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Post 10, March 15, 2015


Island Lake in Ice Lake Basin, San Juan Mountains

An Order of Chakra Shakes

(Narrative Nonfiction, a true story)
By Donny Duke

Before Randy could stop me, I grabbed the one quart canteen three fourths full of Jack Daniels and guzzled it, and I didn’t even drink.  He did though, was celebrating our arrival on the continental divide, here at about 11,000 ft.  It’d taken two days to backpack up to it, and sitting around the campfire now on our third night he’d pulled out his canteen and had started drinking, after two days of sobriety.  We’d been best friends and hiking partners since high school, and now pushing 30 we knew each other a little too well.  He was usually a jolly drunk, but every now and then he got mean, not physically, because Randy was what you call a conscientious man; he got mean with his knowledge of me, knew where my buttons were, and he’d started pushing them. What made it so bad was he wasn’t dumb, was about as smart as they come and was using that intell on me to cut me to pieces.  Being the pretentious piece of work that I was that was as easy as cutting butter. The sneer on his face glowed in the firelight when I looked his way, and a sneer and fire just makes you think of demons, and I sure didn’t want to go through hell every time in the next two weeks he decided to pull out that canteen and drink.  It was one of those decisions you make that instantaneously turns into action, and he wasn’t prepared for my assault on his canteen, and it took him too long to react, tired and high and tight as he was.  My rational was simple: deprive him of whiskey by drinking it myself.  There weren’t liquor stores in the Weminuche Wilderness Area to my knowledge.

When he’d realized what I’d done that sneer turned into a face full of fear, and his voice held that shrill high note voices get when the person using them is in a panic.  He’d gotten to me and grabbed the canteen too late, and it’s to his credit there wasn’t a shred of anger in him over what I’d just done to his liquor supply.

“Goddamn you’ll die! You’ll die! Oh shit! Oh shit!” Or he was saying something to that effect.  Honestly I don’t remember because the most peculiar sensation was coming over me, slowly, like the way the Blob eats people on the big screen, they just watching themselves be absorbed into its jelly with too much time on their hands until they’re all gone.  It’s not a lame analogy because I wasn’t absorbing the alcohol; it was absorbing me.

Then its full effect hit, and I lost my body.  Oh I was still in it, but I couldn’t move it, and it felt like it was some stranger out there along with the rest of the world.  This was an inner thing. Without motor skills I slumped over, and Randy caught me and held me while I puked, which it seemed someone else was doing although I was there.  Then he half carried half drug me to the tent and laid me in it, all the while cussing like you do when you’re not mad but scared.  Laying there I heard him going around the tent in circles a bit out of his head talking to himself about trying to get me down the mountain to the road, a two day journey.  He was reasoning with himself about his responsibility in my coming death.  He was also crying.

For my part I lay there and surrendered to death, knowing I was inebriated and had unwittingly ingested a fatal dose of alcohol.  I had lost all control over my body and even all body sensation, except unfortunately for an excruciating pounding in my solar plexus. My breathing had almost stopped so slow it was, and I was sinking inside further, towards death I assumed.  “So here I’m to meet my fate, in a tent on the mountaintops, not the worst place to meet it.”  That was the only thought on dying I had.  Oddly there was no fear or a panic to say goodbye to everyone I loved, like my grandfather experienced as he died of a heart attack, what I witnessed inside of him as he died in something rather unknown I call inner body time travel.  It was even unlike the time I was killed in a lucid dream and tried to wake up but couldn’t and died and went to the doorway of ‘the other side’, or had what’s called a near death experience.  There I was just shocked anyone could kill me because I’d had been, up to that point, invincible in my lucid dream adventures, but I had really thrown my weight around, and something there is that steps in in dreams and puts limits on things.

I was also quite familiar with cataleptic trance, or sleep paralysis as it’s called these days, because I’d had out of body experiences since childhood, and that’s the state from which it’s the easiest to induce one.  This state, however, was different as similar as it was.  One big difference was I couldn’t move my body if I tried, and in sleep paralysis you can, with a sudden jerk.  There was also, as I surrendered to death, a depth to the trance I’d not experienced before, and when reaching it on my surrender, which took only a second, I saw bold in my visual field a bright white mandala of a star pattern, but I can’t remember how many points the star had.  It acted like some gateway, and then I was absolutely free of my body.

I doubt you can appreciate what I mean, though maybe people in a coma might be able to relate to it, or I would hope that’s what they experience.  You feel that peace that passes understanding because I sure couldn’t understand it so peaceful it was, like taking a timeout from the world and all its pressure.  It was tinged with a bliss that, in that peace, made for a most contented and comfortable state which floated along but did not exactly cross that line that gave you a feeling of being more in spirit than in matter; it wasn’t the seat of the soul.

The pain in my solar plexus had become an intense vibration, and I remembered suddenly about chakras, what I’d heretofore thought was just another one of those convenient ways to explain things like I felt reincarnation was, until I was to remember other lives, but that’s another story.  I should explain that this wasn’t a spiritual experience, in my definition of one at least, because I was still in ego consciousness, had not risen to a higher or more integral identity, or even to an emptiness, still thought a mile a minute myself the center of my thoughts.  It no doubt came partly as an aftershock of a spiritual experience I’d had several months earlier, or that past experience had made me susceptible to this present metaphysical one.  In that spiritual experience not only my breathing and heartbeat stopped but also my thought process and any sense of self, but there I was driving a truck down the highway and had full control over my body as though everything were normal as impossible as that sounds, a story told elsewhere.

Really tripping out on the vibration in my solar plexus it occurred to me to next focus on my heart because I’d read there was a chakra there too, and as I did it began to vibrate, and there was more to the vibrations than that, something like a hum, and other strangenesses I can’t remember.  The heart was different than the vibration at the solar plexus.  This was a spreading vibration.  Then I continued up to the throat, the forehead, the top of the head, and back down, going to the genital area and the perineum, feeling the vibration of each one.  I laid there for hours playing them like notes on a flute because I wanted to remember as much as I could about them, where they were, what they felt like, the sound that came with them, and other things too subtle to recall afterwards.  Even still, when I came out of it I couldn’t describe each exactly as I’d felt it, like the top of the head: was it only on the top or also a little above?  It’s the damndest thing experience: you just can’t recall anything exactly like it happened.  I did, however, now know the chakras were actually real.  I also know now where I was, in the body below the body, what’s commonly called the subtle body.

I could see and hear the outside world, just couldn’t access it in any way, and whether my eyes were open or closed your guess is as good as mine, but anyone that’s been in trance a lot can tell you that you can see the place you’re at even when your eyes are closed.  Randy came in every few minutes to check on me, but as time wore on he came less and less.  Drowning in your own vomit is the biggest cause of death in alcohol poisoning I’ve read, but he probably didn’t know that at the time and was just making sure I was still alive.  He told me later I hardly had any vitals and that for a couple of hours he circled the tent debating with himself over what he should do and sure I was going to die, like I’d heard him doing.

Thirty-six hours I lay in that tent, 24 in the depths of that trance, or in the subtle body if you can stomach that possibility, and 12 hours slowly coming up out of it, back into my physical body and the outer world.  I think it was mid morning I awoke, as in the night I’d fallen asleep, the last stage to returning to my body again.  The tent was a little in shadow, and so I didn’t notice anything unusual about myself except that I felt very cleaned out, purged, not groggy or overly stiff as you’d expect.  The peace was still my major emotion, though not near as incomprehensibly deep as when in trance, and accompanying it was a splash of that joy I’d felt, a very settled joy that gave a perfect accent to the peace.  I was of course hungry and thirsty, but those needs were oddly at a distance, not the insistent beggars they’d normally be after not being fulfilled for two days, though I do seem to remember chugging heartily on the canteen Randy had left near me in the tent before I came outside, maybe even hitting on it in the night once I got my motor skills back.

But I hadn’t seen anything yet.  Crawling out of the tent I got quite a shock.  Every single thing I looked at had a violet glow around it!  Instead of reveling in the marvel, I got scared I’d messed up my vision for life, had one of those panics like when I learned demons were actually real because I was eye to eye with one I’d conjured in a glass crystal, that then preceded to wreck a bit of havoc in my life until I…but that’s another story for another time.  What I’m trying to say is I suddenly had knowledge I didn’t want and didn’t know how to get rid of or who to go to for help with, and crouched there outside the tent on all fours looking at a small sparse forest of conifers that populated the long  high pass between peaks we were in on the backbone of the Colorado Rockies, I had that same dread I’d done did it again, and I just wanted normality as strange as that may sound seeing the world bathed in such a beautiful violet glow.

I say violet, but it was something more otherworldly that violet helps to describe but doesn’t exactly define, and the glow was more like a radiation than a mere glow, or rather, some things glowed and some radiated, and I not only saw the glow around each and every thing that had a separateness from other things, even leaves and blades of grass, but there was this unfathomable depth to the world I’d not ever seen before, something the word silence can help to picture.  The word sacred would be going a little too far with the description because it’d make you think of religious icons and imagery, and this was naked of anything like that, but holy it was in a very mute and basic sense.  When I got home I got a book on Tibetan Buddhism, and I saw those paintings that have tongues of fire around everything, and I knew that’s what I’d seen, that that was what the artist was trying to capture, but the actual sight surpasses any attempt to capture or describe it because it’s something as subtle and sublime as it is concrete, but whatever it is it’s quite real, and in our art and with our words those seeming opposites swim away from one another.  We either render metaphysical things too concrete, like in Bartolome Esteban Murillo’s painting of Jacob’s Dream, or too sublime, like José de Ribera’s interpretation in painting of that same dream.

Presently Randy came waltzing back, having left camp on a short romp, eager to get back on the trail and tired of waiting for my recovery.  He didn’t seem surprised to see me out and about, acted a bit too nonchalant, like his panic at my near death embarrassed him, and so he had to show how composed he really is despite that momentary lapse, though all this was done on his part on a level he wouldn’t have been able to clearly see or admit to, it being one of those thousand and one things about human behavior, the way we all act, that’s below our own radar but beeping on everyone else’s.  The violet radiation around him was intense, not just around him but on him glowing in various places.  I don’t think I blurted out I was seeing violet light around everything because the peace I was feeling was so satisfying I didn’t really want to talk, and that was very unusual for me, especially around him, my best friend, sounding board, one of very few people I could let my hair down with and be stupid, silly, even bad me.

Telling him of my experiences, someone without any interest in the spiritual path other than hearing me talk about it, was a bad habit of mine that’d gotten him into trouble with that aforementioned demon, and I still hadn’t learned you keep your spiritual and metaphysical experiences to yourself until they’ve been properly assimilated, which takes 6 months or more with the big ones, least you ‘spill it’ or unintentionally harm someone by giving them knowledge they are in no way prepared for.  It’s also a big stumbling block you give people who want such experiences but haven’t had them.  When you’re bragging envy is the response, a poison to the people who feel it but so human a response.  The only person who needs to hear your experiences as they happen is your teacher, but it would still be years until I had one.  I wasn’t exactly a loner flying by the seat of my pants though, despite the number of times I did; I was trying to fly by the seat of my soul, which means, when you can do that, your very essence takes you where you need to go, shows you what you need to see.  That is just so unorthodox.

I do remember beginning to tell him about my experience during trance, but he cut me short and told me he wanted to get going, and I had that stupid smug feeling you get when you think you have something valuable but someone else shrugs it off, and it’s not that you don’t have something valuable – maybe you do, maybe you don’t –, but by showing it at a time and place neither the time nor the place to do so, and showing a person that’s not in a mood to appreciate it, and some people never are, you just make it so cheap.

Hunger here came and tapped me on the shoulder, and so I suggested we eat breakfast before we headed on out, and this may not be the actual order of events, and it might be that we lingered there the rest of the day and that night too so I could get my strength back, and hunger came calling in the afternoon or evening, but it’s not crucial to the story one way or another.  Randy I’m sure would give a different order and tell also a different story.  That’s the nature of collective experience: you’re not going to come out with the same story when different people who were there tell their story of that story.  When we understand this history becomes so subjective.

Simple Foods for the Pack was the book I used to plan my meals for the trip, pre-packaging them according to the book’s instructions so all I had to do was put the ingredients in boiling water.  If I’d used the recipes with dairy products they might’ve been tasty meals, but I was on a puritan kick in preparation for that trip, and vegan I had to be because I had to ‘go all the way’, though I wasn’t a vegan and didn’t understand suddenly becoming one on a backpacking trip wasn’t the best place to go vegan.  It would’ve been a good idea to cook one of the meals at home first to see what it tasted like, and I do think the book itself recommended that, but I had all confidence in myself, as many times as I’d learned I didn’t have grounds to be so sure of myself, and of course I could ‘take it’.

For the three months preceding the trip I’d put myself through a rigorous exercise program similar to what I did routinely when I was in the army special forces, a run one day of some miles and a ‘ruck’ the next from three to five miles with a 30 lb. pack.  I wasn’t so strict with diet, but I stayed mostly vegetarian, and I kept grass smoking to a minimum.  I didn’t drink, and so that only left sex to abstain from if you consider the main vices, and I seem to remember for those three months I didn’t let the rooster chase Charlie, never even grabbed the chicken by the neck, and you’ll just have to interpret what I mean.  I also did a daily meditation practice combined with pranayama, breathing exercises.  In short I was more or less quite pure, which, when combined with ingesting so much alcohol, did some alchemy that resulted not in death but in something quite extraordinary actually, what wouldn’t have happed if I hadn’t been relatively pure beforehand, and that’s the paradox of purity and of this story.

I cooked one of the vegan meals, having eaten all my pogey bait (snack foods) because I hadn’t brought much, wanting to be hardcore, which in this case was a bit like self-flagellation. Though I was in such a deep state, seeing the world in tongues of fire, feeling a peace that made me want to keep my mouth shut, as unusual for me as spots on a zebra, that food was so bland and tasteless I had to ask Randy for some of his food.  Not on any puritan kick, or any path other than the backpacking trail we were on, he’d stocked up on pogey bait, various cheese snacks, sausages and beef jerky, and he was eating it with such relish, for my benefit no doubt.  With me sitting there looking down so forlornly at my bowl of steaming glook, we had one of those interactions that has lead down through the ages not only to murder many times but I’m sure also to war.  It’s the interaction of  ‘you got the good stuff; give it’.  At first he refused, taking the opportunity to rub my nose in my uppity attitude about the whole trip, the need for preparation, purification, and a spiritual attitude.  I’d been such a jerk about it, making myself sound so holy and him so animal, and I had to see I deserved both his refusal and being a ‘dog having his day’, err, I mean, enjoying his moment.

He finally relented and, reluctantly, gave me most of his cheese snacks, me still too holy to eat pigs and cows, but I’d had to use the ‘oh I’ve been injured and need the good stuff’ reason he should share his food with me.  The underground of interactions, they just kill you.

The violet glow around everything was strongest the first 24 hours, and then it began to slowly recede like a waning moon.  It took three days for it to recede, and as it left, it left behind a rainbow of colors not of this world but of the capacity of imagination to combine colors, here imagination come real to sight.  It was more like a patchwork of shapes, didn’t fill the sight of the world, since it was only an odd shape here and there, not radiating from everything but from certain things and not others, like from a person, other animal, ‘significant’ tree or large stone, spot even.  I can sit here and use my reason to remember, but better to sum it up by saying there were splashes of colored light everywhere, rays, beams, splatters, lines, spheres, blobs, and on and on, again to imagination’s store, coming off of various objects as I looked at the world.

