Category Archives: vagbonding

Between Jerusalem I’m Sorry, Chapter 12

My beloved puppy dog Lisa Joy Rottweiler, where is she? I had to educate myself. Photo by Kamesh

We Grasp the World Now

I settled down on the beach there in Tel Aviv, sleeping in the sand in my army, down, sleeping bag. Bodies littered the area around me. I made friends. They watched my backpack while I went to day labor. They didn’t work. There were two principle guys that the group revolved around, both from Holland, an 18-year-old boy called Rhino, and the de facto leader I told you about, around 22. I forgot his name. There were young teenage girls all around him all day long like groupies, and he’d usually have one he was wrapped around, she just glowing with being the chosen one at that moment. They were Israeli girls, and all went home around sundown. I don’t know what it is about 14-year-old girls, or I do, but you won’t believe me. Most were around that age. This was to be his undoing, really what destroyed the whole thing, that nice, freestyle party we had going on the beach, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

It was centered on pot, though, not girls, and Rhino was a dealer, De Factor like his front man and advisor, but he’d smoke us out for free, the little beach crowd, and we smoked almost continually. We sat in the sand under an umbrella-like structure made of stucco that would fit several people, and Rhino would always be the bong master, and he’d put one hit in the bong after another, always taking a hit too each time he gave one to someone in the circle, and on and on and on. Every once in awhile he’d let De Facto be the bong master, but no one else. I got smoked out when I went to work in the mornings, I mean, I went and stood at this street corner not too far from the beachfront where men and sometimes women would drive by and look at me to see if they wanted to hire me for the day. I got work everyday. Anyway, the first thing I’d do coming ‘home’ from work was go to that bong meeting. It wasn’t always going on, but when I came back from work, Rhino would fire it up. He knew I could use it, and he was kind. Use it? That was the most I’ve ever been addicted to a substance in my life. It was all I wanted to do, get stoned. Life was hard. It downright sucked. If you’re wondering about the other people on the beach, the civilians, De Facto said not to worry about them. We actually believed him.

Work was taxing but interesting. Where else but Israel would you get hired for the day to mix cement for a construction crew that talked about Spinoza all day long? I spent one day working for a crew ran by a couple of brothers who were really into him. He converted into Judaism but wasn’t Jewish originally—that question of Jewish identity again: what, exactly, is a Jew? I knew nothing of Spinoza, and they were quite uppity about their knowledge of him and their love of philosophy—it was really something, what it being a construction crew and all—and they looked down on me as if I were some commoner unable to understand what they were talking about. There was something about being a gentile here, with them I mean. I had to brag about my spiritual experience. I chose Silent Mind to describe. It shut them up, because they only had knowledge, not actual experience, but I didn’t get hired for the next day. You have to be careful one upping people if your survival is dependent upon being a commoner.

Finally I got the job. It lasted for a couple of weeks or more. The order of events here and time are so screwy in my mind. It could have been a month. It was a small company that installed glass windows in buildings under construction. Boy what a view of Tel Aviv. It was owned by two brothers, the older one ex-Israeli special forces (they had an uncle on the ground at Entebbe they told me), the other a young man with long hair in his late twenties who was the supervisor. They were secular Israelis. I think they kept me, and did so until I left Tel Aviv, because I was ex-special forces, even though I was a bit of a butterfingers with the glass sometimes. When they saw how much I liked going to the buffet style cafeteria for lunch, we went often. I’d usually only see the older brother at lunch, but when I did we’d usually talk about SF. It’s a brotherhood that transcends nation states.

I told him about the Israeli captain that I went to the Special Qualifications Course with (6-82 WETSU! (We eat this shit up)). He was really impressive, he and the Canadian officer. They were both well-liked by the class, as they were good at everything we did, didn’t get in the way like other foreign officers did, like for instance the Saudi Arabian officer, who always lagged behind, but he pulled a rabbit out of the hat and helped me and two others pass the land navigation course, which 60% of the class failed and hence failed the Q Course. It was a mother. I must ask for a moment of silence and say that the Liberian officer was killed on a parachute drop. He was the nephew of the president. Heads rolled over that one. It was a jumpmaster mistake. False DZ. The man landed in a big, deep pond, and drowned, tangled in his shroud lines. Fellow classmates pulled him out of the water as fast as they could. SF candidate medics worked on him for over an hour, one of them my good friend, who told me the story. It was a no go. He was gone. I washed clothes with him right before it happened, and he was an officer and a gentleman.

