
and doesn’t spit on those who don’t,
or even grabs them by the hair,
or preaches to them till they’re blue in the face.

I feel a hand in my dreams.
Let Captain Underpants alone.
Where’d they go? [vision sequence of a group of British or New York upper crust-type people chasing me into the subway and then coming out of a subway entrance and onto the sidewalk marked on their faces and clothes, all in a tight group, looking for me but having lost the trail]
You will want:
listen Alex, do tell me…—
an interviewer speaks.
No but tah, you can read my writings.
We are killing each other softer than good and evil.
All the interviewer wants is his hillbilly fare.
Get out of here.

Now let’s transpose goodbye
where Luna’s concerned.
Oh Luna, [heard sung by the Archies to the tune of and followed by the music from the song “Sugar, Sugar” that du du dunt tu dunt tu that comes after “Sugar” and “Ah honey, honey,”]
oh Luna,
you’re back breathin’ sunlight.
Your illness put you in touch with God.
We’ve earned being together,
and here we are.

Core values
I considered a long, long time.
A family count.
All kinds of field play
that meet them in the world,
as long as they got the airport.
Douglas and I have a family.
We don’t meet each other gay.
We sit together in soul.

Estación Catorce, Mexico, 1999
Douglas and I, Jeff’s bedroom, a mutual friend, Houston, Texas, 1999
The family we stayed with in Lima, Peru after a Vipassana there, 2000
About to enter the Bolivian Amazon by boat with our Chilean friends, 2001
Today, our dream group and sadhana circle. That’s Mithun on the left, Nitish center. Photo by Jana

I think we’re gonna turn upside down being human.
You got that racecar?
It’s beyond reach.
We have to be together first.
I’ve art Auroville
to spinach this along with them.
They kicked me out you know.
That was a delivery problem.
I didn’t know what I was deliverin’.
You can’t do that,
harm people.
I just left that place.
Auroville just keeps that in its craw.

Inmates of national kill zone
the whole damn country.
It’s comin’ to a theater near you.
Well y’all,
what happened?
He’s got a gun!
And you think this is city hall?
Damage control
Steven.
I wouldn’t
just hate yah.
I can get away with it,
usin’ you as my scapegoat,
being unkind to you.
I don’t ever have to speak to you again.
You’re a pedophile.

And he’s liberal,
a gay man.
Someone dropped the gun.
I can’t tell you how glad I am.
I’ve got my brother back.
Would that were true.
I love you Steven.

You see the problem.
Hatred, you know?
You’d link the pedophile as the common denominator.
The Capitol riots,
well low and behold,
those were pedophiles
in the center of their conspiracy.
How many pedophiles?
They’re too disgusting to know.
At least as many as homosexuals.
That means?
That’s millions.
You’re not an isolated incident.
Now put that hatred in the population.
Every ground zero goes there.

Come on people,
open your eyes on reality.
How many people hate the pedophile?
You mean somebody don’t?
We’ve done this before,
centered on a scapegoat in society,
but I can’t reference history.
It’s overused.
Why did the Nazis center on Jews?
Stop them.
Nobody wants to say stop myself.
How many people hate each other,
or hate skinheads,
the Republican Party,
Jews,
liberal Democrats,
gun totters,
the Moslem immigrant,
the person that honks their horn?
Dad, can you lose out on games too?
Hate everybody in it
against you.

Hatred is our first response team.
Makes you wanna go along with it
that pedophile hate in your craw.
Oh my God,
shows us us.
Makes you want to hate everybody that in your craw
so important,
so main flavor.
You know what to do.
Take the hatred out of the picture.
I think you’ve met her.
You just let her get her better.
I won’t have a way
to spit till this afternoon.
Well honey,
lighten up.
I go to the doctor.
The biscuits are almost gone, you know?

Everybody has a soul,
that one common thing
that makes us not lose God’s grace.
You’ll get used to it
if you turn off some of those programs,
take off those headphones,
get out of your cell phone,
and actually meet it.
You’re not gonna do it
until you have to. [vision of a man standing in a playground and a piece of play equipment like a seesaw or something suddenly hitting him in the rear end without warning, twice]
You alright?
The whole thing was swampted by
the end of the line.
It’s just a specter,
but what the hell.
Hello?

Thunder
crashes
as you read it.
There’s no goin’ back.
Extraordinary they fired eternity.
You played me down—
Steven’s outburst.
It was mad,
the whole book,
and we’ll see about getting bones
for dogs of the future.
They also need work weeks.

They’re fearful.
We have a big carwash.
Would you mind me using my shorts?
Skinny dipping?
With a light on.
It went to the top of the town.
It was prancing into town
brain swipes.
Frank
you have filters.
You’re gonna run,
you’re gonna show,
‘cause I can’t use the green
to explain depth to you.
I have a whole lot to say.
Yeah I can believe that.