I was later to learn that was the outer or ‘vital’ aura, which is quite at the moment and temporary and is a snapshot of something’s vital state, the quality of someone’s life-force at that moment.  It indicates the emotional state basically, if someone is afraid, mad, bored, balanced, excited, in love, and the list is long.  Take red for example.  It’s not always an indication of anger and can be simply passion, but to look at it a moment as anger it’s common that the brighter the red and the more chaotic the shapes the more anger there is and more dangerous it is.  When you see that red extreme splattered on a wall or on the ground in front of somebody, it’s better to get out of there because maybe someone’s going to blow.  If it’s coming from yourself, you need to calm down, take a walk, go do the dishes, anything to get out of the scene of conflict.  I don’t know if it’s the same with everyone, but over the years the ability waned, and not only became less frequent, but less seeing other’s outer aura and more seeing my own.

I saw the world splashed with those ethereal shapes and patterns for a day or so, and then it too began to wane like the violet glow, and soon I basically only saw the outer aura of things and people close to me, which is what I see today, though as I said more rarely and less universally.  A lot depends, I’ve found, on how deeply you are experiencing your moment, and the deeper you are (more inside yourself) as you experience the outer world the more you see the subtle field of auras if you have been opened to that.  With me the trigger that brought about the opening was getting drunk, inebriated, and it would bear mentioning that this is not an experiment you want to try at home folks.

The rest of the journey passed like I was walking on air.  I could hardly be in a better place to be in such a state, the San Juan Mountains of Southern Colorado summer right at the tree line.  We were hiking on the Continental Divide Trail on a two week hike, and we’d been generous with our route and gave ourselves plenty of time to meander instead of do the Olympic walk.  Even losing those days to my illness we weren’t pressed for time.  I don’t know which I like better, coming upon a little hidden lake nestled in secrecy and accenting its waters with sparklings of sunlight, flowers spotting the alpine tundra to give the scene immortal presence, or the expansive view  of feeling like an Immortal myself as I throw my gaze on far horizons standing on the heights of earth.  That walk is a pleasant blur in my memory of flowers smelt and heights seen.

On the last day on the last leg of the trail, right before we turned to hike our way down to the car parked at a trailhead, I came upon a stream whose violence of flow had made a wide trench in the ground a meter or so deep.  There was a little but vocal waterfall at that spot, and the intensity of the scene called me to do a sitting meditation, and so I went down and sat by the waterfall.  Its sound drew me into a deep trance, and with a whoosh I was inside.  The roar of the waterfall suddenly became a distant splash somewhere ‘out there’, like I was hearing it underwater.  All my senses withdrew inside, but I was able to maintain my sitting posture without effort.  I was basically asleep but sitting up and conscious.  I had the strong sensation of some epiphany, and…

“Come on! It’s time to go!”  I opened my eyes and saw Randy standing above me looking down at me and looking very angry.  It was the forceful anger in his voice that I responded to.  It hit me like a brick and knocked me right out of the trance.  I could only look up at him.  I didn’t have any idea how I could tell him this was important, at least to me.  Maybe because I was more inside I was more sincere, and I suddenly saw how mad he was at me for being so distant the whole trip, since the trance in the tent.  I hardly was speaking, wanted to sit and meditate every time we came to a nice spot, and that on top of the other annoying things about me like wanting to be the one to pick camping spots and other things I did to be the one in control, things we all do to one degree or another,  I wasn’t being a good hiking partner to say the least.  In fact, he probably put up with my quirks because he liked me talking, what I talked about, the way I joked around, and without that I was not easy to put up with, at least not to him, and it bears mentioning that at that moment I was his whole society and he mine human-wise.

He’d driven his car for this trip, and as we drove back to Houston, Texas, our home then, he was not a happy camper.  I don’t know if he did it to annoy me, since I was still more or less blissed out and not talking, but he put on the new Neil Young album he’d just bought, Ragged Glory if I’m’ not mistaken, since this was in 1990.  He popped the cassette in right as we drove away and played it continuously, over and over as one of the songs repeats.  For the next 500 miles that was the sound of our trip, and it was loud.  I remember looking out the window, wanting to put my head out of it to get away from the music, since it was so screeching in parts.  I liked Neil Young, but I didn’t like this, like he’d done some experiment with distortion, and the whole thing got distorted.  But then instead of putting my head out the window, I opened to the music, and, though it still grated on me, I could see what the artist was trying to do, and to a certain extent it worked: allow chaos into the harmony, let in ragged glory.  I’d done the same thing chugging that whiskey, let in the whirlwind, but I’d let the right one in, and so much spiritual order came out of it and still is, this story for example.

Randy finally turned the music off and confronted me about my distance, and we had an argument, though I did see his point.  I tried to explain I just didn’t feel like talking, couldn’t make myself. When I told him that, I felt quite superior, and of course that would be in my voice and wouldn’t help any.  That’s the major problem with spiritual and metaphysical experience, feeling superior to other people.  Other people just hate that.  The other problem is you think the experience enlightened you because you seem to have so much more knowledge, but despite the change it does bring, very small in actual substance, you’re still the same messed up person you were before – vying for position in the herd.  This was to be our last backpacking trip together, since I was to leave Texas not too long after that and then go abroad, and after an initial effort to keep in touch, our relationship receded like that violet glow, and we haven’t seen one another or spoken in years.  We ended up on very different paths.

The spiritual path itself goes up and down through our lives much like that mountain trail, dipping below tree line into the forest of passions and desires and rising above it into the sunlit stillness and peace.  But it can’t be pinned down to this or that system it is so unpredictably wild, though paradoxically without a system it can’t be taken in any fullness.  Most any particular spiritual system has a set of rules or guidelines, insists on purity, and provides some security for the seeker, even a solo system such as I followed at that time, but the path itself is bound by none of these things, requires us to be able to throw three sheets to the wind when the right wind comes along and let go of everything, even rules. But no rule can be made, and herein lies the difficulty, that tells us when it’s okay to break the rules just like no certain set of steps can be laid out that lead to enlightenment, or even peak experiences.  Many pundits would disagree and say you just need to apply yourself more to the steps, but how many pundits reach enlightenment or have even seen it, if the truth be told?  I guess I can sum up the story and its purity paradox by saying I didn’t go up on that mountain to get drunk but to hike the spiritual path, but I got drunk and actually in reality hiked some on up it.  It seems sometimes, and only God could know when, the Spirit hearkens more heartedly to a rebel’s yell than a monk’s chant.


Post 9


Madonna with Blessing Child by Giovanni Bellini

Make Peace With the World

     Perhaps there’s nothing that hits us in the quick of our social selves more than sex.  Sexual contact without a doubt is the most controlled contact among us.  In an effort to control even sexual desire, because it’s an irrational impulse that we know all too well can in an instant override the reason and move us as if by force to have sex, showing the sexual organs in public is not only largely prohibited by law everywhere on the globe, but also by our own acute sense that showing them is wrong, as though hiding them goes hand and hand with our self-awareness as a person such is the degree of social indoctrination in regards to the genitals we undergo from birth in order to control sexual contact.  It would not be an exaggeration to say that sexual conduct is the heart of morality, is what all other notions of right and wrong are subordinate to, morality itself the heart of social life, what we use to measure the worth of one another, and if you don’t believe me take this test: who not in your reason but in your gut offends you more, makes you want to throw up, the suicide bomber or the pedophile?  Yet in terms of harm to their victims, though there would be those who would argue given the abhorrence of the former, hands down the suicide bomber causes more.

     Many might say that the suicide bomber was brainwashed into doing the destructive deed they did, coerced by fanatical elements of their religion, and that their act came out of their devotion to God however confused that had become, and therefore if they can’t be forgiven then at least you might give them some understanding, but the pedophile, on the other hand, they are just evil people.  Some might be as kind to say mentally diseased people, that either in their genes or the chemicals in their brains something is haywire, given our preponderance for reductionist materialism even in popular culture nowadays, the attempt to reduce everything to gross material process, consciousness and all its manifestation to chemicals in the brain, speaking of contemporary technologically based societies (calling them the ‘developed’ nations isn’t a truthful description, implying as it does a developed people), what, with the aid of communication technology is giving rise to some semblance of a world culture.  There would be those few, however, that would see in the pedophile the same set up as the suicide bomber, that neither are they evil nor genetically and/or brain damaged people (generally speaking, since in some cases the latter may be the case, but in others evidence of such might have to do with the possibility a baby’s brain may be more plastic to nurture than now believed, and the former would naturally have a role if such behavior extends through generations, is a set familial trait). Pedophiles are people that have been conditioned in the most basic sense to cause harm, conditioned in infancy, when how you will behave sexually is determined, who you’ll be attracted to and how you’ll manifest that, something that after untold centuries we still largely don’t know so strong is the taboo in regards to sexual feelings and our children.

     “The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world” is a common idiom in English, from a poem of the 19th century, but the idea can be traced as far back as Classical Greece, though neither those who use the idiom, nor the poet, who wrote his poem in praise of motherhood, nor the Greeks, who had an eye more towards the advent of political leaders, saw its deeper sociological significance in terms of what I now speak.  Beginning with Freud, the existence of sexual feelings in the parent and early child relationship, though under his ‘microscope’ those were exclusively on the part of the child, was not only admitted for perhaps the first time in polite society, but also made the foundation of his whole psychology of the human being, and for a time of the science of psychology itself, though not without many dissenters, and it bore so much influence and still does (as a basis not now corroborated but one no serious student of the science can ignore) because of the truth value of his narrow and lopsided findings, not that sexual feelings on the part of a small child for their parents are the foundation of the making of the psyche of the human being, of course not, but that such sexual feelings exist between both parties (not only on the part of the child), and they are not the basis of an individual but of a person’s sexual orientation and the manner and degree in which that is manifested.

     Before we turn our attention to the production of the hated pedophile, and in so doing look too at his cousins-in-law the now largely socially accepted and legally protected (in most contemporary technologically based societies) homosexual and lesbian, social assembly lines hidden from view and taking place in the factory of the family in our most sacred social relationship and the one in which we depend upon over all others, that between parent and child, allow me to show you a contemporary crisis in India, the gang-raping and overly-pronounced sexual harassment of women (with a view of such in all societies), in light of my bold proposition, since that cradle rocking hand is much less hidden, rocking in this sense ‘to rock the boat’, not to soothe and give comfort.  It will not prove my thesis, but it will give not only food for thought, but also, to the more sincere thinker, a line of sight to substantiate it.

     Some years back I was talking to a semi-educated middle-aged Indian man about the preponderance in India of fondling an infant and preschool boy’s penis on the part of not only adults – mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, neighbors – but also of older children, not usually to sexual arousal, but giving it a pull, or tug, or twist, and he vehemently denied that, and I thought I might have to bear the brunt of his righteous indignation (people are funny about their country), but right across the street this grandfather, unaware of us watching, began to play with a little boy’s penis, a boy about two, and the boy kept pulling back, but the old man kept at it, and not only did this spare me the man’s ire, it also made me realize that the behavior, though quite widespread, something done in public as well as in private, was ‘below the radar’ of what they generally would talk about or admit doing, like it was a semi-conscious activity they indulged in that at the time were very aware of (I’ve had women wink at me while they did it on a number of occasions, watched teenage girls and boys laugh and pull on the penis of some beloved baby in their care), but it wasn’t something as a group they were conscious of doing, and if you asked them about it later individually, you got mostly shrugged shoulders as an answer, or some explanation like, “he’s just a small boy,” meaning he’s not yet of the age of reason and doesn’t know that thing down there is anything special.  I even had an argument with a well educated Western woman, the founder of an NGO there to help after the 2004 tsunami, who had seen the behavior herself (who I ascertained would want to throw up if confronted with a pedophile) and defended it, arguing that such on the part of in this case village mothers was within their cultural limits, wasn’t harmful, and shouldn’t be judged by Western standards.

     That a baby is crucially conscious of that thing down there and how it’s handled, in the East, the West, on the moon and Mars if we ever end up living in those places, or anywhere in the universe human beings come to live and birth children, to such an extent ‘under the radar’ feelings towards it can be experienced as touch such is the touchy-feely wide-open ocean infants swim in, and they pick up on what we are not even conscious of in ourselves as their caregivers, isn’t quite understood even in those countries it’s against the law to kiss it and toss it to and fro, behavior prohibited not out of the knowledge that contact with an infant’s genitals determines how it will manifest sex, which isn’t generally known, but that the baby will grow up and have to deal with serious issues over being sexually abused, though there’s the underlying reason that has prohibited child sexual abuse to begin with: it being seen as a major factor in the making of a criminal, though no one to my knowledge in the science of psychology has identified the social indoctrination surrounding the genitals, conscious and unconscious, reflexive and purposeful, as the basis of learning right and wrong, the heart, as I’ve proposed, of human morality.

     It’s more than that; it’s where on the body is the limit of our social self (in the Indian esoteric chakra system it’s the ‘communication’ chakra), and it’s the privatization of our private parts that organizes our physical ego, or I might say its seat on the body, the degree of how private we are taught our genitals are having a lot to do with the strength of our individuality in relation to the group, since it’s the body and not so much the mind or emotions that separate us from one another, and hence the genitals are a person’s stronghold on the body, what they keep to themselves, what they make private and give only to ‘who they should’, which is largely culturally determined deviancy notwithstanding.

     But this privatization is not black and white, and it’s not in terms of being seen but in those of being felt of with either looks or touches (but it would have to be understood at the same time that the general taboo of showing the genitals even in a non-sexual context, as well as not allowing young children the freedom of nudity, significantly contribute to the mounting sexual problems modern society faces, which underscores the paradox and enigma of sex and why we are yet unable to integrate it in society, starting with the reproductive organs themselves functioning also as our organs for the elimination of waste, making it necessary to often expose them to eliminate waste and giving a direct ever-present association of the most disgusting aspect of our body with what gives us our offspring and an almost transcendental bliss, albeit only momentary).  When looks or touches convey the feeling of sexual contact, which would be how the baby being conditioned experiences to a certain extent even care and cleaning contact, wide-open as they are and not yet able to differentiate types of contact on such a sensitive and communicative area as that, which in the context of which we are speaking would include contact considered only playful or teasing on the part of the ‘conditioning’ person, who could be anyone over the age of reason (we’ll excuse any on the part of anyone below that threshold, and we’ll tolerate that with older children to the degree we can, since sexual curiosity among children is part of their natural sexual development, the increasing prohibition against that one of the major causes of the modern proliferation of sexual deviancy).  Not all such playful contact on the part of persons above the age of reason is harmful, and here is the muddle of the matter, but that contact that has a curiosity behind it if not outright conscious or unconscious sexual desire, what no one would admit to.  Though it’s beyond the scope of this present essay, that babies are so wide-open might be why some now questionable practices were adopted, rites such as circumcision, which, along with giving a strong conditioning to the male about his genitals, would naturally tend to limit contact with the penis during cleaning.

     Getting back to India and its current crisis, over which women have been seen out in the streets in mass protest calling for the hanging of the rapists, and the major national and world news outlets in solidarity with the protests, the call for the death penalty in this case not being challenged even by those news outlets from countries opposed to it (to my knowledge), and no one with any voice that can be heard has questioned child rearing practices such as what I’ve mentioned as something that might contribute or even be the roots of such destructive and at times deadly behavior (or even the fact that in India contact between males and females is strictly controlled after puberty, at the very time such contact is called for by their nature animal yet as we are, or that boys are largely served by females and not generally required to learn to cook or wash clothes and the like, especially in more traditional families, which would tend to reduce and not enhance respect for females, and I can continue).  At any rate, you might see those women and news outlets have not yet a clue as to why such ‘monsters’ are in their midst, under the all-encompassing assumption we have absolute freewill and are separate from one another not only by our bodies but in our minds and hearts as well, what it might be said contemporary technologically based societies base society upon, that illusionary assumption: that we live in our own separate bubble of consciousness cut off in there from the rest of humanity and the universe; the only communication possible with our surroundings is via the outside.

