Between Jerusalem I’m Sorry, Chapter 11

When you see Supermind, sit down without interruptions. This help us. And things sat at Egypt, quite a chart, occult seat. Get the government out of there. Photo by me.

Now What About the Bathroom City Toy?

These were poems posted at the hunger strike camp in Jerusalem, outside Jaffa Gate. One or more of them were posted at the top of Mt. Sinai and around the Great Pyramid in Egypt. I don’t remember which ones.

It happened as soon as I plopped down on my bed in my efficiency there at Hyde Park Apartments in the Montrose district of Houston. The whole room erupted in vision. I was watching a storm at sea, and everything was purple, the sky, the mounting waves, the ocean. Thunder and lightning punctuated the scene, and the lightning too was a shade of purple. A woman on a white stallion was looking at me kindly, the horse expertly riding the storm under her body commands. She was dressed in the buckskins of a male American Indian warrior. And she smiled. As I looked into her eyes I was suddenly seeing through the eyes of innumerable individuals, and how can I describe this? They were a single person, all those beings, not entities in union sharing an identity and field of consciousness, but one individual that existed as a multitude. Each was a specific personality type, or character, as this rider of the storm was, and each was strikingly different from the one on either side, as it were as though they were all in a curved line, or some such figure, facing out. That vision within a vision, of seeing through multiple beings, multiple poles of experience at the same time, lasted only a second or so, but I saw. Then I was looking at the woman again, and she said, not exactly, but this is close, “Nirvana expresses itself through the forms.” And the vision ended. And my world fell back into place. I was okay. Meaning refilled my room.

I could now go on, live my life and with enthusiasm, the luckiest man in the world because I had seen what I saw: the world is a meaningful expression of Nirvana, that being for me at that time a name I used for Reality, Buddhism being my mode of study  back then. I called that person that had multiple selves the Nirvana people, for the same reason. Once I took up the study of Sri Aurobindo’s yoga, I was able to connect the dots and realize that stupendous being was a representation of the Supermind, it being one entity expressing itself in innumerable distinct personalities so to ride the universe. It also came to me in the study of his yoga that was where I was going as the force of kundalini began to rocket up the base of my spine during that momentary experience of enlightenment described in the last chapter, and I was headed back up there where I wanted to be, as he says that you normally go to Supermind on a thin edge of existence, side by side with extinction, the exit out of cosmic existence, but instead of leaving, you go into your real Self, and I’ve put into my own words his teachings. Stupid me, I stopped myself, not understanding I was returning where I had done that intense sadhana to return to. Now, a couple of weeks later, with that woman on the horse, I saw the nature of myself on high, the aspect of Supermind that rides me, and thus my essential nature, I a rider of storms, in cross sympathy with the two sexes we wear, comfortable and at home a stranger in a strange land. It does fit me well, as I’m a homemaker, after being an adventure traveler and a Green Beret, and I live in India as an Indian a White man, and one storm after another hits our house, some carrying the flesh of death, and I, used to it, unperturbed for the most part, just continue.

You would be right to ask me how could I have been so fooled by the momentary experience of Silent Mind into thinking the world wasn’t real when I’d experienced Supermind and seen with mine own eyes the reality of everything. That’s the way it is with us, our present circumstances far outweigh our past and future, living as we are on the cusp of some present moment forever slipping into the past, even before we can grab ahold of it. I didn’t realize Supermind but just had a fleeting experience of it, and it wasn’t me that experienced it but Supermind, the remote, unmanifested Supermind high above the head. It did change my life, or redirected it rather, and all I wanted was to “be Myself again,” get back up there on high. But the world was still the same for Donny, that little I driving the truck, once the experience was over. He had seen and now knew, but he wasn’t changed. No-Self, however, that silent emptiness, hit me right in the seat of my perception of the world when I looked at anything with my eyes, or with my mind’s eye, for the couple of weeks after the experience. I was looking at emptiness, a world void of meaning, one just one step from nothingness. This is, by the way, one sure way of telling if you or someone telling you they have actually had an experience of enlightenment. You’re just stunned for days or weeks afterwards.

At Krishna’s in Safed, Israel, about four years later, I was basking in warm sunshine. It wasn’t that he was impressed with those two over the top spiritual experiences I described to him—I don’t think he really grasped them. He was purposely providing a safe space for someone being outcast to feel the support of community. I can’t tell you how much that helps, even if it’s only a heartfelt hello or a bright smile you give such a person. It makes our day. Here, it was healing my wounds. He said it was movie night, and that David the Sefirot artist and his wife were coming over to watch Mrs. Doubtfire with us, the film he’d chosen for the evening. Funny that film, and funny that very open man. I kind of think the universe chose the film, but I suspect David was showing his support too, not necessarily, like I said, for me personally but for the person being outcast. It was lovely evening. To be indoors, to be in polite company, wow, what a boon. Thank you Krishna, and thank you David and your wife. You are wonderful.