Camp Mackall, North Carolina, 1982, dark thirty. I had to find at least one stake in a swampy to dry land forest to pass the land nav test. Our maps, like I said, were out of date, and the stake was not where the map said it was, or rather, it was, but the land had changed, and I couldn’t find it. We had to find four in the daytime and four at night, or at least five in total. The four daytime ones where a piece of cake. Night time, however, was a different story. I encountered two other SF candidates trying to find the same stake. They couldn’t either. One I had been avoiding the whole course because he’d been a Ranger Indoctrination Program (R.I.P.) assistant instructor that had beat me upside the head as I dropped out of a full equipment rucksack run right before I quit that program. Rangers are not SF. They are not unconventional. That’s all I’ll say about that. That was after I first enlisted in the army, three years before this present incident, and that quitting still haunts me in dream. The commandant of the program tried to tell me I’d regret it, but I didn’t listen. Does anybody ever?

Now, a sergeant myself, although only an E-5, I really didn’t want this guy to embarrass me in front of myself, and so I tried to avoid him as much as possible. Here I had to face him. He was honorable and said nothing about our previous encounter in the Rangers. We got in a line like doing a police call (picking up cigarette butts) but still couldn’t find the damn thing. Time was running out. Finally we sat down, frustrated. Then we heard the unmistakable sound of someone opening a C ration can with a P-38. I got up and went to the sound, and I was at the wall of a draw, which is a thin stream running through the land, invisible because on both sides was tall, impenetrable vegetation. They were the bane of the SF candidate at Camp Mackall. The others motioned me to go through the draw, which I had to do on my belly the brambles were so thick. Low and behold, sitting right next to the unfindable stake was the Saudi Arabian officer eating a can of peanut butter. I went back through the draw and gave the good news. Soon, all three of us were there punching on our ticket to prove we’d found the stake. It was in the middle of a small, triangular island of land made by three draws, each in a different position than the map showed, and it showed no island between draws, why we couldn’t find it. How the foreign officer did I will never know, as he trained mostly in the desert, or so we figured, but, needless to say, we respected him after that.

Back in Tel Aviv I was smoking pot, a world and 13 years away from Camp Mackall. It happened one day, on a weekend I think, that I was given the honor of being the bong master. It was delicious! I had as much to smoke as I could smoke, finally, and I just inhaled it. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I was hit with that undeniable urge I’ve described in the Jewish Messiah at King’s Cafeteria story. The urge was to get up and run away from there as fast as I could because the cops were coming. I couldn’t believe myself, and it was as though I were watching myself from outside as I thrust the bong to Rhino, mumbling something about having to go, and go I went and fast. I got maybe 20 meters away, walking along the top of the beach where the promenade started, and I told myself this was crazy, and that I should go back there and smoke. I turned around and stopped dead in my tracks. The cops were there busting everybody. I turned around again and walked away, quite quickly, safe and out of sight, thanking my lucky stars.

They took only Rhino, but took everyone’s else’s information, that they would use later. De Facto went into action, or thought he did. That night I saw him on the phone with Rhino’s parents, on the promenade up from the beach. He’d assured them all would be well he told me. Rhino’s parents had just visited him there in Israel, and we were still munching out on all the Dutch chocolate they left him. It was sad, and I really felt for those parents and their child. I was cautious about going back to the beach after the bust, of course, only went back to the promenade, but De Facto wasn’t cautious, for some stupid reason I couldn’t figure out. I’d taken three friends of mine and went to a squat another friend had found for me in Jaffa. It was just in time too because the cops raided the tourist backpackers scene near the beachfront that very next day, going into the main bar everyone hung out in and really busting heads, beating the shit out people, and they raided the main hostel too, or a couple of them, to just clean the area of all that riffraff, as they saw us anyway. De Facto got hauled in too. I had warned him in that conversation at the public phone stand, but he told me that, before he’d left the beach and made that phone call, he’d told an undercover officer on the beach that the man was one, explaining to me it’s the law they have to tell you if they are, and the man told him, “You’ll go far”. He seemed to feel that was some kind of proclamation that he would not be busted, or something like that. He got seven years in prison, Rhino five. The issue of the young girls was the main issue at trial I heard, not so much the grass, but I wasn’t there. A few of the girls were at the trial, someone who was there told me, they loyal to the end.