     When it’s the mother of the boy, and she is his primary caregiver, playful contact is much more serious, has such a greater conditioning impact, his utter dependency on and love for her likened unto that the fervently religious have for their God, and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that one’s mother (or primary caregiver) is God to an infant for all practical purposes.  I’ve seen mothers fondling their infant and toddler boys on buses, in temples or wherever people sit and wait, not everywhere you look but often enough to see a pattern, and sometimes I’ve seen both arousal on the part of the boys and keen interest on the part of the mothers, though more as a slight of hand, something she looked at indirectly from a sideways glance, under the radar.  What would the boys learn from that?  Being teased in such a manner, at a time when they are so very vulnerable and when they are being conditioned as to how they will manifest their sexual feelings towards woman, they would not be learning to respect woman to say the least, and to say more you could say they were learning the culture of rape.

     Let us now move to the production of the gay and lesbian before we come back to our beginning the pedophile, or end with it I should say, since it’s the general principle of the end in the beginning and vice versa that I’m more or less demonstrating, continuing to concentrate on the male because, spending a lifetime researching and doing fieldwork on such matters, unofficially and solo, though I did attend university and read a lot of the psychology on the subject, even learning Classical Greek for deeper insight (hence the counter-attention-deficit sentences and paragraphs), I wanted to get a handle on my own conditioning in regards to where and in what manner I show my penis, and hence get a handle on showing it, but it would not be too far a leap to apply the same principles to the conditioning in regards to the vagina, since, though there would be those who would argue based on the degree of conflict between the sexes, males and females are not from different planets.

     Here it would be the father or dominant male adult in the role of caregiver that would be the determining agent, males who are paradoxically generally homophobic, the unconscious attraction manifesting in the manner in which they relate to their toddler boys before they reach the age of reason, which for the most part would be more romantic than outright sexual, though the sudden squeezing or pressing of the boy’s genitals would be part of the conditioning and as well the feelings experienced during intimate carry or lap sitting, genital communication under the radar of the father but the most pleasurable part of the experience for the boy, physical pleasure, erections on the part of the boy a manifestation of that.  What happens in such relationships is the boy learns to associate romantic love with a male figure, genital contact as well, since his father is the love of his life, as opposed to his mother, not something in itself strong enough to overcome the naturally or instinctively occurring attraction for the opposite sex, but when the father responds likewise, especially when he albeit semi-consciously nurses that with genital contact however slight, that boy will have the building blocks to become a homosexual.

     I say building blocks because other factors come into play: heredity and hence predisposition for homosexuality, which may or may not be a factor; key romantic and/or sexual relationships with other boys growing up, though expressions of homosexuality among boys is a natural stage of boyhood, and even though it is a factor in the making of the adult gay sexual orientation, it must only be noted and not prohibited for the same reason children need to be able to express their sexual curiosity among themselves (for a healthy human sexuality); whether or not males dominate fantasies during masturbation in early adolescence, since that very short and difficult to identity period is, to a very small degree I have to stress, likened unto infancy such are the basic elements of identity such as sexual orientation ‘up in the air’ and consequently able to be manipulated with one’s consciousness, not too unlike the programming of a computer in theory, though here that has to be done repeatedly, and I’m sure I have not exhausted the building blocks in the making of a homosexual, but you can see the nature of the material used and build on from here.

     You might consider a moment that a society that permitted sexual contact between young adolescents of the opposite sex who had been identified by nonintrusive and non-coercive means were in process of developing a ‘different’ sexuality would be a society that had a greater sway over its sexuality (here again, though, we meet sexual paradox, which might be partially captured by saying that it’s quite difficult for our morality to ‘understand’ the vitally important role in cultural evolution – moral, aesthetic, and intellectual – of those persecuted as deviants because they were not heterosexual).  In some ancient societies that sex between early teens was allowed may have more to do with assuring heterosexual orientation than the moral ignorance it appears to us now.  It might even be that a future humanity will not equate sexual fulfillment with human fulfillment and leave to the younger generation that function, to those above the age of responsibility though yet below the age of actual adult maturity, which most over that age would agree is around 30, what could only be possible if the control of sexual contact and all the conditioning that entailed was not a blocking of our natural and instinctual sexual expression based on a reaction against sex by an ill-informed culturally determined morality, but truly the right way to do it, hence making it easier to leave behind when the time came.  Such a scenario would free an untold amount of human effort for higher pursuits.

     You would have to figure that if it’s the truth of the matter we must know about it on some level, something so basic to us as this, returning to how sexual orientation is determined, but today we would not likely be able to access that level, or wouldn’t accept the knowledge gained there, because the only level of knowledge we recognize, in this world culture arising from a basis on technology, is the one reached through the scientific method, which concerns itself with outer reality and considers contents of our inner life such as dream and inner vision, where something like this might become visible, as too subjective a field to apply that method to, its importance in psychoanalyses notwithstanding.  In any event, no scientist, the basic authority in this arising world culture, would accept the contents of a dream as proof of anything and would want to see the operation of this in outer reality, something not likely possible given the fact that one, we don’t generally remember anything before the age of reason, and two, few if any parents or caregivers would admit to such behavior such is the social stigma of sexual contact with children, and that’s assuming they were even conscious of it, and most are only half-conscious it and wouldn’t even admit it to themselves.  Neither is it something you can easily set up a long-term experiment to investigate, because of moral issues of course.

     So it’s not something we of that arising world culture are likely to believe because we don’t have the means to thoroughly investigate it other than primarily through the inner life, the very thing we of that culture about ourselves trust the least, and if you don’t agree let me ask you if you are largely conscious of that third or fourth of your day called sleep when you are fully immersed in your inner life and having the experiences called dream and the like where you can see played out as upon a symbolic stage all the basic building blocks of yourself, believe it or not.  If you had faith in your inner life you would be, and if you were largely conscious of that large portion of your daily experience, you’d see it’s not a matter of belief but a primary though atrophied way we acquire knowledge, and you’d wonder as I do: how can we be so ignorant of ourselves?

     It wasn’t in my inner life, though, that I first learned my mother had sexual contact with me as an infant and toddler, not the ‘slight of hand’ kind but full on sex, or as much a boy so young can perform with a woman, and I must leave the details to your no doubt reluctant imagination.  My psychiatrist just blurted that out, that my mom had sex with me, who I had just started to see because I was exclusively attracted to pre-pubescent boys, and I was 23 and had just discovered, despite efforts to deny it, keep it from manifesting, that I couldn’t so easily control it, though with me it manifested more in a sexual/romantic relationship with a boy than dragging one behind the bushes or somewhere and forcing sex on him.  I told my doctor that was preposterous, since my mother was a good mother, about the best mom one could have, and I didn’t have the slightest memory of anything like that, but based on her declaration and subsequent explanation, over an intensive year seeing me an hour twice a week, I came to entertain the possibility.

     Later, when I turned to an investigation of my inner life as a means perhaps of getting a handle on my sexual orientation, something natural for me because since infancy I’d remained more or less conscious of that third or fourth of my day most are unconscious of, I saw that sexual contact as the background of many of my dreams, which, the more I both learned to interpret my dreams and recognize the repeating and emerging patterns, began to show itself naked of symbol.  By that time, some 10 years after therapy, because it was painfully apparent that I would always be defeated in anything I did, and I was not an ungifted young man, my mom finally admitted the abuse, but she didn’t see it as abuse or even as being sexual, saying it was beautiful and sexual desire had nothing to do it, that I just got it all mixed up, her way of living with herself constantly reminded she’d socially crippled her only son and made it impossible for him to live a normal life.  It didn’t start with her though, and she was born to a social class and at a time when such was basically the order of the day, so she isn’t the villain of my life.  Ignorance is, yours, and though in light of infinity I know next to nothing, I do know myself and now can control myself, because knowledge and will do meet when the former informs the latter with the truth of who and what you are, which isn’t evil or diseased but something infinitely larger than the scope of this present essay, what I discovered in the exploration of the depths of myself, what I found when I went upon my heights.

     Though it’s a bit complicated to understand how my mother having sex with me would determine my sexual attraction to boys and not just greatly amplify my attraction to women, what that teasing described above does, see she crossed that indefinable line where it became actual outright trauma, what I define as that abuse done to a child below the age of reason, what we might call developmental trauma because it occurs during basic ego formation, whatever kind of abuse, that causes them to develop what I’ll call for simplicity’s sake a subconscious complex (a reaction to trauma not limited to infants and small children – a basic reaction to it for people of any age to a lesser extent) whereby they have the strong impulse as an adolescent or adult to give the same abuse to others, children or other vulnerable people, or act out some other antisocial and/or self-destructive behavior to fulfill three basic functions, and all might be in play to a certain extent, but as a general rule if it’s developmental trauma the first would be visible: as a means of unconsciously exploring the trauma from the other end, the one who did the destructive deed; dealing with the guilt of receiving it; and, especially when the acting out is self-destructive like the abuse of alcohol and drugs, to keep it unconscious or if conscious dull the feelings associated with it. I learned that if I wanted to know what my mom did to me I only needed to watch the way I manifested my attraction in its particulars.  It’s not a 2 + 2= 4 equation, and there are many variables in play, and so the age and sex of who (or what) is the object of attraction, and exclusiveness of attraction to that type person the abused child as an adult abuses would vary based on those many variables.  My story perhaps is atypical in the excessive degree of sexual contact, but being so pronounced it is easier to see how I’d develop an attraction to children because of it.

      That contact, being so overt and overwhelming, terrified me and at the same time melted me in pleasure, burned me more an apt description, and often I’d hide from my mom the contact was so scary, which was one of my first memories of the abuse, her ‘in that way’ and coming and finding me hiding under the cabinet.  Pain too was part of the program, what actually started the sexual contact, since my anus was too closed, according to our doctor, and he’d instructed my mother to insert something into it to widen it, and so during my first diaper changes I was held down and basically anally raped by my mother’s finger, as I screamed in pain, the doctor having told her it would hurt but she had to do it, and I guess maybe as a way to both make up for it and to show herself she was not mean but gentle, in the aftermath she’d rub the area, rub too my penis, which would come erect, and so in time she did it all with me, orgasm quickly entering the picture, and we don’t know the strange effects that has on an infant’s consciousness, but the next item might begin to fill in that gap of ignorance.

     If you are at all science-minded you’ll just see it as evidence of insanity in my family, but even if it is you’ll have to eventually come to realize such things might have more a reality than you’d be comfortable with giving them, since this next item has to do with spirits, demons, daemons, whatever you want to call them because it’s not a ghost.  Before I was born my mother had a phantom lover, an invisible spirit that would come into her room when my father was away and have sex with her, and during her sexual abuse of me I would see an ‘imaginary playmate’, an animated dog-dragon standing there wearing a grin from ear to ear, who would also come when I lay in bed or at play under the house or somewhere no one would see and become alarmed that I was inert and take me, before I even knew I was on the way, on inner journeys to the lower worlds, where I learned the basic skills to do inner exploration, but I’m going too far off the map of our counterintuitive world culture, though these metaphysical things in conjunction with sexual abuse are slowly creeping into the picture even there, but to my knowledge infant orgasm isn’t known or even speculated to open the inner consciousness to such a degree.  You might imagine I never did fully put my faith and trust in the outer world, a loaded statement I know.

      That it was pre-pubescent boys I was attracted to, ideally between the ages of 9 and 11, the years I spent horribly emotionally abused by a ‘wicked step-mother’ (I do understand this whole thing is a bit much to take in, but match the level of insight with the level of intensity, and that should make it easier to give me at least the benefit of the doubt), all the while pining over my mother like a young man over the loss of his love, had to do with the experience of momentarily losing my mind when I was 9 over being pulled off my mother kicking and screaming so to live with my father and his new wife, who I lived with until I was 11.  I got that mixed up too, and those two years not only became the ideal age of a boy for me but also put another nail on my coffin in terms of the social death someone such as I experiences in my social life: it gave me the tendency to become obsessed with whatever boy I happened to fall in love with, to the point of a temporary psychosis upon the loss of the boy such was the intensity of the obsession, what had landed me in that psychiatrist’s office when I was in my early twenties.

     You will not realize it unless you spend a great deal of time in quiet reflection over the things which I’ve shown you, but I’ve basically told you how the cow ate the cabbage so to speak, shown perhaps some of the most basic causes of human conflict, since so much of that has to do with unwanted or unlawful sexual contact, what today looms so large in our society, in every society on earth.  Until we address the roots of those things, which would have to be in a manner opposite from the way we deal with such behavior ignorant of those roots, in other words with compassion and understanding, we will never have either peace on earth or human unity, neither peace in a single town or city nor unity in any community, and we will be continually defeated in our efforts to pull ourselves out of the cycle of violence that threatens to destroy human civilization and much of Nature itself meeting violence with violence, hatred with hatred, as we do now, as we always have.  Though we can split hairs all day over what actually constitutes justifiable violence for self-defense, the greatest weapon against what hurts us is knowledge, the light of which turned me from one who hurts others to one who now helps to heal. I’m using the problem I’m having with society, society in animal clothing, as a hammer to beat into the heads of those who have made me an outcast, which would not be an exaggeration to say is the whole human race, that I am a valuable person to humanity and a needed voice in your community, and if you haven’t at least begun to entertain that possibility after reading this essay then, though you are valuable, as valuable as the sun and stars, maybe your voice isn’t needed here in the sense that you really and truly have nothing of value to say of me or that of which I speak, and you’d need to stand aside and let me in.

Who am I?
I am so much more than the pedophile,
but let’s start with me.
Then you’re ready for everybody,
in regards to a future of unity.
And we manage it human maturity.
It’s what we’re written for.

Post 8


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

     This is the continuation of my daily muse journal, which is also my spiritual journal, which I started with Issue 4, a journal begun in 2001, though for reasons explained in the introduction I’ve begun the postings from it starting on August 15, 2014 and will continue posting weekly roughly three days from it until it seems time to leave off for awhile. Since this is dramatic poetry, a dialogue with multiple speakers, and also a narrative of the daily events of my life as they register on the inside of me, like looking at the world from underwater, reading the introduction and beginning at Issue 4 would greatly aid in understanding the text.

Sept 2-3 2014

You’d have to live in here.
What do you think?
No. [vision of someone poking their head up out of those empty small plastic multicolored balls that fill a netted children’s play area in a pizza place or park and shaking it no]
To go down highway,
That’s a princely notion test,
That’s quite underground.
What you can do
Is obey the rafters:
Try not to fool with too many rules.
You’re guardin’ your room.
The only difference
Keep cuttin’ it out
What you’re supposed to look like.
I can’t tell you how to be nobody.
So you go on the streets.
I wouldn’t have gone
If I didn’t follow my hair.
“What a blasted notion.”
Your inability to follow your room
Made you fill it.
All those .docs
Showed you some time hair.
Original stayed notion.
“We discovered your family
In there.”
Your biggest one,
Sweetheart city,
You just had to rewrite the rules.
He was impossible to muster,
And Mugu like that.
He was just fire in your eye.
You channeled him
Plum over what the teachers,
What they did for him,
What they did for you.
I think you should carry him along
Tell he sees himself naturally.
The Mother supporting this opportunity.
Nothing gets home…
Talk to her.
“I don’t believe her either.
Out of this house.”
What would you take as a condition?
“You’re just tryin’
To get into this movie, huh?” [into Auroville’s]
No, my appointment.
Their commitment
Is not a game a reality.
Now I don’t
Fit nowhere on that money side.
Somebody broke.
Can we have some rosebushes please? [actually looking for two to plant out front, but in the plant shops there are only the miniature ones]
You would be surprised from the ashram,
Yet they came.
You got it. [went there to ask based on this suggestion, but it didn’t pan out]
To look like that,
My husband.
Usually a racial slur
It goes without saying.
They’ve seen you in your room.
A field,
A great guardian there,

Your commitment. [these lines came sitting at the Samadhi at the ashram]

He sacrifices for his friends.
Next time he comes here
He uses his will.
How split open am I? [Asiya asking, but the other meaning of me asking too]
You are a field swarm.
Is that the right bottle?
Take a metal to bring me here.
When he gets back with his friends and family,
With all due respects,
That girl just fade into oblivion. [his girlfriend, the girl next door]
Ladies are numbered.
Hear me,
The air is not away from him.
A surprise reunion,
That’s what he’s looking for.
This is surprise blood.
Where should we be taking him?
He’s not coming
Came the reply.
I wanna see the parents.