Time to go.
Grab those hills under the sun now.
It was such a bad company.
You putted
winter of truth.
And I’m learning,
and I’m taking it in
in my notebook
how it reach the sky
the pedophile paper.
Talk about journaling,
scrapping around sir.

You running?
Lisa.
I’m gettin’ there baby.
Don’t go to the wild
from that darkness.
I’m on my way baby.

That explains it.
I’m gettin’ to you, aren’t I?
I’ll be there in the morning.
For now pop gun.
How it turns out:
this is the scoop on humanity.
It’s all I can do to write it down.
Baby don’t hurt me. [heard sung by Haddaway]
This is the rhythm of the night. [heard sung by Corona]
You wish.
Get up,
come to the door,
and let me in. [vision of a photo of Luna on the bed belly up]
Baby it’s cold outside. [heard sung, female voice]
You groovin’?
Let me in.

Luna, 7 months

I’m out here holdin’ oranges,
one solitary man facin’ the country.
This is askew.
One person in their underwear facing the country.
Well at least I’m there.
Hear me town.
I’ve seen you warthog.
Tapasya,
you dig?
I’m in the same delivery of the soul as you,
the count,
India speaks.

I’m a believer if I tried. [heard sung by the Monkees]
I need you to open the door.
I need you to return the key—
you’re not listenin’ to me—,
the key to the holy door:
there’s a person
asking entrance.

Put ‘im on the ground.
The higher parts with my child is my body.
Why to understand:
daddy? [Nitish’s voice]
Miss Ran So, Miss Ran So, [vision of a man in cowboy hat giving a piano lesson to a little boy, they sitting side by side on the piano bench]
you’re a cradle of civilization.

The crime below the city,
you can’t take it out.
It has to be addressed
we don’t get there from here:
the punishment of society.
You can’t conquer people.
They destroy.
I don’t think we get here this century.
We can’t even see this.
Every BBC will have a cow.
It’s not branded yet:
hey, we evolve.
Examine the moment and spit it out.
Ain’t no higher now. [heard sung by Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell]

Put the trailer.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
We have an inner healing process that takes over.
You see mine.
It’s so expensive.
At this point in the narrative Luna kissed me.
Lick, lick, lick, lick,
wild-eyed and forceful.
Kiss me quick my lips are hot.
No Luna, no.
Puppies.
We would look at tomorrow.

Take him home,
everyone will have his daemon home,
the talking muse.
Where do you take this?
Open the inner consciousness.
That means muse
not where you meet the world.
It’s means opening the inner consciousness.

Take reality to that location:
everybody’s in there with you;
you’re in the consciousness of others.
They share that with you
where you dream.
I am gettin’ this across?

We effect each other’s consciousness
with our thoughts and feelings.
Go deeper,
the consciousness is ours.
We are each one of us us.
I don’t expect you to see this.
This takes experiential seeing.

It’s all over the place.
It’s in school shootings.
He’s got a gun because you do.
It’s the will of everybody,
the hatred that makes him does it.

Maybe I’m wrong.
Did I get something wrong?
The bear eats people.
That has to be stopped.
Arrest the individual and put him in an orphanage,
a holding pattern,
to come to grips with themselves.
Your ill will will not put them there.
Focus
all your energy into getting this out of the population:
the hatred for anybody,
no matter what you are.
We climb back to the parents:
a whole nation of inner consciousness
reading the riot act to one another.
Impact, see?

Now the smorgasbord:
open the awareness of yourself
in inner consciousness studies.
Can you see that road?
Bye, bye, drove my Chevy to the levee. [heard sung, voice of Don McLean]
Keep goin’.
You’ll get there.
Take off of my blue suede shoes. [Heard sung, voice of Elvis Presley]
Just be lined up to be stepped on.
Inner work is excruciating,
and no one wants you to do it,
and it’s not familiar to anyone.
You have a lifelong.
Get after it.

Goofy was Robbie prefer,
show what you think your lines are.
We need introspection
gets it done.
Could you crowd out attention?

A military play-paper,
we gorgeous this out drives,
and I’m showin’ yah one.
It’s embarrassing, isn’t it?
Domestic dog,
you hear their parade?
They lick the world right where it counts,
and they are unfathomably world.

Now you see we are the untold truth behind,
leavin’ more room for that puppy.
Sometimes it
(There are Steves around you.
Cleaves just called.)
inspires a puppy universe
yah hear me tell it,
like doctors and stuff.
Now don’t
stumble
in their blue brown eyes.
You wouldn’t give the them God’s place.
They’re not the center of the universe.