I don’t think I’d planned to leave Safed that next morning, although I was planning to go soon. After leaving Krishna’s refreshed, taken care of, on a high note, I encountered the crowd I initially was involved with in Safed, the one Hen-ya and Zeke, were a part of. Actually, I only ran into Ger and the little boy in the group, and they were about to go on another weekend day trip to some place or another interesting not too far away. I’d gone on two of those excursions myself, one to that moshav ‘dinner in the barn affair’ I told you about, but I’d had a falling out with the group over my attraction to that little boy, which manifested a bit like the behavior of a male dog not able to stay away from a girl dog in heat. I mean he’s right there as close to her as dogly possible. The boy didn’t mind the attention, although he wasn’t the type of kid that liked attention to his genitals. It was just something that alarmed the females and caused Hen-ya to tell me, a couple of days before the morning I’m at now in the story, that she wanted nothing more to do with me, period. When I informed her of Ger’s behavior with the boy’s fourteen-year-old sister, she became angry and told me that I was lying. Even though it was true, it was illegitimate of me to implicate him so to take some heat off me.

As I watched her walk away from me, I remembered her telling me some days before that she’d seen God in her room, and when she said it she giggled like a naughty child, and she proclaimed there was no longer any need to meditate or do anything like that, as if her vision, which she wouldn’t describe to me other than to say it was a bright light that was ‘God’, was the sign she’d achieved the goal of the spiritual path, and so it’s no surprise her way of dealing with me was to tell me she would no longer be my friend. No integral understanding there, no heartfelt compassion, no sign she’d seen God with the essence of her vision of self and world. Whatever she meant by seeing God, it was not a light that enlightened her.

Ger and the girl were quite the spectacle. Often in those first days after my arrival in Safed, when we were a group together, before I turned more towards the crowd at the art studio, Ger and I would be alone with the kids, and they would be lost in each other, or what was really going on, she using him as her sexual pedestal, her exploratory tool, they kissing and feeling of one another, passionately, she often getting on top of him and straddling him, he opening his legs so they could be genital to genital, both fully dressed though, and they dry humping each other, her so hot to her awakened sexuality you thought she’d catch fire. I would be nearby with the boy massaging him everywhere but where I wanted to and where he didn’t want me to, or I’d be doing whatever the boy wanted to do so to keep his attention. It was really in the atmosphere, their sex. We don’t know to take that into account in the pedophile’s wrong.

Ger was about 27 or so, and his name is the Hebrew name for stranger, and it’s part of the Law to treat a ger kindly, and so his name gave him special treatment. Zeke told me that was the type of non-Jew most welcome among Jews. I don’t know really why. Zeke was never judgmental or cross about me being with the boy, but he did study it, warned me the others didn’t like my focus on the boy. Zeke did not know about Ger and the girl. Only the boy and I saw that. He did, however, tell me the mother was a sharlila, the word I believe he used, and that people looked down on her. Ger had sex with the mother, and so that sealed his in with the family, as there was no father, just the mother and her two children.

However she was with men, an easy woman or what, or really, a contemporary New York City girl (girl—she was in her late thirties I believe), she was straight up with her son and his package. Everyone had been who’d been in close caretaking roles with him in his infancy and toddler years. No one messed with his thing. He was now 7, and the ego was in full swing, old enough to keep people off his privates because that’s they way he’d been taught, that they were private, his, not even his mom’s or dad’s. Here’s some useful knowledge: if you don’t play with your baby boy’s mailbox in any way, shape or form, don’t even open it in the attitude, meaning wash and heal it holding it away from you in your mind and in your own genitals, not in a fearful or morally indignant manner, which has its own consequences, but respectful of the boy’s privacy, and if no one fiddles with it other than other little kids, which is no problem here, then that boy will say no to some adult or near adult who wants to play with it or worse as the kid grows up. Someone can still get past those defenses, as it’s not so hard to get into a kid’s pants, but those defenses will still be up, be a barrier to someone trying to get some handful or more out of them. This boy was such a boy, strong in his strongbox, because his mother had been careful with him and it. It’s usually the mother who has the most say here, if she is the primary caretaker. Sometimes, though it’s the dad or a close relative.

If, on the other hand, a mom or somebody caretaking close fooled with it, twitched it up and down, or outright played with it some, in a baby’s first three years of life or so, then they will be open down there and give a great big yes to adults that want some of that. If it didn’t reach a certain level of intensity, didn’t go overboard, then the boy will become  a man somewhat crazy about women, probably disrespectful towards them, and if the mom’s, big sister’s, aunt’s, or grandmother’s hand got carried away often, he’ll become a sexual harasser or quite possibly a rapist. Can you see the equation? Judging from the reports worldwide of men sexually harassing women, raping them, it would seem there’s a pandemic of women into their baby boy’s stuff. When’s Me Too going to examine itself? Here’s the line: if the woman gave that infant boy orgasms, or played with it frequently in an overtly sexual way, to erection and beyond, or any adult did that at that tender age, then the kid will grow up to be a pedophile if he stays on course for that, and there’s a demon attached to him from birth, the same one who got the woman, or whomever, to mess with him, making sure that boy stays on course. Do you have any idea what I just showed you?