You can do that. [though the ‘my stuff’ meaning is here, this formation is primarily about Asiya, who was in Kuru with his family for the afternoon, where he went after school, and when I went to pick him up last night, because of these lines I expected him to stay, but that’s not what they meant. He told me on the way home he wanted to go there after school every day and be picked up at night so as not to be bothered by wanting to contact the girl so close she lives, next door, his bedroom window open on her rooftop where she dries clothes]

I can have it all

Now I’m dancing for my life. [sung, for the new song, from Flashdance, sung with the original singer’s voice complete with music]

“Or even hallucinate Savitri.”
We’re camping away about 500 yards.
Gets that brown paper bag off of the food.
More often it’s not dad,
Around the food.
That’s a flagpole right/rite. [this formation continues about Asiya]
You know the lion inside?
Tie that wisely like I’m enroped.
Why don’t we figure this out?
You see, I’m afraid we got that movie.
Big 5 or 10 stop it with him.
Shut up daddy. [Asiya’s voice, what he says to me a lot these days, quite meanly]
Kinda helping.
Your master doesn’t care.
He gets down the road
What would you expect from a tree?
Rest and then give you 5 minutes.
You have to live in here
At the station
Your bomb mad at me.
Honey come ‘ere,
I want you to .doc for him.
I want you to look at this.
Whadda I do?
Gets to the point later on
He wasn’t listening.
You won’t believe how taught
Getting how to deal with you.
Powered me home.
Advise him.
That’s great isn’t it?
Let’s go with the passion guys,
Dangerously. [refers to my anger at him, last night especially]
Cook I have no idea.
Come on,
You’re so dumb
You can’t…
“Daddy see
I’m not doing.”
Wait a minute,
You’re still not off medicines.
Will see
What the doctor’s going to allow.
Shut that downed window!
Little heart big time.
And I love you.
Now get off me.
Be pigs about God.
I gonna roommate with,
With the right way of life.
Can you see God in here?
“Go daddy.”
God’s the one took us by the hand.
That’s who we live with.
You’re at the most type of television.
Put two eyes fully on Me,
On you,
A smart what to do.
It get crazy after awhile,
Tryin’ to avoid the title
Put Your Eyes on God.
That’s his birthday money.
Ramiya [the girl’s name]
Is not a whisper
Of divine delight.

School has been. [art school, which he almost dropped out of account of the girl]

In my school news right now.
Asiya has said one word out loud to me,
That word to help him make the adjustment.
He only blow everything up
When I try to sleep.
Wouldn’t help.
Beating back before the row
There was something called
I’ve often sit here and wondered how in the hellare we gonna get you through school.
He’s often like a big rag.
That’s pretty orange there,
Not a solo district.
Each one of us the starving dog.
Look at the hair chests,
Asiya’s boring.
He has some days
Some doing something.
No play the computer,
No computer time.
Nice you now
You didn’t.
Don’t throw it away,
Don’t throw it away.
All this shots we’re doing.
Asiya get ready.
It takes me 10 minutes to do the bullshit
Flying in the face of all that looove.
Six feet on the outhouse.
I’ve come to save you.
Then save.
“What? What? What?”
Asiya’s first wild.
Put that Othello.
You’ve gotta be kidding me.
Look that’s behind you.
Run all the way to gun
And go look at it.
Cause you’re pretty good.
In interpretation of your material.
There’s a good computer there.
How’s he want us to go back?
Broad daylight,
You’re such a good guy.
I’ll look.
That’s insincere.
“What, think I’m being loud?”
And being purposefully charming.
That’s a good attention span.
What movie?
Grow it some.
Sit around and refuse.
He’s not gettin’ any.
That was a good smoke.
There’s your answer kiddo.
There’s your payment.
It will review
To the top of the world.
Go a hello,
Oh baby.
Have him read a little bit. [to try and have him read Othello]
You would monitor that answer.
You would have to read it with ‘im.
I’d have to read?
“Don t they do that?”
Nothing they great put away
Save some Savitri.
“That’s not the one
I’m gonna
Take a look at.
I’m growing tired of this.”
Asiya on yoga,
Asiya on uniform.
“I like big brobio and blue eyes.”
They told him to sleep.
I’m a boulevard, [pause after a, the last word: bou le varrrd]
And you don’t know what

You say you are. [these three lines sung, for the new song]

“Since we call harshest men
At the border.”
“What are you going to do here?”
I’m going to become enlightened. [end of a dream where I was in a small auditorium in Auroville, or a representation of it, since it didn’t look like Auroville, and a man sitting next to me asked me the question. There were older children present, teens or almost, and one girl surprised me with her knowledge by saying something about how she wasn’t abused and so didn’t dress outlandishly, though she said it differently, lines of muse I didn’t catch. She was speaking about a young man 18ish that had on his head this long clip that had green cleaning pads handing down from it, and other weird things about his style of dress, implying that he dressed like that because he was abused. He wasn’t embarrassed about his manner of dress, but he was angry at the way people judged him. A man behind me with a very strange English accent told me that he walked some walkway in New Hampshire, and I told him New Hampshire was just the next state, because in the dream I was very familiar with Auroville, which the dream had in New England, not India]
He doesn’t see
All the wonderful reflection. [multiple meanings, but immediately it meant not showing Asiya all this muse now]
Will stitch you permanently. [make him like Stitch in the movie with that name and meaning as well as stitch as in sew]
Figure that’s it
Guerilla man.
Eyes in the back,
The back of his head.
Rule out dangerous
With a pencil.
Because you’re the one
It’s so dangerous to be with.
“What was that?”
The danger has
We are looking
To find the answers
To all the big questions
Of what life is all about.
Every change you get. [vision of going through a box of books and pulling out one that shined out to me like the film The Missing Picture did I picked last night at the DVD shop. The book was named Paradox, and the second line is also a title of another book. There were many books, but I only caught the names of these two]
A collection
Of the hottest material.
A collection
Of some of the hottest material.
A collection
Of some hot material.
“What happened?”
I hate Jim
I thought
That was perfect.
“How did you do it,
Got any food?”
This is not easy.
They always want you on line,
And they make
Look good darlin’. [like your dreams, your muse makes you important, the central figure]
For a Galveston,
For a bridge.
I love to rub him. [vision of Asiya laying on the sofa without a shirt and I rubbing his chest and stomach, and the scar on his shoulder that he got in the accident that broke his leg, on a errand for the girl’s mother next door, was very pronounced and purple, but still only a scar. This turned out to be prevision, as this morning he was in exactly the same position on the sofa with his shirt off as in the vision, but instead of rubbing his chest and stomach I had his head in my lap tossing his hair, telling him we were going to read Othello, and I didn’t remember the muse about showing him affection until later, recording it to the computer]
Be nice,
We got to get going.
First I’m unbelievable,
A history lesson.
“You’re right next to me
Comedian graphic.
That is new.
Good luck in it.”
Say we have luck.
That’s a beautiful change.

Sept 3-4

In 8th grade:
“Hey I can get a room
And a roof over my head.”
We’d be in the weeds.
Your television set would get muddled.
Don’t listen to Strangers.
Funny, I talk to them.
In Your lap –
They had me like I had Asiya this morning.
Just understand the patience.
Move to the 3rd floor.
“There’s no plan for you, huh?”
I give infinity vision.
Now we’re out of high school.
“You’re some kind of nut driving a taxi down there.”
You just jump out of vision,
All of our analogies.
What are you talking about spider web?
Something infinity calls sing.
Did this happen to fish?
It’s an equality bracket.
Okay spiritual vision hold down the fort.
It’s time to see if the world needs me.
Okay spiritual vision jump ship.
The world is not available on request.
“Then who’s the cigar?”
Let’s say infinity needs me,
What the world in that equation?
“You mean they don’t like you?”
Nothin’ new,
First one decided,
Knowing bishop at the moment,
Long mitred hand.
It is just not infinity.
“How do we get away from this soliloquy?”
It’s not infinity they serve.
“Wreck it Ralph.”
I hate when vision shows me a door that leads to pain.
I am just so frail diamond.
How do you warn people about sleep?
They say it took so long,
And I’m in my room again.
You just take this vision and say,
“Infinity notebook,
Can we call you the monster?
Go! Get out of here!”
You don’t know
What paper play.
Move your hand
Only after opening notebook,
Only after seeing vision true.
Five chapters
I’m tellin’ yah.
It’s the whole vision
You got in your mind to ask.
You want to see who I am,
Questions answered.
Just a minute.
That’s a diabolical plan.
How many miles per hour?
Sack a home,
Disperse a family.
I wouldn’t smoke cigarettes.
You think I’ve got weapons of mass destruction?
I’ve shown you power,
Its unjust beginnings,
Its rude origins,
Power you yourself would call corrupt.
Now The Pupil and His Divine
Can infinity
A headset an hour’s net.
Have you ever been flabbergasted?
Do You Like the Boy?
Do You Bet? [title I selected]
There is your father. [confirming the above poem, the three following lines and the beginning of the next formation not part of poem]
See was normal.
Thank you room,
It’s got all our questions on it.
Meat packaging plant,
It’s a red hot menu.
Let’s see the other end.
Diamond rose,
Something great on the table.
Would you add an expression? [add to the poem?]
Bottom [from here to the psychic being line lines to add]
Has room for yah.
“Are you serious?
Put me down.”
I mean by the heart.
Your witness
The psychic being see my face. [last line of the poem]
I just added a heater,
Music room.
Looks like you missed
Their thoughts:
They’re determined
I don’t be in pictures.
Go over with you
They played with it.
“Well Noah,
I’m gonna kick his ass.”
The next sequence of events
Will tell you if they heard you or not.
If God bring politics to the earth.
Here there came a man attempting to find out who
The beneficiary is.
Asiya wrong in bed.
That is my specialty.
Layla’s together excuses
(Lyla). [this word whispered, his old girlfriend, closer to his age and not such an obsession]
“Wait daddy,
This is like a new movie.
Half of the movie
I show you at.
The ground
Is Lyla.”
Well what do you laugh him?
Stranger fall asleep.
Put Lucy – [our dog, who sleeps each boy, the love puppy of the house, a needed object of affection in any household with kids I’d argue, a dog or a cat]
He looks so obligated.
I don’t know these people.
Look is his mail easier to reach. [his own muse, if he’ll listen]
You can lose ‘er right now.
You can’t lose it that’s fine.
I guess my kid a romance cinema’s.
To the women at the bar
He lived like this:
Your commitment.
House you want:
Finger lickin’ good.
“You’re lyin’/lion.
You’re sexual
Several hum
Boston cherry loud.”
“Look at him.
I don’t get it:
We want him to do that.
An airplane
Bomb him.”
“Who does he think he is?”
It would be
Nature’s plan [this and above line sung, for the new song]
“Let’s get this guy.”
If you’re hungry,
I don’t need the help.
So the soliloquy.
It doesn’t rob vision. [the new poem]
This is good stars.
Give this to them please.

Right at dawn. [send it to who in Auroville and the ashram I’ve been sending poems and letters to, which I did after putting into short verses]

If it’s a problem you buy it.
They are told no problem.
“What does it mean?”
They were witness.
Very collage,
Melted butter.
“Has there been any banana?”
It is ending.
I learned how.
“Okay honey,
Dangerous chair?
I’m just askin’.”
I’m not
In a dangerous chair.
Took a long time
Sitting there.
Over a million dollars
The milk you’re getting.
Well this
Was a walk of that look
Doing me down to a science. [vision I’m looking out the kitchen window of a typical suburban American home watching a lion walking in through the front door, another big cat suggested behind it]
“You got a camera?”
Your detail
Nobody lost.

Go bother your sister. [send the email I sent with the poem also to her, and I did to my step-brother too, neither of whom will speak to me]

I give it to you,
Means to be organic,
Good crafted,
Your choice.
I’m not a Ranger see?
New to vision
I’m something beyond termination.
I have a message:
It’s not the rules that we adhere to,
And people change.
See God
For that kind of stuff.
We talked about it before:
“Now is your vision turmeric?”
Donny Duke see.
“I have a question:
Now where will this put them?” [the email and poem meant also]
12 o’clock rose.
Don’t delete what’s going on.
You must see my mistake.
And spill water on the floor
Not 10 days back.
Please excuse us nowadays.
I had to get up starting.
“What daddy?” [Mugu’s voice]
There’s something besides do’s and don’ts
Infinity big.
Rise by the rules,
It’s not screwed you today.
You’re hit when you don’t believe it,
And it’s fall overboard.
That’s infinity’s vision.
That side
The lever.
I’m gonna push this thing all the way downtown.
I just let ‘im go
Cook some up.
I’m very hungry.
You have that in martial arts too:
Even the best have to change after a season.
Take Jackie Chan.
Take all my children from me if they whistle.
This guy whistle.
And we’re walkin’ on chains.
You just back up the house.
How can I explain to you infinity’s rules?
It wouldn’t be a rulebook.
There’s a lot to be said for single minds.
Okay the accent’s on rule.
You just jump in lively shorts.
Take a vision whole:
I’m dirty too.
We got out of that mess.
It’s the soliloquy.
Now pardon your room.
Don’t breed tyranny.
Closer to the truth.
It’s not my toilet seat you understand.
Donny that’s good line.
I’m scouting for tomorrow.
This is not acceptable today.
A robotic arm,
That’s such a field for us.
Nature made us no.
The mongoose says:
I’d bite on the program.
You want a natural arm movement.
Coached, schooled, cajewled
To end foolishness.
Inner change,
That’s what whistles the program.
Don’t do it no more
Didn’t work.
What so naturally arose
Had me stop.