The friend that found me that squat in Jaffa was not happy I invited three more friends to join us, and he made himself scarce. He said it was just for me, a safe place he’d given me and me alone, although he’d come and stay there too he said. The relationship had become complicated. He was in love with me. I really don’t know where to fit it on the timeline, our friendship, but we went to Safed together for a day and a night, and camping in a gorgeous gorge that had a lush forest at bottom and a rushing river. We went there with the three other friends I’ve mentioned. They are spoken of more in the collection of stories about the hunger strike and poetry postings called The Journey of a Thousand Tongues. He didn’t like them and they didn’t like him. I really like him though, and that got misinterpreted.

He was a young German man named Hans there in Israel to explore the Holocaust, why his people did that, and I’m putting into compressed terms the reason he told me he was there. He was very German in appearance and in accent, and I’d offend people by trying to describe the German physique, even by saying there is one. Let’s just say he was tall, muscular and naturally so, in a gangly sort of way, and he had blond hair and blue eyes. He was a bit scary looking, like he could break you in half if he wanted to, but he was the opposite of mean, a very gentle man actually, baffled by people’s reaction to him, or their first, unconscious reaction, before they got to know him, if they did. He was having a hard time in Israel being German. He encountered a lot of hate. He came wanting to work in a kibbutz, but was rudely refused on account of being German. What a chance at healing, what was really being refused. Now he was just roaming around, vagabonding like I was. I don’t remember how we meet, but we became fast friends for a while, until the romantic/sexual thing cropped up fast and hard. He bought some herbal ecstasy, a bundle of tablets and such packaged neatly, one for me and one for himself, wanting to go to the squat and do it together, before the bust and all, and I’m not only talking about do the ecstasy. He was so disappointed at my no that it ended our friendship. He was not, however, caught up in that bust. He was very proficient at being on his toes and could handle difficult situations. He just couldn’t handle unrequited love. Are you there Hans? I’m sorry.

Where exactly it goes in the timeline I don’t rightly know, somewhere before the bust though, because De Facto got some heroin for B Actor and a couple of others from the studio crowd in Safed. Sounds awful, but hear the story. They were as surprised to see me as I to see them. They just showed up one day at the beach, looking for heroin. They didn’t know I was there, but when the saw me, and saw I was ‘on the beach’, they asked me to help them get some. B Actor and another young man were looking for the smack for a young man with them. They came all the way from Safed, the boy in tow, to find some for him. He was about 22 or so, and he’d lost his mother some months before, and the grief was a noose around his neck still. He’d been a heroin addict before coming to Israel, and he’d come to free himself from it, but he’d convinced his friends, B Actor and another young man, that if he could just get one hit of heroin, that would really help.

They knew nothing of heroin addicts, obviously. My big sister Gwen had been a heroin addict, for a long while, and I knew from experience they were making a big mistake believing him, as that one hit would just put him right back into the addiction, but I don’t remember if I tried to tell them that or not. I do remember B Actor explaining to me that, according to the Torah, any kind of plant use was okay, or some such, meaning, as he saw interpreted that, it wasn’t against the Law to buy the heroin nor for his friend to take it. Incidentally, some of the ultra-orthodox grew some potent skunk I heard more than once while in Israel. I never smoked any, and so I can’t confirm the story. Anyway, I asked De Facto to find some for them, and he did, and they bought it from him and thanked me. It all happened in the space of an hour. In parting, B Actor said something like, “Oh, I see these people love you, and so you’re okay.” “What?” I thought, “How incredibly insincere.”

I left Tel Aviv with 700 shekels, headed to Eilat down south on the Red Sea to work, as people were saying that was where the money was. I traveled with those three friends, and not one of them had a red cent, and so I paid for all our expenses, which were not too high, as we were hitching mostly and cooking on my miraculous, burn common alcohol, one burner stove, but still, it took all my money to get us there. I also did all the cooking. There was a young Englishman whose name I can’t remember, a young man from the Netherlands, Alison I think his name was, who features in the story from Tongues “The Guests of Unseen Egypt”, and there was Jack, a young man from South Africa that did not like Jews, and maybe didn’t t even like himself, but he was my friend. Goddamn did he cuss. Here’s some advice: never pay for everything in a group without writing it all down to show the group after, or they’re likely to deny you paid for most anything.