For his part, Ger was only mildly bothered by me focusing on the boy, and we talked about it, as we did about what was going on with he and the girl, he saying, not without some truth, that he was only giving the girl what she wanted and that he wouldn’t have actual intercourse with her. I did not, however, see him the most patient and trustworthy teacher there. In the course of our conversation about my attraction to little boys, I told him about my mom giving me fellatio as a baby and toddler. He was not a coarse or macho man, was quite gentle and sensitive actually, his passion with the young girl notwithstanding, was someone I felt okay to talk to. He told me that, once, listening to a radio talk show in his native Norway, he heard a young mother talk about her infant son’s penis, how it would become erect, and she wanted to suck it. The radio host, he said, got quite alarmed and told her not to do that. I looked at that story as showing the tip of an iceberg, not only in Norway but in humanity, and how alarmed would you be to know it is? Meaning more mothers than anybody would believe suck that little thing, and it made me feel less weird about that thing happening to me.

I ran into Ger and the boy after I left Krishna’s. They were about to leave on a day trip somewhere. Ger told me he felt bad about how things worked out, or I think he did. Maybe it was just the way he looked at me, sadly. The boy was doing something boyish as the two waited; you how boys don’t just stand there. He looked at me briefly, with those big, brown eyes of his, and I was searching that look for something to do with wanting me to come too. I was infatuated. He was just a boy. I couldn’t see a hint of me in his eyes. Instead of speaking to me, he asked Ger when they were going. I think it was at that very moment I decided to leave, and I did. I had my stuff with me, a backpack, and I went to the out road so to hitchhike to Tel Aviv, which was about half the length of Israel from there. I’d just been wined and dined by Krishna, validated and stood by, but that was yesterday. What did you do for me today God? My boy had rejected me. That was all that mattered. It was June 4th, 1995, my 34th birthday.

But God is faithful, even to boy lovers, or really, still loves and shows them that love, despite their mooning over boys. As I left I was also carrying the confusing rejection of me of all those young, Jewish Americans. I deserved it you’d say, or I’d imagine you would, and that even Atheists would, the oneness crowed too (that oneness crowd isn’t), but God doesn’t see it that way, and I mean by God the Supreme, just to make it clear I’m not talking about a particular God. I will always have trouble getting this point across, as most ideas of God have Him hate you, or at least turn His back on you, if you sin, that point being God loves, period. I’ve explained before that the crowd at the art studio weren’t rejecting me because of my love for boys, or predatory behavior I believe it’s called today, as that point never came up with them; they were rejecting me because I wasn’t Jewish bottom line, although that rejection had a lot to do with the strength of my spirituality, but if I’d been Jewish that strength wouldn’t have been a point of interest among them instead one on which to exclude me. It’s always possible Hen-ya or Zeke talked to someone from the studio crowd about my pederasty, to call more what it’s more truly called, or has been called down through the ages (we are strangers I know), and so you can’t scientifically rule that out, but it’s not probable given there were no go-betweens between the two groups, no friends in this group that also had friends in that one. And besides, neither of those two, despite their other failings, were gossips, and neither were Ger and the mother.

There’s one thing I haven’t mentioned about leaving Safed, something that ended up eclipsing that boy it was so big, had God in it if you want to know the truth. Out of nowhere had come the strong desire for a chocolate croissant, probably because of the comfort it would provide; we are so comfort food bound when it comes to being depressed about something. The desire was right there in the front of my desire soul, hitching down to Tel Aviv. You don’t hitch in Israel with your thumb. You hitch by reaching your arm out as a vehicle goes by and pointing with your index and middle finger down to the road, maybe shaking it up and down, maybe not, and it’s easy to get picked up in Israel, probably because a lot of the hitchers were soldiers on their way home from duty, and everybody but the orthodox have to serve. I was halfway to my destination when I got dropped off at a desolate spot. “Damn,” I thought, “I’ll never get a ride here.” I looked at my surroundings, for the best place to hitch from, and I saw a light pole that hadn’t been completed yet at the best spot. It only reached about waist high, and it had a flat top. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I literally rubbed them. On it was sitting a fresh chocolate croissant with a single small bite taken out of it. Now, I’d been outside awhile, homeless, and that bite didn’t mean a thing. I snatched that croissant up and ate it. When I finished a car came by and picked me up on my signal. I sat in the front seat, and the driver shared a bag of fresh fruit with me, and it was wet and cool and delicious. He was so kind.

I got to the city and jumped out of the car, landing on both feet, meaning I quickly got a means to eat. From past experience, I knew the restaurants on the street opposite the promenade hired as day labor bussers (the slang for bussing tables was something like pic-a-lo) and dishwashers, and the down and out tourist manned those day jobs a lot. You got paid with a meal at the end of your shift if it were only during the lunch or dinner rush, with a some shekels too if it were all day. Israel is a traveling experience like no other. Anyway, I got into a dishwasher’s little world, the plates coming in still half full of food, and not just any food, fired shrimp, my favorite food, and cheesecake, my favorite desert. I was washing and eating. In my mind, it was a feast fit for a king, but the waiters there didn’t want me to do that. I think I was eating a partially eaten piece of cheesecake when about three or so came in and stopped me, but not rudely or meanly. They were actually concerned, and a bit tickled at the same time, maybe at my long-haired and bearded appearance or at my unabashed delight at the food, but it was probably both, and they asked how long it’d been since I’d eaten. I explained I’d not been eating much, but I did have dinner the night before. One waiter took me by the hand and led me to a table out on the main floor, and they served me a wonderful meal, and I really, really enjoyed that meal, a memorable meal in this table of a lifetime, and then I went back to the dishes. Happy birthday. Thank you God, and thank you people. People can be so wonderful, you know? This is knowledge of God.