Sept 4-5


[vision of a steep bare grassy hill, mountain-like so steep it was, surrounded by other such hills, and on it near the top but not on the top, on the a part of the steep slope one could put a shelter, was a very primitive make-shift shelter, with 4 poles on the corners no walls, the poles irregular small tree trunks. The tarp roof was flapping wildly in the breeze. It appeared a hermit’s perch]
So he could listen to the face of the deep.
You ever been in here before –
A tall heart?
Something backwards
I ain’t a good student.
I have no idea
A grasp idea.
Give this to him strong.
Alright follow the leader.
I think you’d turn your own vision out.
Such a bossy program.
Take it to your shorts,
Or whatever has you rob infinity.
In close to the night
And close to the moon
The soul…
I am reader of one take out expedition.
Hear that squirrel please.
What to cross now,
Original chain,
Or stomp worth
Golden harassment?
Will you stop him?
Did you hear him?
Night of cloistered seconds.
I thought he’d jump into the classical guitar champ.
If I say no beg and complain?
Somebody’s knocking on the door,
I know that elephant:
Blue moon. [the God Ganesh, who speaks a lot of my muse, whom the boys adore]
Hear me
Whenever I call.
That lines detail.
You see he managed to earth.
I just go straight.
My movies came back:
Bom, bom, bom, done, done. [spoken like I recorded guitar sounds, though spoken here very slowly with no life at all as if to say the new song lacks life]
Did you like it?
Five hundred yards away from electric.
The fish,
That fish hook.
And you practice. [the new song]

That’s a good girl. [as I’ve said, my vital is female, and this refers to her]

This is just very revolutionary.”
They take over my pencil.
Meanwhile I’m pretty bossy.
“What’s speaking to you?”
“Wait daddy.” [Dhina’s voice]
“With Dhina daddy.”
That boy is so stupid.
I’m not complaining.
Get him off of my department,
Will yah?
It’s open
Behind him.
That’s why stupid
And closed then.
They’ll fuck the arrangement.
You just hear ‘im.
I don’t want those fish.
You take those fish.
“What are you talking about?”
Crown and fool.
I’m not lying to the secrets.
A soldier with whom humanitarian purpose,
Come his job.
I kill high past.
I gave her yesterday
An omelet.
“What was that one about?”
A rave code,
Lucy come here I go.
“What did then,
Shut the door?”
They just don’t want to see you.
Please I wanna sit now please,
Please, please,
This is my pocket leader,
Come on.
What are we gonna do now?
The injustice,
Oh goddammit.
Where I give up.
Would you
Show me something?
Swear to God
It is not clear.
Now, go on on with my morning.
Whatever gets read?
Street knowledge
A little bit.
That’s evil
They’re not gonna do it.
I’m in the kitchen cooking,
And the other cook here,
The walls are zero.
“You’re not the hairy face I need.”
Come here not this time.
Uptown with a child
Nobody liked,
Nobody even looks at.
“You’re lyin’ to me.
You’re deep shit.”
That’s what I told the alphabet.
If he can get work it into that power.
Work it into that power.
Is this reply might?
“No daddy,
Not even try.”
I gotta talk to your sister.
It’s her brother.
“I just wanna be around.
Where’s that sliding door, huh? Huh?”
Where they look 21.
Give me a leader.
On my glasses.
No nobody drank.
Stop and say smile please;
He’s changed.
Look down at that glass.
Thick glass.
1776 swelling inside the walls of Paris,
It’s the power you got in your room.
How is it?
Can it get out?
It’s amazing,
With your parents.
Leave that where room.

Your self some time okay? [to go to sleep, else up all night, but lines came that I didn’t record about what is behind me messing up my muse and the need to get rid of it and also about sending that email to Jeff, Gwen’s husband, to get it to her, how it wasn’t a good idea]

Would have been leaving if that at Galveston or something. [end of a dream where I was back in Garberville at the homeless shelter there, now very well organized and located in the bricked buildings that make up the downtown center, in the dream, and both Douglas and David are there, but we’re not so much talking with one another, not out of any rift though. At one point I’ve been in the ‘holy of holies’ of the shelter, it’s inner sanctum, and I’m going through the tiny hall transition where you have to close one door to open the other and meet both of them in that space, but we don’t talk to each other, they together going into the innermost room and I on my way out, but I should’ve spoken to them, as soon I found myself in need of their help. Outside the shelter I’m told by some guys that I’m targeted for being killed by the same mob that had just killed a minor attracted person, and I go on about how death is not that at all, talk about it in soul terms, and they can kill me, showing a lot of bravado I didn’t really have, since right after that I decide to leave town, scared of being killed. I check the money that the shelter had given me, but it’s  not much a 40 and a 20, and I vaguely recall I have a whole lot of money in my wallet, and so I begin to make my way to the bus station or whatever way I can leave quickly. Before I get more than a few steps I’m spotted by the mob, who are the same people I took care of when I was working with the homeless people there. I see them sitting a ways away, recognize especially one older woman who was crazy who I thought was my friend, and they see me and yell, “There he is!” They jump and begin running towards me, a mob intent on murder. I’m terrified almost, but have my wits to try and make it back inside the shelter, but suddenly it gets farther away. I have to grasp the bricks of the corner building with my fingernails things are so not into me getting to safety. The dream ends before they reach me, and it’s up in the air if they do or not]
What right of way?
The hand of the deep.
Am I safe?
It’s what we all fear,
Cause we’re human.
From out of town.
While it is actually a threat,
They couldn’t be mean.
Won’t actually come out.
The people that hear about it:
I am a miracle.
Different building,
That’s how we get placed.
It’s wonderful.
There’s Jeff.
He’s feelin’ a little bit down on himself:
He the monster.
Do we toke togas then?
You get the house.
Lydia papery
No longer there,
And your house,
And your room,
No longer kids rule.
Earth is not easy. [a new poem begins]
You put it there,
My shaving cream.
No one has ever punished me.
The robotic legs of Shakespeare,
I send a bull down there in that camera
You have studied.
We’re catching ground.
I wanna stay in a little house
In front of the heart stop.
This will be 700 dollars.
Don’t let them live
(I wanna birth in 1992)
Those who eviled.
I didn’t reply.
That’s a good stopping point India.
You might not be blessed or able to help,
But I would be.
The Islamic State
A new faction of hate in the world.
Over 6 months
Those two they apps
His head off
In history.
You just bullshitting.
You have a drink
Of this man’s blood
After each meal.
Wahhabi what are you doing?
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Incredibly painful
“What would pass between us is not honor.
(I’m Boko Haram.)”
The Middle Ages
You broadband into our living rooms.
Would something float in your house doc?
I’m supposed to get you to work.
It’s not fair
Human beings
That you let go.
Capitalism of the earth
Unfriendly arm,
What we have here is unfriendly arm.
Twenty-four rupees,
Thirty four,
Who was so bads together?
That’s why he stole from
The world.
Thousands are people,
Are people
Who are moving.
Come on Islamic State,
Show mercy in exile.
Yes I was shocked.
Can you name this poem?
The Holy Koran.
If you can’t honor your actions honor the Koran.
I’ll fire something very good.
We pull on it
That is something
I can’t discuss openly.
All the question
Never finish.
I know some of you
Thinks it human. [the first parts of a poem about the Islamic State. It can be read in its entirety in Pages, Poems on Government and War]

Mugu and Lucy


Post 7

Christmas 1998 Palenque, Mexico

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

     This is the continuation of my daily muse journal, which is also my spiritual journal, which I started with Issue 4, a journal begun in 2001, though for reasons explained in the introduction I’ve begun the postings from it starting on August 15, 2014 and will continue posting weekly roughly three days from it until it seems time to leave off for awhile. Since this is dramatic poetry, a dialogue with multiple speakers, and also a narrative of the daily events of my life as they register on the inside of me, like looking at the world from underwater, reading the introduction and beginning at Issue 4 would greatly aid in understanding the text.

Aug 29-31 2014
Each time he returned going to bed.
There are steps to the soul’s return.
Don’t fight after him. [presumably Larry, prevision he’ll reject my poems]
Gotta figure out something that reach it man,
Those poems you’ve put in your pocket.
The three would be what you say you are:
A collection gathered in the I
Soul strength,
What is soul and gone.
Missed anything I go.
As far as edits,
I bet you leave
What field until morning. [wait for morning to submit the three new poems to Collaboration (Larry), but the deeper meaning of a morning in humanity is there]
Union meets Larry.
He’s not impressed with your soliloquy,
Stutter long.
Give it to him?
That’s a That suits me traditional fountain.
Stand and be read.
What business is it of yours private?“That suits me,”
Point of view
Night time –
A dictator.
And then it goes down.
Hear Russia.
Wait, wait, wait:
After the liftoff
Of one person.
“Can I cancel it?”
You’re there
Get this on the ballot. [all uadditional lines for Character poem, go after ‘Best among refrigerator companies’ and before the line ‘The heat that’s mud on you’]
“The freedom before the fire,
That was very nice,
Try to make the Statue of Liberty
The Planet of the Apes.
That’s some shocking report
We speak to in the news.
The mind will everything.
Give this softball
Carry on
Don’t see the heart
As the doorway
To the love of God,
To soul.
Even I get help with
Putin dedicates
To nail. [all above lines for character poem. They make their own verse between ‘How about that?’ and ‘The smart hand.’]
Put it on my Facebook. [send the three new poems to Auroville Art, and I sent the video too, since it’s now by chance the biannual film festival there in a couple of weeks]
Since I was 10:
“He’s very good.”
“Have you seen him with hair?”
Give him that gold.
Tell me something:
When’s the smile gonna rise to the top of the world? [sung, a repeat line for the new song]
It’s on your notebook,
Not where you want it,
Not where you want it to stay.
To the top of the world. [sung, for the new song and the adesh to send the poems. I waited for very sure confirmation]
“How many years ago?”
“It wouldn’t take us this long.”
Cover bases.
How blindly do you follow?
“I’m tryin’
To commit myself to something.
You’re only a guest-horse.” [I was a guest in Auroville when I got kicked out, not a Newcomer or an Aurovillian]
Is that the name of Auroville,
The only Aurovillian sing?
My acceptance has to do with human unity,
Takes it through the streets.
I’m all day long.
Human Unity. [title for a short poem I didn’t send]
Has fallen asleep,
And the mind is on the lowest mental rung.
Net profound,
You’re a detective cheat. [there were 42 views from France on The Atomic Review today, after having sent the poems and video to Auroville. Interestingly enough though, not many from India]
“Can we throw this out?”
“Alright social missionary,
It’s sensitive taboo.”
You led me to sleep,
And I was led by God’s hand?
“Ain’t he cute.”
“Badam milk,
He’s sensitive.”
“See daddy.” [one of my boys’ voices]
Stepping over bombshells,
It’s not negative report.
You think Larry’s stupid –
No refrigerator for you.
Oh what would be hang me or not?
“Shut up.”
“I’m gonna make a good kid.
I make you nervous now.” [Asiya’s sneaking to talk to the girl next door]
I don’t know what’s going to happen.
Tell me what to do,
Since I don’t know.
Give him credit for the kid. [was meditating with my yoga student Matoon when these lines came, unaware that Natish was in the house, our often visiting two-year-old, and on leaving my room it was time spent with him, a good time, sacrificial: I wanted to be back with my own stuff. Sandia, his mother, looked on with thank you in her eyes]
Years ago
I knocked on your door.
Change that lock.
You need to take a break.
Put some out.
Well I was thinking you’d meet and talk about it.
Your average selfie.
“No daddy I’m
Sitting in a basket
Up on a hill.”
Glossary to terms,
You’re supposed to know it.
Goodbye Emily. [my niece, who won’t answer my emails now. As an infant I taught her to walk on my first return from India in 1996]
I just remember
That cute little baby.
“Call me a leave of absence.”
Where’s my mobile?
In TV Nagar.
You’re unbelievable.
What’s he doing alerting you?
How many people.
You have a ride home.
You have a breath of fresh air.
Go back to the origin.
Turn off my computer. [contrary muse saying to stop all I’m doing web-wise]
They came out as good guys
Because they hear the terrible
They’re trying to make.
Tie it all in the rainforest.
Why there?
You get more money.
Our own stuff is on its way.
“It’s on me daddy.”
Hear Asiya:
“I’m fighting for myself.
Got it figured out:
I leave well enough alone,
Daddy please you can go towards the audience.” [he’s pretending to ignore the girl, but secretly he’s getting closer to her so to talk to her, and the meaning here too of what’s stated, that if he doesn’t mess up and get himself and consequently our house in trouble over that girl, I get read]
The sack of that is:
You’re just a pupil away.
He told you the police station
Without any nuts. [the cops told him if he continues to talk to the girl they’ll beat him up]
A movie to start your day:
Ah please, hey!
Look who’s not working.
I am a local mother fucker.
Rein in all choose.
Cancel it.
It’s not working.
Would it also mean
That you got pregnant?
Don’t shine my hair, please.
How old do you think,
Do you think I am?
She’s got a reason for her room,
Pulled over
In the city:
I’m logical.
Well with our Asiya green?
Put him in the test.
Lemmie tell you something:
I look the pillow –
“I love you daddy.”
You got me attention to strike her?
I’m not sure what I’m talking about,
I’m not sure what the moon is talking about.
Between the houses. [between our house and the girl’s next door, just a little space, the ‘my stuff’ meaning too]
Wait, wait, wait:
This is bullshit.
I know.
I don’t understand what inner truth you’re talking about:
You world your inner truth?
Oh come on bar that window. [I’ve allowed Asiya to view and perhaps speak to the girl from his window, since he’s inside his room, and the blame would be on the girl, but the muse seems to be saying to bar that, as well as it’s about my own stuff, the contrary muse saying to stop my work online]
Hear it awesome,
Everything’s on the line
Waxen wings.
Push you open.
Essentially Carl,
Wide room.
More unusual:
High energy bill.
We have to pay it?
You never know.
If you need cheese,
Or a special kind of butter,
It is in that shop. [vision very strong and clear of the new walk-in grocery store in the neighborhood, the front of it, and I’m telling Chandru and the boys this]
You’re boring.
You know where this is?
This is nowhere man.
A week
He demanding like they speak English one hour in Japan.
I’ll be honest with yah,
Not yet.
You’re on time.
Alright then,
What about the performance?
They didn’t ask for that,
They didn’t reach for that.
I tell you he’s good.
But I miss you.
Leave it.
Say you have [sung, each word drawn out]
The individual,
Smiling. [all three lines sung, for the new song]
Stay on the grounds.
Don’t rub his heart too much.
I cannot do nothing
Except watch.
Speaking differently. [this line one of a many that were popping up on a page like quotes on the Rotten Tomatoes website, though they weren’t blurbs but white rectangular fields rounded on the corners, the lines about my stuff on the net or also about myself here at home]
Here’s the thing:
You’re good.
“What holds it keeping together?”
My soul.
Daily mop,
That’s what she’s going to do.
Get up.
“So, anyway,
Daddy the perfume is good.” [Dhina’s voice]
Did you find it? [he thinks Sandia stole his perfume housecleaning, but this is also speaking about our house, asking the audience if you found the nice smell]
Can I talk to you for a minute? [my divine to talk to me and my muse to talk to you the audience]
“What?” [you the audience asking this and also me asking the divine, though it’s in quotes as if only the audience is asking. For the most part though, this formation is the divine speaking to me. every line does not have double meaning]
Give him an artist. [Asiya is in his first year of art school, he being one, and the meaning also of you the audience give me credit for being one]
You don’t have a husband.
You have a son.
We’re gonna use him,
Of course,
For the rest of his life.
Suppose I wasn’t much cooler? [Asiya saying this and also I saying this]
You’ll speed up.
The highest time
Look where you’re at.
Isn’t that beautiful. [vision of a dog sled at or near the North Pole it seemed led by many teams of dogs, a long line of teams. Saw it from a side front view as it was coming along the snow]
They’re asking you a question baby give it answer now.
Listen to me,
Memories no. [vision of this appearing in the top left hand corner of a television set superimposed, thin writing]
And guy would think
Don’t give up. [sung, for the new song, by Peter Gabriel]