People’s feelings may change,
but the basic feeling
is the puppy.
Gonna make a new toy.
Push the psychic being to the front.
You’ve met the personality of the soul,
the sweetness of a puppy.
It heals all deranged.
It comes to the surface
who you are in soul.
It’s the leader of the life.
It’s got puppy eyes
and smells you like a puppy,
to put the world in place.
Not there over here
it will tell you.
It knows the true path,
the right movement.
A small child
you’d find it in your dreams.
Now it grows up,
figures in your dreams a counselor,
if you’ve established a pattern of contact.
Hear it speak?

It’s broad and arm,
never anger, never impatient,
only healing,
condemns not, judges not.
You can see that Jesus wore this on his sleeve.
I’m sorry if that’s obscured
by the Bible.
How do we take this to Earth?
In a puppy dog smile,
so warm to a little boy.
She’s hardcore on her task,
is around a grand movement like child’s play.
She practices God in her courts.
This is her realm,
the knowing of God.
It’s all around her,
her big wide look upon the world.
You’re seein’ it now.

Great, isn’t it,
amazingly kind,
although you deal with me better than I deal with you.
I don’t always listen to my psychic.
Everyone out of those. [vision of a little boy, not Nitish, covering Luna’s snout with dish soap bubbles as she’s sitting on the bed on her haunches, and then I see he’s covered also her back legs up to her hocks]
That’s a wrong movement.
This is the delivery of the soul.
It’s how we get to time.
It’s how we get to where existence is [vision of two half-grown Rottweiler puppies, Luna’s size, sitting on their haunches looking at me, one on top of the cabinet for the inverter in my room and the other in front of it on the floor]
the right can of beans.

Back to work.
Get some sleep.
Sat by the great Earth
and just lollygagging. [vision of looking through the muse notebook from the cabin to find lines that told me to get out of bed in the mornings, which came often, to use as examples here]
Sometimes I think you are Venom.
Up all night with a diarrhea dog
and muse,
what is a body to do?
Great Luna said,
now I’ll get some sleep.
Go Lucy.
There’s too many dogs in this bed.
What house is that?
The engine room
of let’s make room for Earth.
Get maybe and three over it.
Now get to work.
Aum, silence [vision of the word AUM all in caps]
in your head, in your head. [heard sung by the Cranberries]

How did dream shift occur?
You wrote them down.
Hear that Nikos Kazantzakis?
You’d really try
to go over every detail,
involved all night long.
That’s how you held your hand up
to give your dream to the dream group.
Expensive, ain’t it?
You just have so much to show.
Embarrassing, isn’t it?
Great dream, huh?
Let us have the ring.
A large donut owner stumble in the breakfast.
We followed their moves.
What it is?
Why sex with candy of course.
It was so comfortable,
your hand involved in your daughter’s vagina.
Can add that to the work I’m looking at with you guys.
Tired of this job?
Supposed to demonize you.
That’s dream group
all looking at you
for dream content.
Watch here comes the face,
my favorite part:
a regular daddy non-pedophile mother fucker.

It’s like in the Free Fire beginning,
you’re slapping her in the face.
Is the life in the liberty’s tech?
Write the long letter.
Anything on stilts,
which one plays confidence
and makes sure it’s a lower?
That’s certainly Minecraft.
That was
an unauthorized builder.
Learnin’ how to dream,
playin’ Free Fire
stops that,
any Free Fire,
any game at all
you get addicted to online.

Vision I was in outdoor sports—
dream maker.
That’s where you volley ball,
play tennis
with your magnet,
football the hell out of the crowd,
baseball diamond.
You even swim with everybody in the world,
and you ride horses with your power,
all along the shores of time.
Well Donny you’re battin’ a hundred.
I don’t see you doin’ sports.
We interrupt this preaching program
to put Donny on the spot.
Run exercise,
you glob of belly.
I’ve just told the dream group that,
you dream group belly.

Now for some disease,
that’s Minecraft.
Nitish forgot his dreams again.
He’s in a video game bubble.
He’s in trouble.
Can you see this kids?
It’s out of order,
your imagination sequence,
for where you put your imagination
is in hell.
A vampire a video game.
I don’t understand developers.
They know
oh well it’s addicting.
How long has it been
that wasn’t a manipulating tool
to use children,
our young people?
Alright hypocrites,
charge scapegoats
with the behavior of the whole.
Hate that pedophile.
It’s simple.
What’s the first thing that pops into your head?
Take a look at yourself.
Examine your own lives.

You generally lead questions.
I’ve forgotten the Earth’s center.
It’s a being unto itself.
We 𝝅 its program.
Our thoughts make up its work.
It wants to achieve stardom.
It’s always lonely out in space.
Planetary eyes that see the whole
are at a loss for its purpose.
It’s an adolescent M.A.S.H.
You see the disease?