Along that stretch of restaurants and cafes across the street from the promenade in Tel Aviv was The Art Cafe, a very striking business front with colorful art on it. Inside it was crammed with framed paintings, and the painter could be seen, back then at least, busy with his latest painting right there in the cafe, who was also the owner of the cafe and its only employee. It was a small place, but there were several tables and a feeling of depth, as in size, once you got inside. I was drawn to the place looking over at it a lot as I left my sleeping place on the beach coming back and forth from day labor, which wasn’t in the restaurants but in construction. My new group of friends were the down and out tourist crowd haunting the beach in those days, all non-Jews except for the bright and shiny de factor leader of the group, a very young man with long, blond hair down past his shoulders and blue eyes from The Netherlands, de facto because he could speak Hebrew and knew the limits of tolerance, or we thought he did. He didn’t.

The Art Cafe drew me, and soon I was there watching the man paint after I got off work. There was no distinction, that I could feel at least, being made under the water of Jewishness or non, and that seemed pretty characteristic of my experience of Tel Aviv, but it would be too early to ascribe the religious racism I was experiencing in Israel to only the religious. At the time, his stuff struck me as only an attempt at art—after all, he couldn’t make it as an artist and had to have a coffee shop, and there were so many paintings, felt like a dime a dozen. Funny the common blinds. I’ll let my muse interpret his work though, through its lens of today: “Why don’t you just consider the width of the creativity? Draw another line across it. It was very beautiful.” He’d paint a background any manner of ways, one solid color, a color of many shades, or of many colors, any manner of shapes, on which he’d “paint paint onto, little dabs of brushstrokes here and there, let it stand up, let it stand out, on which he would ascribe meaning with that dabbing.”

I convinced him to host a “Noise From the Innerwho” there at his cafe, about two weeks after my arrival, which I put on with my beach friends, a sandy, disheveled handful of people, but loyal friends, and we had to be to one another; we were all we had. He made a little, long, rectangular painting for the bottom of the flyer, but unfortunately I don’t have a copy for you now. One published local poet showed up, with his small entourage, a middle-aged man whose style of dress spoke of university and ordinariness. He was quite snobbish, though, once he heard my poetry, had this little smile on his face that said something like, “That’s what I though, hippie, you don’t write poetry.” I felt the same way about his after hearing his, and reading his he was as arrogant as I reading mine, and as blind to that ego swelling as I. Funny the poetry sphere.

I was carried over to Auroville from Israel on my knee. I got put on it just before I left Safed, some months before I left the country for India. Those small two boys I told you about, whom I was teaching meditation and pranayama to, who were around 11, well, it was a knee thing with them, although you’d call it the predator. I showed them, manually, like really hands on, the cross-legged position I used to do the deep breathing exercises, one that made it easier to draw up the perineum, that place between the anus and genitals, but you had to have one heel directly on the perineum applying pressure, the the other foot on top of the bottom foot with its heel pressing against the genitals, quite an exact position and quite a stretch to make. In putting their heels on their perineums and against their genitals, I got handfuls of their package. For them it added to the thrill of it all. For me I got a little of their life stuff, a little thrill as well.

Okay, well, uh, the last time I did that with them, I mean the instruction, and regardless of what else was going on that was too, we did a sprint race, a spontaneous thing that just happened when we got up, the boys just wanting to, just the length of the artist quarter square, but it was enough to pull a ligament in my knee, although one could’ve been torn for all I know. I never went to the doctor about it, couldn’t afford to. That injury was to last six months, drug on and on, and I could no longer do my meditation/pranayama exercise, that specific one that raised the kundalini. That’s not all it raises, what my muse showed you last time. I could walk okay, but any bending of the knee beyond that hurt. Made it hard to do construction work, but not impossible.

About a month or so after I got to Auroville I went to their pranic healer for help, a middle-aged Indian woman that had a slightly saintly demeanor, not in the sanctimonious sense, in reality, but she was so down to earth you saw that earth first. You just believed in her. I lay down, in a little healing room made with thick concrete walls—everything is in India. Windows are cut out of it, usually with nothing between you and outside world when it was open except bars, and bars don’t keep the bugs out. Here, if I remember right, no bars, and the windows were high up on the wall, long slits, like windows in bathrooms, so people couldn’t see in. I’d told her of the knee injury. She began using her hands to make motions of drawing energy out of it, and I was surprised I could feel that drawing up in my knee. Then she abruptly gave it over to whom I thought was her assistant, a White woman also her age, who was similar to her in demeanor but not earthy, just a little holier than thou. I was disappointed and asked if she were her assistant. The woman was slightly offended by that question and told me she was a pranic healer from Findhorn, a large, enduring, intentional community in Scotland, and she was visiting Auroville.