Aug 31-Sept 1


What are you doin’?
Absorbed in the police come.
When they come,
A golden opportunity.
Oh forged this.
I am so maybe.
Get all your stuff together.
I’m sure the ballot is closed.
Know about that?
No what I got now?
A paper moon,
Art supposed
Is that so hard not to see?
A music video,
We give the text to display. [came first “We show it in your absence,” but I just don’t believe that and instead chose this more ambiguous line]
“What are you doing?”
Making Patty Duke
An information tool.
Every second counts.
The only one
You get a lot of him
In the whole.
In the air
All around town
That labor of his.
“I was voyin’ your phone,
That signal.
Desktop it is,
That clockwork orange.
Dispel superstitions,
You were the perfect man.
Take to police?
No doubt,
On some level.
I explain,
I explain the whole thing.
It was there in the woods.
You die with living,
And then you’re happy,
Cold foot.
American 30?
You’re go.
Time we bring it up:
He’s gone up.
You’re all picked up.
We made it.
Maybe they’re not the winner they be told.
You get through.
I wanna know,
I wanna wake up,
Tom Horn. [these three lines sung, the sound of horn beeping after the word ‘Horn’. They were sung by a chorus, the last line slowly and sweetly]
Pick up to do so they’re on the way to delight.
Donna Stitch giving tea inside the office. [vision slightly after the line of the top portion of one of those yellow message stick ups pasted on the floor near my desk and the door]
Stitch and that’s about it. [I’d missed the last name in the above line, and it’s repeated]
Rosa Might,
After that, after that line,
Somebody just like that.
Committed to movement,
We’re committed in movement.
Good to Charlie? [an old time Aurovillian I had a conflict with giving him some muse about himself because David was working for him on his milk farm, talking to me about him, and so on my mind the muse picked it up, and I stupidly had it sent to him, a wrong use of muse and unprovoked ‘attack’ on Charlie]
Could be.
We see, [sung, see drawn out]
Through many a magical thing, [thing drawn out]
Not the air. [these lines sung, for the new song, ‘air’ drawn out very slightly. End of a dream where I was on a strange journey with a group of people making a journey video, and on three occasions we all mounted something in movement, the last the large spinning top of a piñata of sorts hanging from some bedroom or the doorway of one, us in miniature on that ride, and it was when we were filmed on something all together that the magic happened, not when we were separately filmed, but it wasn’t something you could see until you played the video back, but then it was very obvious]
Awesome Toy Story.
That way
Kate and all,
Thank you. [the other morning greatly discouraged I watched Kate Smith’s Cloudbursting video that features a cloud burster and a woman as a little girl and her inventor father, then saw her sing Don’t Give Up with Peter Gabriel, then he with another female singer, then with Tracy Chapman, and I cried the encouragement was so awesome, and I took heart]
We have a friend.
Don’t do that,
Get him away from him,
And he’s my friend also.
Donny a steak.
He’s there.
I told ‘im
Don’t eat eggs today
My favorite.
I do. [was suddenly thinking in the silent space about sending the three lines to the poem I’d not included by mistake, from the ‘Character’ poem – “Point of view / Night time – / A dictator” – as an addendum, to Auroville Art, and about using the opportunity to say why I was, because it was probable they’d ignore me but not my stuff and so on. I got up and did that, at 3:30 am]
Ta ta ta ta ton ton, ton ton, ton ton. [last 2 seemed quite separate from the other, guitar sounds I couldn’t possibly render here]
Do you like the echo,
The film in SD.
To get it that yourself,
You’re really that connected. [the guitar finger pick I need for the new song]
I do that
Basic strum, [one I’ve been practicing for the new song]
He’s gonna run.
Yeah, he wears My t-shirt.
That was the morning.
A host hit those people in the face.
This full of host,
Miss America.
They don’t realize
Five point melody
Let me apologize.
I’m out there right now
A pupil on God.
Would utter
Gonna get over darlin’.
Instead of me answering questions –
Gone over [the poem The Pupil and His Divine]
Serous life:
I woke from this hot tub.
Just take that performance.
Doesn’t move.
No it doesn’t move.
Something beyond reach and yours,
Something quite human:
Go that man
To his own house
In the bathroom
Not the Tupperware.
You’re going to have to realize
He’s not in pigs in a blanket.
That’s a direct seeing
Because the Mother
Has played with your basketball.
“I find it
You’re the pump and you’re the partner,
You’re the pump on the end.
Give him some tough skin.
You don’t like the electric chair.
I am not your fanny pack –
I’m just really comfortable.
“Can you ground break here?”
Open up,
I’ve gone all the way.
I’m a scene of the best movie.
Are you just gonna read that and smile?
Give me my homegrown TV.
Very easy tonight,
It’s ya’ll flower
(Took a minute) [vision the head of John Wayne wearing his classic battle helmet ‘let the straps hang down’ as he did in war pictures, though here it was the modern U.S. Army version, and giving a look to the audience as he turns off to leave]
He’s fine.
You don’t have an excuse bud,
Your time was up.
I was here.
Okay world of activism,
Funny, funny, funny room.

Sept 1-2


Say fuck in school nobody says anything.
Levante. [there were a lot more Spanish one word lines I didn’t get]
Nothing came on Asiya.
“It’s not right now daddy!” [to put my foot down about him and the girl]
This is
Your cellphone,
One Asiya. [he has two phones now so to call the girl next door covertly. The cops have said any contact with her they’ll beat him, since she’s 13 and he 19]
Now science
Leave a message:
(Please no rigidity doughnut.)
I’m gonna put my phone
Two a day
She calls. [to allow him two phone calls a day, her or her mother calling him, not him calling]
We’re in business.
How does subject feel?
I’m not prepared
To meet all these people.
You know they don’t like talking about it.
Under you know what
Too sensitive.
Aware of our goats. [vision of someone opening a barn door and looking in]
Don’t fit,
Too much of corn,
Too much of thing.
Give them one very weekly [presumably send something every week to those entities in Auroville and the ashram until they contact me]
I’m ready.
He has to be.
Not a simple file sharing program?
“You’re really in the country.”
“You don’t want any pussy?”
Oh that’s los plantonos. [Spanish for bananas]
Try it again:
Show word.
Locomotive down there.
Hold it there.
Can we slow it down?
Really want me to.
I do not think it was an accident
Drop that phone. [in addition to my stuff, this is about Asiya having the two phones, the spare one from a friend so he can use it for calls and his for downloads he says. Anytime my boys lie to me the muse tells me, and they just hate that]
Now he talks to her
And laid Mr. White Boy
Open to the public
Bring your flag. [that if he continues defying the police’s order it would come to bear on me]
You know what a refrigerator is?
They find it zero
A little bit better.
Put my hand in my pocket
The equivalent:
I’m not growing anything.
Not that if you call
That’s the research. [corrected instructions on how to deal with him, and the suggestion his phone(s) will be searched to see if he’s called]
What’s the problem?
From Tamil movie
This most basic sense, [of Asiya’s going for the girl at all costs, something Tamil movies have helped to instill in him, and he’s emulating the male actor in a movie he’s told me, Vijay I think, the movie about him operating based on a romantic obsession]
How he won the girl
No problem.
Oh I’ve stopped calling him.
He’s calling her now. [he’s said she’s calling him]
The rest lies with Asiya. [he’s lying]
You think marriage.
Someone cast on a tree,
He’s important to you.
I’m out.
Even he
Could see it
You called you dialed this number.
And I blew it
They came anyway.
Watch the human race.
Give ‘im to his parents? [his grandmother, sister, and uncle]
Our boy,
Deal with ‘im.
“I’m not a program that you have to find anymore.”
Holy night,
Back this up will yah?
Not anybody’s business?
Go on about your business.
We have the OR.
He’s under-neutered.
Ask him to whip this thing,
And the daddy you’re dealing with
The one department that’s doing it:
What he did in front of me. [end of a dream where Asiya is riding Lydia’s bike with someone on the back and wrecks into a drainage hole killing Lucy our dog and the other boy he was pumping, but it’s not sure they’re dead, but you can see Lucy’s stiff body with the strong suggestion of death]
Is asking something:
Leave the time player,
The milk.
“Stop and go daddy.” [Dhina’s voice]
Go to Kuruchikuppam and safe. [where I was told not to send him earlier by other muse]
I hurt his feelings.
Tell him to stop and go to school.
“Damn, damn, damn, damn,
I cannot go to school.” [he’s almost stopped school completely over this obsession]
I’ve got to stop giving him belong to you. [to the girl’s mother, a suspected prostitute]
We’re calling her.
She put the
Shock on.
And then he told me
He’s been up to my face.
I’m not cookin’ for ‘im,
And that’s gonna learn a lesson.
“Sorry daddy,
That lesson isn’t.
That lesson stink.”
You take 15 minutes.
You take away from the house.
Wanted around.
Did it.
While you end across the street enjoy themselves.
We’ll just,
Hey, this goes off the back.
Frank we have here
The new drama boy.
They’re not gonna buy you sweets.
Jennifer has give up on items.
Sound in time, [each word sung separately and slow, last word a little bit drawn out]
Love to free that sound in time. [sung, for the new song, sound has the accent]
Take a look at yall’s,
The hottest
Of the watch right now.
Same thing you do:
Go home this week.
Has it made an impression
Gonna right now
Blow his nose?
Lemmie see your phone.
Pull it.
First he went to
That husband
Then God.
This is senior
Right here this is.
Your note,
Study through your note.
Smuggle a fortune
Of veggies
Tryin’ to find people.
Just be quiet.
My budget,
To red one five huh?
I’m not gonna throw the baby out here. [not to send Asiya out]
Love him too. [lines begin about Larry while still talking about Asiya]
Gonna brought it minute made.
What does it look like?
Lie faster
Then fade with me now
Next to the school.
Be quiet,
It’s handy on the ground
Puttin’ her room
Over again.
Stop at nothing
Get us out of here.
He says
Top performance
This submission post. [Larry, who sent me a poem yesterday with no intro, only, “Please read this poem,” presumably what poetry should look like performed, a YouTube ‘poem’ written by or in the attitude of the Occupy movement, really more like a poetic prose essay spoken angrily, anger at the bad guys, sad at the good guys asleep. I sent him a reply asking for his creativity and saying the poem has the same difficulty I’m having with him, that she, the poet, doesn’t see herself as part of the problem, that the good us and bad them isn’t the way to wholeness. He sent the email after rejecting my poems for his magazine Collaboration]
Talk about growing up.
Going to be earthquake.
Your own,
What we’re talking about.
Gonna do friends a lot of times.
That ugly blue like that,
That’s available.
Award winning difference
My blue.
What ja say to me? [he was not nice in his reply rejecting the poems]
What happened?
Look at Larry,
All in his gut.
He chose a fool.
That’s what I’m talking about.
How do you like me?
Your party’s there.
On my phone.
You’re not listening
The lawyer,
The lightning,
They’re not assigned to me anymore.
I get off early.
Let me go.
I’m sorry,
Who am I to go?
Music that wake up
They’re marching you,
The miracle
On the radio.
Very good,
Está bien.
Just a second.
“There’s absolutely nothing we can do about anything.”
Can’t figure it out.
Think that right?
I have collage
If you ask me
What I saw.
Oh, sorry,
If you ask me.
For Freedom
He lost your phone number,
So he’s going to look at you,
Nothing else,
James your come across,
Even seriously:
“It’s good to see you.”
I’m at New Orleans
Foreign countries
Hear me. [words said separately, slowly]
I can’t do any little hair 8 billions of years ago.
“Me too.”
Only pack left?
This one is noteasy.
It’s over,
You gotta sweep with the head. [vision of a zombie coming inside a space and the humans discovering they do indeed have guns, small machine guns, but they shoot at them not aiming at the head until the man says this instructing them to]
And that didn’t happen
Take a long time
Oh wrecks my face.
Cause it happen
Cause it’s yours.
Let something happen,
The difference
Between mine and his
Try to
Wear it
You don’t know where
Break up.
I’m behind.
Could I found the heart view?
I’m about to.
Let ‘er down,
Nailed it down.
“Your foot’s so interesting.”
Oh our school.
Donny you’re a brag it right.
I will try.
Oh we’re busy. [vision of some office or factory worker]
“This is a,
A serious phenomenon.
I’ve been thinking about this.”
Don’t leave anything behind.
Then go back into your mind.
How to glory
Extra people.
“Oh you’re bullshit.”
What kind of lawyer is that?
You’re from the East Side.
He’s from behind.
Mom and dad told me
Stop the neck
Did it in a heartbeat –
Concentration wall.
I’m afraid so,
More body for your soul.
And so it’s away from you.
I got some Larry
Right out in my face.
We all do that:
Go way in Austin.
Take me to Tweenie’s.
This is get your cigarette.
I’ll be going
Make sure he stays at the house.
Make sure youstay at the house.
That lever,
It’s not your heartfelt see,
Share you office.
Everybody look at you.
You mean however many people,
Not everybody.
That happens in California.
That’s your sister see.
“That’s Donny.”
Wanna hit this girl
With a load of muse.
You were cussin’ it before.
Human unity,
You workin’ to prep?
Human unity,
You workin’ it out?
We’ll have a bit of a problem
Get off the board.
What do I tell ‘er?
She’s naturally creative.
I’m at this point
I’m glad I’ve met you.
I offend you.
Say it:
“You’re so dramatic.”
A video [the music video For Freedom]
Give ‘er.
“Who ordered this?”
I’ve made it,
This savvy business with star wars.
My dad died. [could not find out if this is true]
The people in Nacogdoches are like Indians.
I’d never find out.
He blame me for it,
The plague,
The broken,
Between us.
“Gonna smile,
Donny I really am.”
Look good at this cancer.
It’s over honey,
And that’s not away from views.
That’s his sincere apology.
He’s on his way now.
Is he a ghost?
He’s on his way to the North Pole.
Look at his.
He’ll tell you
He’ll read your letter.
Tell ‘im to change
He wants to keep it,
The cross for the payment of sin.
Dropped him off
At where he’ll find the truth of the matter,
Under the matter.
He’ll see.
You’ll see him.
That’s his go on board
Rocket spirituality. [my dad is a fundamentalist Christian]

Post 6

lunar eclipse

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

     This is the continuation of my daily muse journal, which is also my spiritual journal, which I started with Issue 4, a journal begun in 2001, though for reasons explained in the introduction found in Pages in the sidebar I’ve begun the postings from it starting on August 15, 2014 and will continue posting weekly roughly three days from it until it seems time to leave off for awhile. Since this is dramatic poetry, a dialogue with multiple speakers, and also a narrative of the daily events of my life as they register on the inside of me, like looking at the world from underwater, reading the introduction and beginning at Issue 4 would greatly aid in understanding the text.