Every animal on the planet
adolescence its way along.
No one knows its purpose.
We are the thoughts of man,
and finally it’s put on eyes that can see itself.
What comes next, the chicken and the egg?
It puts on thoughts that can see itself,
obviously a rolling splendor.
Touch that down,
and you will come to regret it.
Every agent of chaos has a grace period
they mistake for license,
and you see Putin ignoring his.
What are you talking about stupid?
Just watch him fall.

The engines of the Earth
are not in harmony.
This is the great world being’s task:
hum the world along its course smoothly.
We figure in that
the Captain Kirk of the program,
the engine room.
This is all out of whack,
and if you’re a whacker,
business to shut you down.

Okay a person abusing a child
is a whacker.
Are you sure you know Heaven?
There are ovens that work
right on the edge of the moon.
You last alone in there
an understanding made Earth.
You’ve been picked up and healed
as the very thing that heals you touches you:
you’ve got this disease.
I’m talking about a behavioral program.
You’re taken by degrees.
The healing is a wide, harmonious moon
made real by the Earth.
Therapy in the very center of the Earth
put you there.
That’s the salt of the Earth.

Anyway,
we’re family.
The Earth being
is where we dwell,
the principle of its thoughts.
Terrible Satan at his task,
but he can’t stop magnificent Earth.
Is that our task?
You know exactly what it is:
help her goin’.

Not wondering over Dante’s own doubts and fears that I am he. [line came on Crete]
Let’s look through the gloom.
It’s an idea.
How skinny.
Aren’t you human?
Get past the noise.
That’s why people are gonna rise up.
Everybody needs to be recognized as being human.
It’s Donny.
It’s the Moslem immigrant.
It’s even ISIS and all the Putins in the world.
It’s the human being.
How sinister is that?
It’s even Donald Trump.

Get out of it
impossible.
The spaces between our lives
made wonderfully whole,
space this apart
a world union,
a food bank
we’ve finally found.
Look on your troubles.
Get this choice.
We are human beings,
every last one of us.
That’s the family we are
before any other.
There will be another:
oneness reach.

But for now,
let’s take it noble.
Let’s start with the human being
and his dog,
an addition noble,
the price of a dog.
Donny you artfink.
You give us ideas to register in our minds.
I certainly
capture one.
And then I just hope he messes up.
Not if humanity was your keeper.

A child
I thought he was after.
Look, you don’t have to be so defensive or whatever.
I’m after every human being,
that direction.
Can you look please
from the field?
Clothes, their clothes—
fortunately
you have your clothes on.
It’s a vehicle for your day;
it’s a metaphor being called out:
image is given our shape
all over the world.
That’s not to be famous
or on the fucking news.
We are the world you see.
Now hurry up and get there
skinny human being.

Dante looks up from his paper and smiles—
we’re gonna get there, we’re gonna get there.
Now we’re gonna find somethin’.
We’re gonna find out.
We are people properly tuned.
You hear that cat and dog?
They’re our love bucket.
What’s with this jaw jackin’ thing?
It’s got time on it.
Hearin’ it over and over see.

At this point in the narrative
the biscuits stop.
The personal growth process towards wholeness and healing,
it’s there in a neighborhood near you.
What’s you gotta do to get there:
be sincere,
and you’ll find a way.
Then why did you fail?
Oh my God my stuckness.
We can only see through his darkness.
We can’t change it.
Okay then why even go to school?
It’s a representative change,
it’s gonna take a long time.
You have the world to put together.

Study your dreams.
Everybody begins there.
You need to see interpretation.
The dream show host
our dream group.
We’ll be giving a podcast to the public
along about now.
Wait and see.
It’s comin’
you just leave us alone.
Bye, bye Miss American pie. [heard sung by Don McLean]
And you think I’m singin’?
What would you do if everybody wanted to shoot you?

Well that’s the story.
You’ve heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.
Goodnight kids.
We’ll see yah in the mornin’.
She was singin’ bye, bye Miss American pie. [heard sung ibid]
Am I dead?

The world is on opening for Jan.
We see her there in smiles
comin’ up.
Damn,
I missed it.
I think our servant noticed.
Among kings
that’s the level I’m at.
Finally
I finished this model.

Surprise!
One bomb with a mission.
You can refuse from the book.
It’s here in text.
I think that’s it.
Forgot on thing.
We’re gonna give you that name:
get down to business.
Well don’t get socked it knocks.
Open the door.
There must be giants,
not a harm but change the world.
All around the world
they need this gas in their car.
I wanna say thanks to the people who enjoyed it.
Okay, it’s finished.

On the Camino in Spain, between Santiago and Negreira, on the way to Finisterre, July 1, 2003

The End

© 2021 (although I’d probably give permission for you to use the material on your site if you just ask, but please ask)

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