The Auroville healer left the room, and the Findhorn healer continued the drawing out of energy from the right knee as the other had done, telling me she saw black energy coming out of it, any trace of being offended having left her. She had just gotten right down to business. I became at ease, beginning to trust her. Intrigued she’d mentioned seeing energy, I asked her about it, telling her that I saw lights around or near people a lot, circles, lines, irregular shapes, of many colors, especially when people spoke out for the first time or sneezed or something. She explained I was seeing the emotional aura, the shape and color an indication of what that person was feeling at that moment, a temporary thing. She said the inner aura was more permanent, the colors constant, but in my limited experience seeing the inner aura glowing around a person, like once (in a samadhi during a public meeting in the town hall of Gaberville, but that’s not in the galaxy of this story), I suspect it’s not so constant but changes too, albeit slowly. She finished, and I got up, thanked her, and left. I think it was donation based, not exactly free, and I don’t remember if I gave anything or not.

That night the real effects of pranic healing showed themselves. I mean how it heals, and it’s possible the healers aren’t all that aware of the holistic nature of its healing process, thinking removing the negative energies is the largest part of it. All that movement of energy around the injured knee manifested in a dream the cause of the injury, its inner essence. I was lucid and forgot how that came about, as it’s not usual I’ll just be lucid as a dream begins, but it has happened, and I was sitting on the top of a small but steep and tall hill, with my legs dangling down it was that steep. It was a little like the artificial hill in Herman Park in central Houston, which housed on top the amphitheater I saw Shakespeare’s A Mid Summer Night’s Dream in (or was it Twelfth Night?) with Randy during those three some odd years of intense inner study I keep referring to. What I remember most about the performance was the samadhi I experienced before the show. The constant hum of a normal crowd provides a possibility of inner experience I suspect few realize. It like puts you underwater. I was so disappointed I had to come out of it and go get Randy and show him to our seats. In samadhi, or yogic trance, if you move your body you lose it, but there is the possibility of staying in it and walking around some, a very slim possibility damn hard to actualize, although with any experience of samadhi, you can feel its effects for hours afterwards. You are more inner and quiet, feel that calm in your inner earth.

I went to Herman Park all through my boyhood (here I link later to Richard Linklater. The moonshot movie hung the moon), not too often but often enough, as it’s quite a draw for kids in Houston, what with being able to take a large piece of cardboard and slide down that grassy hill and all, not near as steep as in the dream but sloped enough, and being able play on the stage of the amphitheater. Houston is flatland, and you don’t find many stages open to the public that kids can play on. I frequented the park almost daily once I moved out of Montrose and into an apartment in the museum district during those intense inner years I keep mentioning, am mentioning now. It hasn’t been the stage of many dreams in my life, just a couple or so that I remember, but of course I only remember a small fraction of the dreams I’ve had. The environment of the dream had its own little cosmos to it, like everything was mocked up, swooped up, and ready for representation. It was a representation of urban community, and I was on the heart, or at the top, of that. I looked at my legs, and my penis was on my right knee, not between my legs, and I understood the actual cause of the injury, understood it in the sense I completely realized it, in my very body, and when I woke up I was healed, no pain in my knee at all. I know it’s a risk to show you all this, but these are needed things to see, the ways and means at the heart of town hall, and that it matters so much what goes down there.

You can see for yourself
with someone who is winning in this country
control tower Auroville.
I don’t think you know the danger,
what it means when a government takes over Auroville.
It fails.
No human unity.
Just another Indian city land on the Earth
full of people.

They won’t even admit that they’re takin over.
They lie to get there,
Modi’s government.
And then they punish those responsible
for resistin’ the hostile takeover.
I think the Paris agreement will seal this fate
behind closed doors.
It’s happenin’ now.

Okay how do we turn this around?
No, it’s not possible.
You can’t do anything about it.
Not protest has worked,
and no court has worked.
No course has worked.
It’s over it seems.

What can we do?
Do you hear me?
Nothin’s gonna work.
You have to get international concern.
You have to try.
Here the freebirds sing.
People care about Auroville
who are concerned about government control,
who are concerned with political freedom,
who are concerned with international human unity,
who want the world to change,
who want a better world.

Do you know how to find them?
It’s in your race book,
everybody’s that got a minority skin color
the majority are not true to,
oppressed peoples
in this world,
and the spiritual but not religious,
the freedom fighters,
the utopian dreamers,
the smart people
who see change as the only way,
a change in world happenin’,
a change in the very nature of society.
a change in how we do things,
a change in the very fabric of reality.

Can you find these people?
Can you get them concerned?
It’s in the making.
We’ve got to get this word out:
we’ve got to change the world.
A call for help
is not a call for help
unless it’s that.

It’s not Auroville you want to save.
Just another city under siege,
all these good people oppressed by bad.
You want the world to see the world
change in Auroville.
All the particulars dock soup.
The very progress of human civilization is at stake,
where civilization falls.
Can we go there?
Can you do this rightly
up and down the line?
Go for it.