Aug 26-27


“Stop wasting my time
Very bad man.”
Join’ this up
Earth bound:
I have a garden.
No one
Will draw it in a different room.
Careful art.
This is underground.
Why are you crying?
Goodness gracious,
You’re being ignored.
You’re being hung up.
“I pledge allegiance to the flag.
I don’t want to keep you here,
And I’m calling you
Like a racehorse.”
Okay Ferguson,
Wield the weapon
To some entity in Auroville. [send the new poem, What About the Human up in Season?, this time to a new entity, Auroville Arts, only there, not to the other three entities. The full poem can be read in Pages]
I am…
A good question.
“Is he really sick?”
Beat out sparks of heat on the table.
What do you order that?
Is this a press room
Reality sees?
It’s a mimeographed notebook.
It’s several pages at once.
You’re gonna make it
Ye old submission of poetry.
I can’t follow instructions clearly at night:
“Daddy?” [Mugu’s voice]
I edit. [instructions to edit ‘daddy’ out of the poem]
“Who’s the ownership?”
A how do you bend a nation.
Quiet please, quiet on the set.
My friend Winnebago,
Art Starts,
And Bone Crime.
[‘Moon Dipper’ came in to replace ‘Art Stars’, which is to replace daddy, all these corrections are, since I’m to edit out the ‘daddy’ element out of the poem throughout, replace daddy with other names, the corrections coming pell-mell, came as I thought, or willed rather, an edit for the poem so to replace dadd]
I was in a heavy forest moon. [the whole line replaces the name I needed]
Want this turnover:
Quiet hair. [to replace quiet on the set line, a name I needed]
Don’t say sabotage. [for the ‘don’t say sin’ line, the name needed]
In beholder magazine [but please]. [seen as is with brackets, the line to be added after the sin line]
A century’s worth
Armchair mercenary. [both lines name replacements]
What some slack what we most lack. [a line to add]
I’ve heard enough army calling itself fool. [that the negative name replacements are finished]
Man he denies you thrice. [that the initial letter, the last poem, and this one will be ignored]
“You mean this open book gets closed?”
Put her in red.
The British are coming.
Has words too. [that the above lines are for the poem, but I didn’t accept the deny line]
Don’t document it. [a stray thought the muse corrected about a British Yoga magazine that had expressed keen interest in the Pupil poem years back, and I thought that might be who’s coming and thought I might send them a link to issue 3]
That’s a still, tall, voice. [replacement line for a daddy replacement]
Travel lightly some.
I ain’t kidding in my room. [this and above line to add]
The secret of bathing you baby bathing yourself. [line to add]
Don’t shoot,
I’m covering man.
This is the bum policeman who burn after the tag report.
The irony of their unique position. [ these 4 lines to add]
I wanna show you something:
Lion in humor
Donny. [all lines to add, in sequence]
“Well that ain’t nothin’.”
“Maybe this hearing,
Whew, that your dance.”
“I don’t believe it,
Any infinity truth
Dr. Stone.”
“Large voice not there.” [all lines to add except‘Dr Stone’, which is to go elsewhere in the poem]
Aware of the waterfront of ideas
He went deep within
And reached his quest.
“Good to see.”
“That’s just stupid.”
Separate person.
The whole
Welcome back…
“What do you want?” [all lines to add]
What we all know:
Other people have found
And I have found
That the muse “is actually hearing voice.” [all lines to add]
This is how sleep is the movie ghost from the hour. [line to add]
Want to speak with them.
Wouldn’t allow me to. [both lines sung, to add to poem]

Aug 27-28


We got a shade in our house.
You’re alive because of him
He’s the light of the dark.
That’s who oneness can mean.
Hey false Sri Aurobindo,
Guess what.
You’re not gonna believe it.
Along the bridge you are.
Ended up
Half circle.
They’ve got motion detectors
And an orange see.
“How many children?”
A good group came in
Like the sunrise
A federal association.
No one bad speaking
Is the answer.
Arrange it some
And then what?
Out of the room
Aren’t you.
Is anyone out there?
The whole human race
Stand there and judge that poem.
It’s got society’s wings.
To correct it?
I believe swoop is the answer,
A century’s worth.
Don’t Arial pages please. [two meanings: don’t send it now and don’t use Sylvia Plath as a name, something that came as a laer edit that has hence been deleted]
It’s got the water that you wanted
Mr. Atheist. [the replacement name for hers and the above line a suggestion to delete a line from the poem]
More accidentally
Did you stumble last time.
It’s in your grasp
You can change.
Kangaroo rat
After the poem’s completion.
“That’s just stupid.”
You hear an unprecedented strong end of love.
He will share with you. [Larry, who I sent an email to asking for email addresses of journals of the Yoga that I might can submit to. He’s the editor of Collaboration, a semi-literary journal for the Yoga and a person who’s helped me get money a few times and loaned me his lap top to record songs, even though he’s obviously morally offended by me]
“Hey Donny,
Lookin’ for you
More clothes.”
Heads up everyone
Stewy lesson,
What they call a big bar.
He’s got a ticket to ride
And a roof.
He’s the first
Throwin’ out
To reenter the arena.
You hear the go in his voice.
“Can we make him roll over?”
Let me tell you something:
That no one’s voice.”
The pupil will
Give you that deep
Hard work.
“Yeah Listening Fable,
The Mother,
What language?”
How can I take this and run with it?
Just write it down.
I can’t wash infinity.
Is that what they’re lookin’ for?
“He can’t do that,
A read terrible,
And come back and say sisters.”
Trapped infinity sings?
You’re guarding Me, [the Mother saying]
And you leave it
Almost as bad as he did.
“Who drew those,
The boy next door?”
That’s a good question.
In sadhana all day,
Would if God isn’t real?
How many fundamentalists object
To hearing the holy see?
The fundamentalists agree:
Be nice if
God in his moments lived.
You don’t know what it’s like, [sung, by the Bee Gees, from the song To Love Somebody]
And I’m hearin’ a song.
“What is music
Broken down?”
Your favorite.
Talk to the Mother.
Impossible says the reply?
The Big Bad Blog instead of spiritual practice. [vision of this blog title on a the net, all the words in caps]
“You don’t have any spooky word.
You will die tonight.”
The spearhead, no.
“If we got into that house.”
And come here and try to grasp in the human
So I can get off the hook.
“She the lady who deal all this fever doesn’t come?”
I’m in a unique position.
“She’s the most superstitious amount.
Goes right there with those guys.” [vision of some large strange animal-person lying at the bottom the sea, the perspective from the side as an observer, and it was distorted, the people on the surface looking down onto the bottom at the creature only a few meters in depth, but it was the bottom of the sea]
Wana found what I give?
Diamond’s worth.
“Did not.”
How I can beat?
Have no water,
Tie everything,
Fasten down,
Just relax.
People watching out the window,
Don’t give up. [sung by Peter Gabriel, the song Don’t Give UP, the version with Kate Bush]
I don’t know how.
All these people wanna tell you something:
A flower garden,
A wonderful.
You’ve cut me slack.
If a room full of potatoes
Wouldn’t have talked to you about it.
Suppose I have the knowledge?
That might be a better plan,
Your make up. [have to do with an edit for the poem, using the replacement name Listening Fable in the place of Moon Dipper where it’s talking about there’s no one talking to me, it’s my imagination basically, but with the ‘weak’ below it seems to suggest to wait for something better]
I think so.
Get back to work.
A large population at the moment.
Alright everybody,
Let us to say investigated.
“Even if you’re weak
I’m aware
Held a lot of quiet.”
It’s okay
A noise or two.
Don’t give up. [sung as above]
“What do you think,
Think he’s gonna do it?”
I’m in a position of strength.
“I’ll kill you.”
All this One,
We watch it
For now.
Give him a
Nancy Field,
Golden magnet.
His name’s Antonio.
He lives in Italian.
I didn’t know that. [suggestion to send a link to issue 3 to Antonio, a professor of the anthropology of law I proofread for, who’s Italian and lives in Italy, where I’d been getting pages views before posting the issue]
Okay now,
I will do this,
And I will win.
Clearly we’d have to practice.
We’ve got the house.
We’ve got his clothes
I have more clothes.
See you me what the parents will do. [sung]
Five minute only.
Give to Me.
Let’s happy with it.
She’s reading us.
You shared him on purpose.
That’s been goin’ on.
Why bite you?
Makes them look like a fool.
“I found you”
Defend that choice.
Give you clothes too. [most of my clothes are second hand and come from Mugu’s family, what they discard, though sometimes they buy me new ones, and just slip them in with the used ones so I won’t object]
The office,
Figure out a way to make it uncontrollable. [keep anyone from trying to control my office, the writing and posting I do]
I wanna support you,
Right now.”
And you know who you are. [Gwen, my sister?]
A window
What to do?”
I’ll do.
“Is that Sri Aurobindo?”
The Mother [faint vision of the furry head of a large cat looking down over a scene]
Is in charge of the children.
One thing you need:
I could use a wife.
Before you get married:
Oh what you listen to:
Forget our fear –
Listens to his wife.
Somethin’ can be said if you’re only dreamin’: [sung, dreamin’ drawn out, only a little less so]
And I, call my name. [sung also, emphasis on call, which is slightly drawn out]
Don’t give up.

Aug 28-29


He was standing there with his hands behind his back.
Well I don’t think Lucifer didn’t care what you said.
Should be careful –
Things organic,
Especially Mugu,
Put it in the elevator.
“That girl has the hots for you.” [as idea speaking as if to tell Russia Crimea wants her]
“And I saw a restaurant across the street.
I want a star.” [Putin speaking, about Crimea]
Don’t waste your time on gasoline.
“Man you hurt us.”
All the softball goes to you.
That’s digital.
You heard me,
The bravest example.
88 countries,
They’re nervous.
This is about war.
Hey who’s tryin’ to be a good guy?
Former Glory,
Former Kingpin,
“I am a good guy.
I am a kingpin.” [Putin speaking]
The octopus.
You walk and say,
“What’s in here?” [ibid]
You’ll make individual ex-exclusive.
“How did that creep in?” [Russia speaking]
A choice worth:
“I am music.” [Putin speaking]
Go to that
And you’ll shout at him:
“Be quiet.” [world leaders speaking]
This is no district attorney,
And he’ll block any human unity.
It’s a
Combination of
Drugs in field.
You’re not gonna have a whole lot of
Murder –
He the related vision.
Where are you gonna walk home?
Are you gonna walk home?
Struck it by.
“That rules
By the international government?” [general audience speaking]
Here power look at Germany,
What makes it
The real world.
What makes it
Best among refrigerator companies.
The heat that’s mud on you.
“Steve once did I need a tenured professor to take it through?
I take it through.” [Putin speaking]
You are a kingpin.
“So I’ll play with you:
Who’s blew?
I’m sorry,
I can’t imagine…” [ibid, hint he may be responsible for the plane crash]
Don’t give up.
What form that’ll take:
From not bad man.
Some food Monica:
The end of the world
Figure there’s an excuse today.
“So what remain freedom?”
You won’t go give them the humanitarian aid I brought
If I understand that we are a religious entity,
If I understand that we are a spiritual purpose,
If I understand that we are a whole body.
I’m sorry
I mustn’t do that,
Try to tell you how to live your life
And stuff like that.
“Good Goad,
What’s the story room?”
We have got to be more careful
Who we choose as leaders.
Holdin’ hands
With Turkey and his power,
“Somebody stop this man please.”
“Is there anyone
Good ruler-wise?”
I knew it’d have to be some turns
In that room
In humanity.
“Here we go.
We’d have to be negotiating.”
Just blame me. –
Some psychic turn.
You’re in Pondy
I take it?”
Yeah you would.
You’re all deny going to die.
How do you do it,
What the soul inside?
It’s clearly heavy.
Come to soul rule.
That’s an inside job.
That’s human.
I’m not starting off star wars.
I can give you a roof:
Your soul
Will choose
It’s divine
In the first place.
I just tellin’ you.
Not what you’re used to.
I go in mind
Division rules.
Starting to turn Mexico
While I was there,
So lock the door.
What is he eating?”
You try to be in a place
You don’t want a thousand rupees,
You don’t want anything.
See a cow.
See the moon.
They tell you
Strange quiverings of a world delight:
In a corner of God’s house
We have names for God.
Religious in its outer reflection,
Spiritual in its inner search.
It’s okay you eat the banquet.
Kids love it.
If fallen in love,
You just love God.
Are tryin’ to help you.
Don’t go mental.
Behind the heart,
Hid inside,
You have your soul.
Do you need it,
How about that?
The smart hand,
The smart pack:
“I wanted to work with you.”
Really heavy and,
Well hair has messed up you terrible, huh?
Open in religious funds
That any paperboy
Can talk to you honestly
And deliver half of it.
Try this crack:
You round up its act –
The soul is its business to hack.
There I’ve spoken in tongues.
This has run aground
(Because it’s magical),
For some reason,
And I haven’t completely studied it because I.
Well get the milk and put all down on My paper loaded.
“Oh, got your garden from there.”
Who wouldn’t be up there long I just looked.
Who cares to be first? [end of a poem that begins with ‘That girl has the hots for you’ and it too was transcribed directly to Word as a poem, so the formations have been shortened to verses. The title also came later, And the Character is the Happy Ruin]
That quivering note is all over it,
I.e. the bed-stone.
You can see it in your Facebook.
Finding the background
Indian gets out of the way. [In bed listening and Mugu was not being organic, but I got him quiet. All these lines edited out of the poem after ‘The octopus’ line]
In Kuruchikuppam it took off like character.
Three voyages:
We have the flyin’;
“I don’t know who ratted you out;”
Do you have anybody? [these lines edited out after the line ‘What form that’ll take’]
 [The full poem, “And the Character is the Happy Ruin”, can be read in Poems On Government And War]

Post 5

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

     This is the continuation of my daily muse journal, which is also my spiritual journal, which I started posting last week with Issue 4, a journal begun in 2001, though for reasons explained in the introduction found in Pages in the sidebar I’ve begun the postings from it starting on August 15, 2014 and will continue posting roughly three days from it until it seems time to leave off for awhile. Since this is dramatic poetry, a dialogue with multiple speakers, and also a narrative of the daily events of my life as they register on the inside of me, like looking at the world from underwater, reading the introduction and beginning at Issue 4 would greatly aid in understanding the text.  

August 23-24 2014

Too many answers. [the 9/11 poem that ended last week’s Issue 4]
An impossibility that we should self-emfabric
The epic poem Savitri,
An impossibility that house,
In the general mind.
Have it come back
Now they have exam
Or me too.
Now watching
God’s search dialogue box.
Get yesterday in today.
And in this claiming Jay, Ethan, everyone overboard.
That tree is not house.
Find it took the dog out. [vision of Lucy laying down on her front paws turning and looking behind her]
Not the most copious thing to say.
You are just going.
You are just thought
“I won’t come daddy.”
We have had a collision,
But we have to find it. [i.e. what the tree is that isn’t house, what makes me thought weak]
Speed in my door in about 30 minutes
Before I get that choice up
Across the ward.
You have half hour away from Kali.
Going to generalize.
“So this is generalizing?”
“Come back in the back please.”
“These Asian immigrants seem positively ruined.” [the poems I’m posting online]
We are, see what we are.
Open the top.
Last time
Take it
No one understood.
Did these youth with lies.
Get in the boat.
You’re sayin’
She know he open airplane?
“Can’t talk to you.”
“What are you showin’ us,
Teachin’ us?”
How about that:
Leave it to Beaver.
Jimmy go in
Be nasty to her
You better know architecture.
Leave it that’s all. [the 9/11 poem, what the collision referred to above is, don’t mail it to as suggested by earlier muse]
You’ve got a lot of goat.
Know myself.
It was that day. [that it’s true nonetheless]
Hey inner,
Get back here.
You got taken,
Taken off.
A bad see –
Turn off a hero’s welcome by the opposition.
He a poet.
“Who tell?”
Bout to make up pauses.
With 1/3 gratitude
Lookin’ right on you.
It’s not far I walk daddy. [vision of Asiya walking through the front door carrying a bright white t-shirt, the kind with a collar]
It’s time.
Children’s room
Asiya went.
What’s the wait number?

15 moments. [symbolically how long it’ll take Asiya to free himself from his obsession with the girl next door]

Here and now
What would make it a lot easier.
I put the issue.
I grow it back.
“Who made this turkey sandwich?”
“Thieves’ story –
He’s the corruption.”
The very next day,
Everybody’s saying:
“Sri Aurobindo
Where a boy obeys his father.
He doesn’t know what to do.
Take them off!
You went your skates.
Interesting things to that boy
If you’ll get around
What you’ll do.
It’s child loyalty
To parent. [this formation about how to handle Asiya and his love obsession]
His hand is hurt.

Will you get serious?