The Eilat thing didn’t work. Oh I did get work, but it was terrible there, just awful, and so I took what I made and went back to Jerusalem, leaving the Dharma Bums behind, what I called, and subsequently they called, our little group, especially after me telling them about the book by Jack Kerouac on the way, and then finding a copy of it under my bed of the hostel we booked into, Home Hostel, upon our arrival in Eilat, like right after checking in and going upstairs to our bunks. There were no other books under that bed or any other, nor a bookshelf in the room, not even a stack of books. It was a miracle, and I know you don’t believe me, but when we found that book, well, we actually became the Dharma Bums.

Landing at the bus station in Jerusalem and wandering around the new city was the lowest point of my Israeli adventure, a low point that would score high in low points in my life, meaning I was pretty dejected and down and out. I forgot every synchronicity, every magic event, every miracle, and I just wanted to cry. We are so that way. I had worked my butt off but only made a few shekels, which the bus ride from Eilat had taken. I began to sing the song “Bridge Over Troubled Waters” but changed the lyrics to say, “I am weary, feeling small, and tears are in my eyes. Will you dry them all, be on my side? Oh times are rough, and friends just can’t be found…” I didn’t just sing out loud to the street. I sang from the depths of my bleeding heart to the love of the universe. It’s said we are hardwired to respond to a baby’s cry. I suspect angels and the like are likewise hardwired when it comes to our cries, if they hit that spell-bottom note, and mine had.

When I finished singing I looked around. I saw a new age spiritual bookshop nearby, and so I went in. In the lobby was a bulletin board. On it was a small flyer about a weekly meeting for world peace but no address, only a phone number. I got permission to use the phone in the shop, and I called the number, and a lady answered, who was very cautious. I rattled on about the hunger strike and the poem postings in the Old City of Jerusalem and how I wanted to continue to Mt. Sinai and maybe even to the Great Pyramid in Egypt. It was all for world peace, I explained, both inner and outer. Reluctantly she gave me the number of someone else, who, after I said the same to him, gave me the address and how to get there and when to come. I was to take bus number 8 from the city to a suburb of Jerusalem. I was to meet Issac, the very next day, whom you will be pleased to also meet. He was to set my feet more than just on the path to Egypt. He also introduced me to the Mother, via a book, and he was into books.

I met him in his small yard outside his apartment. As I had walked up the path to his place, I saw a man in a wheelchair, and he had a pencil in his mouth and was reading a book and turning the pages with that pencil. I was surprised, not expecting this. He was paralyzed from the neck down. I will never know exactly how to look at someone with a noticeable disability for the first time and not feel that awkward, “Am I doing this right?” He was reading The Urantia Book. He greeted me kindly and a bit on guard, not knowing what to expect from me either. Meeting for the first time a man with hair past his shoulders and a long beard, who dressed in colorful, baggy clothes, and a lot of purple, there’s some doubt as to whether or not he’s a bit of a loon. We exchanged the normal how do you do routine. I told some of the story of the peace work I was doing with poetry. I don’t remember if I gave him any of my poetry to read. I’d had many photocopies of the poems made on paper of different colors, and so it’s likely I did. Neither do I don’t remember where my gear was or where I was sleeping.

He asked me to do energy work on him. I had not done that before, hadn’t been to India yet and hadn’t learned about pranic healing. I did know about Reiki, but I didn’t know a thing about it except you use your hands as vehicles of energy so to heal people. I tried to tell him I didn’t know how to do it, but he insisted. As I put my hands on his legs he told me how powerful I was, and I was secretly pleased, as someone had seen my power. He gave me a hundred shekels for the Reiki. When I went there again another man was doing doing Reiki on him, and I heard Issac tell him he could feel his power too, and he also gave the man a hundred shekels. Embarrassed at myself to myself, I realized Issac was just a really good guy, liked validating and helping people, and the Reiki was his way of giving money and also giving someone the dignity of having earned it.

When I left that first time, he loaded me down with three or four photocopies of popular New Age books, one by someone claiming to channel angels from the Pleiaides and another author aliens from Sirius. There was also some Robert Anton Wilson. I had read his Cosmic Trigger and The Illuminatus! Trilogy. That was before Silent Mind. After experiencing that, a book like that didn’t interest me. It doesn’t go there. We are sectors, sectors in the pond. You’ve heard it reveal itself, just throw away material. Don’t tell Issac, but all those photocopied New Age books went into the trash.