Do you understand my meanin’?
I’m not layin’ blame pointing fingers,
arguing against your soup.
I’m sayin’ we need to grab the world here
and designate this plan on earth:
a city becomes human-wide,
isn’t bound by any nation,
isn’t so rudely put together
What dreamlessness drove it
to war with itself?

I think we come to grips with those elements first,
the hostile takeover.
We make it a city again
whole in its complete parts.
Then we reach for human unity,
and that’s not a byword or slogan to use.
It becomes the nature of the city itself,
an experimental township
that does things differently
than any place on earth.

It’s got no holes to regard.
No people are a sin.
It strives for healing in every area of life.
What does it mean?
Every facet of society
shoulders the human being.
No one is left out
who put their lives on the line for this.
Who are not strong for this?
They bring it on the line with them:
their hands on effort to be control.
It’s an all out effort
on the part of everybody
to make a city safe
for the human being,
whoever they might be.

Do you see my coffee?
It’s a no holds barred
attempt at human unity.
That’s what we’re walkin’ here.
Can you read my lips?
Can you see the change ahead?
Let’s get started.
We’ve got human worth to consider.
You’re not blind.
You can see this worth everyone.
Let’s do it.
I’m talkin’ today.

Bring the world to Auroville
in whatever form it can arrive.
Flood the city
with the arms of humanity
puttin’ city back on its worth.
Drive the government out of Auroville,
because it doesn’t belong there,
the Indian government.
It belongs to humanity, period.

This needs to be known far and wide:
our very humanity’s at stake
in a city called Auroville,
because that’s where we change into new human beings.
That’s the experimental ground.
That’s the holistic movement towards paradise
on this very Earth,
even though here tangy,
and brought that I wear bone,
hear this person say and that.
We are a work in process,
and we need time to breathe,
but we’re gonna make it
if we have the chance to be.

Oh world will you help us out?
Will you give us our freedom?
We need it as soon as you can get here,
as soon as possible please.
You hear the writing on the wall?

And we get some space for a new carpet.
How forced you must be,
who’s just listenin’ to integers.
You know they’re above Auroville.
We’ve found some on laws,
and that didn’t work.
We have to be free and flexible plan.
And even guidelines can falter
when we’re tryin’ to get rid of dogs.
They belong here,
in our homes not wild in our streets.
Same can be said for people
that God made.
Some people can be in the rough, you know?

The French connection
will bowl you over.
It’s a strong contingent in Auroville
not sure what it means.
Be nice to them,
but don’t let them stand in the way of progress.

They want the Mother out,
and they worship the Mother.
What do you do with the secretary?
They think she’s her.
Careful with this lot.
They’re bound to stand in your way.
hear me out.
You need to listen.

I don’t know if anybody’s worthy of divine livin’.
We stretch this far:
as far as it takes to include everybody
really wanna be
servitors of the divine consciousness.
How learn to do that
in the right place.
This is a sanctuary
for every type of person
whose nature makes them so.
And we play ball
with how this community runs right.
We are here for that.

Every city takes the long game
to get it right down to business.
Every city takes a long time to sort out.
lets this happen.
We’ve started this process.
You can look on the calendar.
I have come into particular use.
Have I mentioned the future?
Run, baby, run.

They know what they’re doing.
They’re less than that.
The residents of Auroville are a say so in the matter.
They do it right.
It’s not what they’re tryin’ to communicate.
I think they’re just reacting to a hostile takeover
Like regular people in a regular city
But tellin’ you they’ve accomplished so much,
much more than they actually have.
Okay, give them trees and sustainable development.

I don’t think they understand silence
when it’s called for,
silence to know what to do.
Instead they fight among themselves,
unaware of the spider in the room,
the government takeover.
We’ve got bad teeth.
Can you just leave us alone?

We’re extraordinary timekeepers.
We’ve lagged behind for years.
We don’t understand ourselves,
and that’s a gun.
Chalk it all up to inexperience
with what Auroville was created to achieve,
a balanced human unity.
It’s not the government get that done.
They’ll just chop people up,
make their own playground.
These are the days of nationalism in India.

They Residents Assembly
can’t fight that.
So Auroville is doomed.
A crumble from within and a force from without
kill everybody.
There’s your picture.
It doesn’t make you smile.
Another failure on earth
to make the right society,
to progress humanity.

It can only be done in spheres,
so it can get its act together.
There’s enough room to do that
in an experimental city.
Anything else is too big.
We need these pilot programs
to save the world,
to learn how to do it,
to study so we can.
Can you gauge this?
There is no other city more important.

It’s got our plans at heart.
It’s how we make it outta here:
danger zone.
We study their do it,
the city that achieves human unity.
Small hands large workshop.
It’s the shape of the Earth.

Blanket this in time.
We aren’t going to do this all at once.
So much has to be worked out.
So much to do.
We need your sanction to get on it.
Tell us we have the go ahead.
Tell us now.
Blanket Auroville with your concern.

Take your city into your own hands,
and put it to play in time.
Give it its mission
from your global hands and minds.
That’s where it’s at.
That’s what we need.
Humanity can you hear me?