The God beauty
This whole thing.
He seized up a spirituality.
In time
Was basic information.
“How many dead?”
And by the way,
How did you like the YouTube? [the music video For Freedom, asking those entities in Auroville]
“I made it to cry.”
“Somebody relates it
Maybe One.”
“People you do do things

God did it.”

That’s only I’m telling you.
You wanna see people
In 5 minutes.
Did you see that movie,
1, 2, 3, in the morning?
And I’m not kidding.
“That doesn’t interest me.”
“Call out the demonstrators.”
“You’re hair looks beautiful.”
I’m tryin’ to be what people get from their family and mother,
What their world.
What it’s too late time to go to the shop.
You have a bike and you have keys,
And I’m not mean much at all.
Do we have to tell them that boy,
Terrible contract?
Plug it in,
The anticipated.
“What about
College education?”
He’s over there
Reached a security.
You have school tomorrow,
And it’s gonna be downright difficult.
Can you do the naked sound?
“Oh you do so radly.”
Have its hands on its clock,
I need you to get down to the shop.
Pick him up
“Did you go this?”
There was a little bit in the boys,
Among other things.
“Tell you like somebody.”
You’re gonna have me as a part of human.
That your birthday present.
“You see too much.”
That’s it dude written on the wallpaper goin’:
“I bought a software.” [my stuff on the net]
You like it?
I think that was Shakespeare.
Don’t be out at gunned, huh?
It’s actually
A little mannered girl.
What message across?
“What call a pig stone?
Welcome home.”
You would like it
Old and candle it is called.
He didn’t get the first part.
“You’re a cheap shoter.
We know you.”
Come over,
Let’s hang out
And rest.
Come on,
Make the decision. [asking those in Auroville I’m sending letters and poems to, to come to my house]
Came for hours.
If I’m dirt,
And she won’t allow it,
How you cut the crap
The badge say.
The badge?
Look and that’s not your ideal.
You have arrested.
A divine inquisitor
Do that.
Pick us up.
Think about it now.
Now drive the spirit everywhere.
The world’s holding a party.
You want to come?
Do you know who he is,
The party?
Security Ferguson.
“Bye daddy.” [Sandia’s voice]
What’s to stop you?
Already sold and exposed you.
That not fair.
“What?” [his voice. This is an attempt to incite he and I to fight, since I’m in the middle of getting him out of a harmful relationship with that girl]
Yeah next door [sung]
You’re in a wrong place.
Okay we’re good. [vision of this written in a little rectangle like on a traffic crosswalk]
They’re very bad,
His temple.
Your younger history or lost my kid,
Your gang.
A big explosion –
Game is over.
We’ve got a chance sweetheart,
Through the robbery:
“Get off my back porch!” [the girl’s father saying this about Asiya sitting on the far end of the balcony that directly overlooks their front porch]
Max I’m sorry,
You get pulled today I’m sorry.
We’ll be at war.
Far ranging butterfly,
She’s around.
A Message. [title of the above poem, which I put on a background and on the desktop for Asiya]

August 24-25

You’re half flower,
Reading that
To read bullshit
Not its major movement anymore.
Hey what’s up?
That’s a good sign:
“It seems orange now.”
“Come daddy,
I will do.” [Mugu’s voice]
But it’s not just to hang up.
What’s the thing in your life?
What do you do for God’s creation?
Not hung on the hours,
And it will be difficult.
More and more sorted is art
A popular decision.
It doesn’t hang on the masses.
More and more is art alone
On your own ictus of discovery.
“Do you call this a poem?”
Call it worlds away from one.
“He gave us lots to chew on.”
I’m not sure it’s art this week,
Something only when you see it do you know it’s that.
Something art can’t hide from:
Your interests, tastes, and desires.
A fine moving melody a poem
In your convention head.
Such a find collection
That’s given verse.
“Why drop History?”
I am a member.
Your bike yesterday:
“Is he gay?”
“We weep at him.”
I don’t know where the dog put the rose.
You need to go inside.
“Wait daddy.” [Asiya’s voice]
Take change right off the dashboard.
They’ll be surprised
They’ll be reckoned out,
Somebody classless oratory.
Uh huh.
What they told you.
“About the girl that picked you up from Kerala on the bus?”
The pigeon is in time.
We only have 2 months till the end of the week.
Please speak with me,
One mistake,
Why did yah have to wait so long? –
Lookin’ back
Across the river.
The Toilet Seats Are Gone. [poem’s title, which begins with the first line of this formation and ends with the above line]
A moth right here:
Boy that thing
Burns my wings
Like a flag.
“Oh my God,
The pigeon is in time.”
That bathroom can get at that beedi.
We have enough
Smokers now. [additional lines for the poem, what as I hear I know where they go, since they are not one block]
“There’s a lot of difference I can tell.
From out of town.”
“Hear I suppose.”
Been a week.
Hear the story.
“Sounds like a problem,
Reading” she told.
Will you look at this:
I’m not playing.”
Use your stuff,
Use your stuff in there.
Mine starts negative.
Hold this approach.
This one
An admire.
Puttin’ up his heat.
What’s next?
I can’t believe this is happening:
All material.
Push him out the door.
He’s got Nancy Hooks.
Cleaned up about it.
Wire this ended
Ain’t done with it.
Wash it.
A mountaineer,
I’ll show your high hips then Ben.
Face the night if it feet.
He’s finished.
That way only. [vision of the speeding lead car of a small group of cars on a one-lane country forested winding hilly road, both seeing it from outside and being in the car, a small white sedan with a hand-put siren on top flashing, it and suddenly coming upon a cow cart on the road and having to go as slow as it was behind it, the cow cart ringing its bell]
Fact is like he said prepared to die.
Very good don’t eat dinner,
Don’t eat dinner on the way.
Powerful papa,
I’m powerful.
“He got mad at the water –
I’ll give him 200 rupees.”
Y’all are a little bit too young to dance on.
“Where were you weren’t dead?”
He got spotted and ripped off. [about catching Asiya getting out of an atuo-taxi near our shop, having disappeared all evening and afternoon, and he was with the family next door and had lied about it]
You knew what bullhead,
You know exactly where to look. [I reacted and shouted in anger at him, the mother, and the girlfriend]
There was yesterday
At the horn.
­Don’t even play it. [each word said separately. But I played it, not having recorded the daily muse to my PC in time to see the warning, it coming late in the night as it did, and I sent Sandia to talk to the mother to ask her politely not to take him places behind my back, and before Sandia could speak to the woman began shouting at Sandia and called the police, two officers who were friends of hers, complaining that Sandia was coming and shouting obscenities at her front gate, which wasn’t true]
You’re gonna be it
Over there.
How old were you? [the girl is only 13, and Asiya is 19, but her former boyfriend was 21]
Be back sequence of events.
What are you doing?
Explaining to Ferguson
I need his hair cut off.
That good afternoon
You would’ve been stationum. [I’d be taken to the police station, the Tamil um ending]
No it hurts the teenager. [the cops didn’t come up to our apartment but spoke to Asiya at the house next door and warned him about contacting the girl, said they’d beat him up if he tried to do so, told the woman to stop calling Asiya, which she does several times a day to get him to do her errands, something she lied to the police about, Asiya backing her up despite it making him look bad and putting his house in danger so lost he is in the woman’s daugher]
Did you watch the sleep rising? [his obsession with the girl]
Where I hear a kid scared
To grow up.
A lady’s room
A half an hour.
You just sit here.
He will do the lesson.
Phone for him,
I dunno exactly.
Get her phone number.
Her parents hold.
March today,
The 13th.
You’re pretty square.
You’re halfway in there.
Take on a real detonator.
You’re square? [asking the entities in Auroville]
“Whatever you’re wearin’
I don’t care.”
“The bike on top of the bus?”
“He can’t get up there.”
It’s not their range
To tell
What he does.
What they ought to:
Look at pictures.
Not his new models;
That stuff won’t do –
Against the fundamentalist.
Why won’t they hire me?
A window direct on the problem.
“Is that what we’re lookin’ at?”
Don’t see friends.
I’m over there reading poem.
That’s good job.
There’s a lot in a light brown paper now.
I didn’t put my faith in it.
How much time do you have left?
The power was stick.
To read somethin’.
It’s on the movie,
The add remember?
Then nice it,
Send it out friendly. [the new poem to those entities in Auroville]
Hear a poem,
An essay on the north soul.
Your, your drawings
Were with it. [this and above three lines for the poem]
Is it work? [the addition of the word soul to north]
Makes it work.
You’re talking to your girlfriend down there.
I’d put lower case. [the north soul]
You got your name in the paper
All over Auroville.
You’re accompanied by a weapon. [the first letter I sent]
You’re gonna make it.
Suck in,
Do it.
Good, good, good.
“In the uncertain fields of night,
What a difference you’ve made in my life.” [this and above line sung, by Ronnie Milsap, the above line a muse variation of the pop song though still sung by the same singer]
House security manager video update.
One still hand voice,
Count it please. [this and above line for the poem]
God see the ride.
It was not a track good movie. [i.e. it’s not a religious track, a suggestion not to use the above line]
He’s considering at dawn. [to send it now, at dawn]
Racism exists.
It is a problem like never before.
“Never happen here.”
The vest worn
Have you any questions?
You’re readin’ the news.
Treat it like
You go all the way
Making it stop.
You just pay the dues.
Am I not good enough?
“Is he gay?”
Race energy
My name is Beethoven.
Is he actually here?
You dunno.

August 25-26

We’ve got a lot of racists in this country.
We’ve got a lot of racists to bush.
You’re in power,
And that’s in shopping.
Wear wits:
To put the battle in the gun.
“And rape town?”
Don’t translate this in your head.
There’s too many trip wires there
And was Soylent Green
Just a plug-in till tomorrow.
Is there an industrial heart boulevard?
Machine gun
That heart and this heart.
“I order pancakes.”
(The wizard ray
Will find me like this
Hoverin’ around her craft
Awhile a ways from her truth.)
“I didn’t murder the bread.”
(Too strong is it?)
Finger lickin’ good I’ll find my cow
And eat its flesh.
“What would that start a fight with?”
My neighbors.
It’s not a chicken anymore.
“That’s why I don’t talk to you.”
Who knew
A rabbit had a reason to live?
Gobble that down
The masses in the streets.
Both English.
“You were saying about murder?”
“You’re beautiful,
The physics
A seed knowledge
Along the ether.
Who’s the ownership?”
A how do you bend a nation.
I won’t allow it the same cheap-type spirituality
I’m spyin’.
“I get listening to.”
The choices:
Don’t say don’t sin Sabotage,
In Beholder Magazine [but please].
Open your mouth you get in trouble.
World stakes here,
World’s ruin.
Now you run where the eggs are.
Look to Dr. Stone:
The secret of bathing you baby bathing yourself.
Draw something:
I wanna come back
After my mistake.
Crush it stone,
And they do.
It may be that their deep meaning significance
Has more than an evil to handle.
Go for enhance image.
Aware of the waterfront of ideas
He went deep within
And reached his quest.
“Good to see.”
“That’s just stupid.”
Separate person.
The whole
Welcome back…
“What do you want?”
“Oh what are you doing armchair mercenary?”
There was a murder.
What we inspect it.
You’re shooting a deer to eat.
Don’t dare
Put there
The only story on guns.
Don’t shoot,
I’m covering man.
This is the bum policeman who burn after the tag report.
The irony of their unique position.
I wanna show you something:
Lion in humor
Come ‘ere,
Lay back,
Lay down –
I’m sorry,
This whole thing
Have to do with it:
We murder people.
“What’s that nigger
Doin’ on his cigarette?”
There are white fields and there are wrong fields.
Power trip
A policeman has this habit of doing.
It’s exhausting.
It’s got fire
At the dark,
At the dark skin.
Leave it,
That’s just what we throw at the press.
You need to move.
Watch the movie:
“Man that movie was bad.”
They don’t
Have so many guns there.
“I never even saw a gun.”
Put a stop the morning,
And you’re at that go.
Offered lots of our goad.”
If she is where she is sleeping.
Vision of her.
“Quiet hair.”
You can spend the night here.
I was in a heavy forest moon.
Freed the hostages
I’m sorry,
And then it’s going to school.
How deep was it?
This goes all the way.
He will broke a beautiful chain.
“Come Moon Dipper,
Give me this
You’re usin’.”
“Well that ain’t nothin’.
Maybe this hearing,
Wew, that your dance.
I don’t believe it,
Any infinity truth.
Large voice not there.”
But Mr. Atheist,
He came and made himself known to me.
He’s real.
Cross miles
Too late, too early.
Have to guarantee you personally accepts you.
I’ll quote a quote from the people
Who were at the athlete’s meet:
He’s large and small,
Fits into your notebook,
Into all infinity,
Bigger even.
Now he’s in my living room.
That’s a still, tall, voice.
“I gotta root out this superstition.
Push don’t watch the stars please.”
Ah, but this is, uh,
You cannot afford
To miss it.
“Hey Harper,
God, get out of his bed will you?
Get out of the street corner.”
“Whadda we do?”
If you have any smokes don’t put them away.
“I just figured out
You’re racist.”
Is there anyone thick afterwards thin?
It’s in the understanding.
We’re at the root of the problem:
Somethin’s takin’ over the beast.
I’m sure I led you this way –
A seldom God.
On the very ring that God choose.
God train all 64 now.
Fit is the eternal splendor.
“Am I to understand what’s going on?”
It is seldom kingdom.
I’m in the lover forever,
Am the householder is He,
Am not just a caged animal,
And so we’re on course.
He tenured already across the straights.
Travel lightly some.
I ain’t kidding in my room.
Now Ferguson,
You can’t condemn one man
For violating the Law.
You don’t know how barbaric
Has been this flagpole.
Stop and look around:
You’re so wise and rule?
Let this man think.
It’s blood on his hands today.
I stop the accuser.
I would get on it
Something higher than hate,
Something open to God.
Is that a church you understand?
Sitting here integrated.
That’s a blessing for us all.
World will shun TV
When the future has its date.
“That’s a good blanket.”
I can’t reset.
I can only give what vision I’ve had.
That’s the dawn of today.
“What time is it now?”
Lonely place
My poor man’s a century’s worth.
What some slack what we most lack.
Who do I charge resistance to?
“No one’s to see.”
This is how sleep is the movie ghost from the hour.
Want to speak with them.
Wouldn’t allow me to.
“You mean this open book gets closed?”
Put ‘er in red.
The British are coming.
Doin’ time I know
This dawn will have its day.
Earth cannot ignore
Proposed actions,
Proposed signals.
Earth cannot ignore,
But you can read it to the room.
But you can take song and beat it into the works.
Covered. [I wasn’t going to record this and the above line, but my right foot involuntarily tapped on the floor like to music a couple of times, and so I did]

“What does I’d advertize?”

Second or two,
Bigger visions.
Now see it in your head.
[starting with the line of Aug 24-25 ‘Racism exists’, the last lines of that day, the poem What About the Human up in Season? begins, which ends with the above line. The title came separately later and was heard but not recorded, and I didn’t record the poem into my muse journal from my voice recorder as usual, but took it straight to Word as a poem, and so the formations are divided into smaller ‘verses’, what I do when making muse into a poem, and the visions and such were not recorded that came with the lines. This is the final version, and what originally came has been lost, since the poem went through extensive editing, which you’ll see next week]

Post 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

August 15, 2014 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gotta do it alone.” [Terra saying] 

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

Look out who lives this world. [sung] 

I had mistakes
Oh Went First. 

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

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

You’re gonna hold together. 

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

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

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

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

“What was the sun?”
This evolving press. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

August 19 or so 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today the authority is a loud for everybody. 

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

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

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

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

Is this the lobby? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Human Unity [the title] 

August 21-22 

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

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

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