We require your presence,
and don’t forget to come,
or send some presence of yourself
in communication form.
Petitions are just zero man.
We need your living eyes.
We need this now,
now and forever,
to be your city upon the Earth.

Look, this 100% know it all God ended for something:
God is not human on earth in men’s minds.
What do we do now?
I lecture in politics.
Okay religion holds a key.
Do you want a Hindu state?
Do you really?
That’s the change that’s happenin’
in India.
Mark my words.

They’re emulating Israel.
You can see them bulldoze homes.
Do we have security here?
That’s where this is headin’ I’m sorry.
You want everybody controlled and regulated.
This is not about politics.
It’s about forcing men and women
to be a Hindu or worship Hindu.
If they’re Muslims they’re out of luck,
or any other minority.
We’ll see if Sikhs hold the candle flame.
And if you’re not Hindu enough,
wham! the police state will ensure that.

You’ve got to wake up people,
and let’s start in Auroville.
It’s the high ground.
We lose it we lose the nation.
I don’t think you know what’s at stake here.
You don’t want police everywhere,
even in your tea.
A China syndrome,
it’s happenin’ now.
Converge on Auroville
all you lines of thought.
Defeat the government there,
and the BJP will lose power.
Religious observance
will not be mandatory.

Auroville holds the master plan.
You’ll find the decision in Auroville:
do you want a Hindu state?
I’ve declared martial law.
I’ve got you to overrun Auroville.
I’ve put people in the streets
blocking traffic.
I’ve made a big clusterfuck.

We have a better plan.
Let’s not invite chaos.
We are not angry protesters in the street.
We destroy no property.
We are serious for change,
and in our behavior we start.
That’s the true spirit of Auroville.

You are so polite it’s not even funny,
and you are observant of India’s laws,
civil disobedient
only if you’re protesting’s been stopped,
and then you do that peacefully
and with measure,
highly respectful of Indian law and custom.
That includes in modes of dress.

We need a war
that hurts no one
except that part in man that oppress,
and we need this in Auroville,
at the earliest possible date.
I’m 12 strong.
I’m using the Mother’s voice to say this.
I’m all over India.
I’m in your shoes.
Now you know I’m serious,
serious as a heart attack.
Come people.
Come now.

We want a better world,
and Auroville is the battleground.
Only you don’t fight.
You respectfully demand for change.
How many dictators rule the world,
how many authoritarian figures,
how many regime governments,
and all these people oppressing one another?
Look at China.
Look at North Korea.
Look at Myanmar
and the Russian government.
I’ve lost count,
but Iran needs a new government too
and Turkey.
Do we count the Philippines?
We certainly do.
The list goes on,
and in America let’s keep Trump
from coming back in power.
Let’s keep him out.
Let’s keep him from holding political office.

Bring all of this to Auroville,
in whatever form you can
Send letters.
Send all you can do from online.
Send your goodwill for change,
your very focused attitude that it does,
and send yourself
if you can get past the barriers
of legal bureaucracy,
and you have the means to come.
We can afford to keep going,
and you have the means to stay.

Have I started an insurrection?
We do not overthrow the Indian government.
It’s not India we’re at.
It’s Auroville.
The government out of there.
The voters can take care of Modi
all India-wide.
He is not your friend.
He’s a danger to your democracy.
He really is.
Stop him there.
We stop him in Auroville,
and we don’t stop until we do.

Organize yourselves
in peaceful demonstrations
and civil protests,
with every means available that are not violent
and that hurt no one
or set fire to anything,
even effigies
or flags.
The Indian flag you put in a place of honor.
You don’t spit on this country.
Rowdy boys stay out of town.
Agent provocateurs identify and tell to leave.
Do not support them.
Do even let them breathe.
There will be no physical violence,
and we will even watch our speech.
Anger will not control the situation.
Firm goodwill will
intent of change.
Now come.
You’ve heard me.

Agent provocateurs,
a protest makes or breaks on that.
Anyone promoting violence will be one,
violence of any kind.
They are removed immediately,
and if they get violent they are restrained.
Just don’t hurt them.
No other order will work.
You’ve got to remove the violence,
no ifs, ands or buts about it.
A stormed building is a hostile takeover,
what we’re tryin’ to prevent.
You will occupy no building
you do not live or work in.
You will storm no town hall.

I thought it might be nice
If we didn’t just random protest.
I think chaos don’t like schedules.
Organize the protests around that,
keeping chaos out.
But let’s not be machine-gunned down.
They were disappointed.
They couldn’t fire their guns at an angry crowd.
People just sat down an OM’d, you know?
That’s how to do it,
without hellfire and damnation.

A creative skit,
some good music,
and people readin’ poetry,
yah hear me kids?
Get creative,
not self-righteous and mean.
It’s a human unity problem,
and we solve it that way.

Over a cup of coffee the world changed.
I thought a world out.
Now here’s the nigger of the situation.
Twenty years ago in Auroville I was a bad set of keys.
I got kicked out my name,
and I’ve been outside Auroville ever since,
somebody who wants in.
Well that’s the limit of this verse you see.
Now I’m organizin’ resistance.
The story of my change is in this book.
It’s what you want to read.
I’m not a principle player now.
I’ve just shown you the Mother
and her way to do it.
I am the poet here,
a seer.

I’ve brought change in the book,
as I’ve described my life,
and that’s as far as I go,
as a behind the scene witness.
The organization lead,
I’m not in on it.
If you hear me come.
Don’t hesitate come immediately.
Auroville action,
you must think do now.

Mary Poppins rides a horse in the sky.
I don’t know what that means.
I will tell you.
Come on let’s go.
I don’t know what that means.
I’ve just been very close
to the explanations of culture.
I’ve counted religious expression in my book.
I am not a scholar on Jewish mysticism.
I’ve just shown you my things in light of those things,
and I’ve gone to Safed
to be there with you.

Why do you want that in there?
A disclaimer,
we want to continue with our book,
no holds barred.
Ready for resources.
Ready to tell you what this book is worth.
It’s the next chapter.

And you have all these dogs,
wonderful color they can be seen.
I bet you think you’re complete.
Get a dog
and find out what love means.
While you’re doin’ that,
cats are welcome too.
Are we clear on that?
I don’t want you to think I’m prejudice.
Oh my goodness,
I do prefer dogs I do I do.
One’s licking my ear right now.
You silly thing,
I sure love you.

I want to work out this obstacle
and behind,
and that’s Arab and Arab participation.
And that’s spiritual experiences,
we have to know they’re real.
Can you use me as a gauge?
I’ve presented some plainly.
I’ve shown you spiritual experience.
It’s how we see one another
as where we put our love.
That’s the record keeper.
That’s the storybook.
It’s how we get along.
Can you be potato love?
That’s where you forgive people
as you become important to them.
Let’s hold this flag, shall we?
It’s where we brush our teeth.

Learnin’ on some level gettin’ on the plane,
we’re all doin’ it.
I’m just pointing out particulars
in Israel and India.
I can’t blend everything nicely.
There’s so much to work on,
so much to see.
And if you see I’ve giving you a handle
on world change.
Press the lever.
Come to Auroville now.

That’s the plan
to change the world.
It’s a bona fide hands on opportunity
to begin.
All people of goodwill
won’t you please come?
That’s a safe haven
for the change we need to see.
It’s where we begin.
And it belongs to you world.
Don’t let it slip away.
Don’t be robbed of this opportunity
by authoritarian government.
Don’t just sit there and think.
and do it quickly.

We’ll be propaganda
for all who oppose.
We’ll be laughed at and ridiculed
for being of one mind like this.
Stupid ideal thinkers,
did you think the world would come?
You foolish man
(who does he think he is?),
can you call the world?

When you’re finished laughing read me again.
I didn’t just piss my pants.
I gave you a lever for world change,
and I know the world like you don’t,
know its deeps.
Okay you ignored me,
and that’s funny ain’t it?
And that is so very sad.
Don’t you want a better world?
Where we gonna find it
if your hands don’t measure up?
Cut the political identities all together,
the religious I am this I am that.
How do we be people savin’ the world?
There is no other way come together.
That’s the vocabulary in the room.

Renounce me as one of the board members
who petrify the world.
Oh you silly people,
you put sex in such first place,
and you think pedophiles rule the planet,
those that want to blame someone,
and pedophiles are free.
Everybody hates them.
I’m not countin’ crows.
I’m lettin’ you in on a little secret:
pedophiles don’t control the world.

They stand and sing
about what smarts in humanity.
They control themselves.
They make it right.
They bring down the word to men and women.
They put children on the right path.
They help make a better world.
They show you how it’s done,
and they put change in your hand,
if you want to use it or not.
I’ve described to you the pages of this book,
who wrote it and why.

You’ll conspiracy this to death,
but there’s only me here and my muse.
Wow, what a heavy punch.
Can you gauge it?
This is beyond the world,
and we give the outcast that role,
take us beyond ourselves.
No one else has mandatory change.
It all fits so well
if you can see it.
God action, you know?

They’re coming.
They’re coming.
And it’s not if I come it’s when I come.
Tell me how you’re gonna keep me out.
Hit all your buttons, don’t I?

Now come to papa,
arousin’ the kundalini.
The kundalini,
don’t you do that.
It’s some rough stuff
and will have you sexual in your fingers.
You can’t control yourself.
It is so very arousal.
Or you’ll go crazy
with a bump in the road.
You won’t have a nice time.
Just listen to God,
and let Him reach with the base of the spine.
Sexual purification
before arousal,
and everything gets cleaned
on the way down.
When God strikes that serpent awake,
you’re ready.
Just don’t read the chapter until you’re finished.
That means you wait for God.
Barbara’s here,
where the chapter ends,
and we thank God.

He’s got a little consciousness there about him.
I’m the branch of a tree.
And that’s divine worth.
It didn’t walk.
They didn’t major to erupt.
They brought you in your consciousness there.
And that’s Kabbalah.
Got a foreigner
pickin’ up the Vedas.
And here it is
It’s where we’re at today.
That’s the magic of this special moon.
Luna Rottweiler, photo by me

Next post:

Chapter 12

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