I was to get to know Issac, and we were to become friends, even writing letters to one another after I left Israel. He broke his neck diving into shallow water when he was 16. He came to Israel and made Aliya as a young man. He was in his thirties now. He was orthodox at first but took off the Black clothes and eventually embraced the New Age. His parents were quite rich, and they supported him and provided round the clock nurses to care for him. I was to become friends with them too, but they were weary of me at first, like I was going to be a mooch or leech or something. They protected him from his generosity. He was profoundly disturbed about being paralyzed. I’d never been that close to someone completely paralyzed, and in time I’d be right there as he was fed and taken care of, and it was painful to see and also humbling. Issac told me that sometimes he jus lost it and broke down into screaming tears on account of being almost completely paralyzed. The woman that answered the phone number on the flyer at the spiritual bookshop was his girlfriend. She loved him dearly and also protected him from his generosity, why she told me she was guarded in that initial phone call. He told me that, when he broke down like that, she would just hold and soothe him. In my mind’s eye I could picture her doing that, as, in getting to know them and hanging out there, I’d see her wrap herself around him in his big chair, trying for all she could to keep him safe from pain, as much as her female power can.

That other man doing Reiki that first time I visited was named Jeff and was from New York and into being a healer. He talked about Christ consciousness a lot. Neither Jeff nor Issac seemed to mind I wasn’t Jewish. Jeff was in his late thirties. He lived with his girlfriend, who gave him a limit on how long he lived with her, as Jeff did energy work and no other kind of work. It didn’t pay well. Jeff was, like Issac, somewhat developed, and by that I mean they did not have big reactions to things that other people did, not usually, and they were kind to everyone and had genuine concern for other people. They were warm human beings.

Jeff took me to a place he said I could camp, which he said had strong Christ energy. It was the forest behind Yad Vashem, the holocaust remembrance center of Israel. It was also slightly above Ein Karem, the village where it’s written that Mary went when she was pregnant with Jesus to live with her cousin Elizabeth, who was pregnant with John the Baptist. The book of Luke says she went there hurried but doesn’t say exactly why she went. She went there to be safe from stoning, but the Gospels don’t say that. Instead, they make up a cover story to hide the fact Jesus was born from a teenage girl, who got into trouble, getting pregnant before marriage. I’d imagine it was the same with her cousin Elizabeth, the two girls put together, for how ever long, to help protect them from society. I camped in that forest for about three weeks, preparing for my trip to the Sinai and to Cairo to post my poems. I camped in the ruins of a family healing center, its actual name I’ve forgotten, but it seems to me it was for families coming to Israel from war-torn Europe and from the Holocaust. There were no buildings left, just the ruins of a fence with the sign identifying the place. It was on the side of hill, right near the top, and it was a clear area, a good place to camp. I had no tent in those days. SF had taught me to sleep anywhere and to be alone in the forest, or wherever, and not be afraid. Every time, though, I slept out alone again, and it’d been awhile since I’d done that, it’d take a couple of days for the fear to leave, but I wouldn’t be too scared to go to sleep. One night on that hillside, I was awakened by the loud yapping of some kind of canine-type creature, but I had no idea what kind. I don’t think they were dogs. Half asleep my first thought was that it was ultra-orthodox Jews, and that might’ve come from the dream I was just having, but I don’t remember it and so really can’t say. I was completely surrounded by them, as I could hear the yapping coming from all directions, directed at me, but I didn’t come out of my bag to try and see them. So sleepy, I just went back to sleep.

The reasons I thought it might be ultra-orthodox Jews had to do with, yes, still being in sleep mind and not yet fully in waking mind, but maybe they were in the mix because twice when I was sleeping out in Israel I awoke to an ultra-orthodox youth leaning down over me and looking at me. The first time was in the cemetery on the mountainside in Safed, not far from the mikvah, and I just woke up to him staring down at me, saw he meant me no harm, and I went back to sleep. I just figured his elders had sent him to see who was sleeping in their cemetery. The second time I was sleeping in a pile of people on a hillside of Meron during Lag BaOmer, the mother of the boy I had a crush on, Zeke, and maybe Ger, but it could’ve been Hen-ya. I don’t remember. The kids were not there. It was a real Croods evening. I woke up and an unbearded, ultra-orthodox youth was peering intently down at me, again, but a different youth this time. I looked up at him a moment, showing myself to him with my eyes. Then I closed them and went back to sleep.

Lag BaOmer bears a moment in this book. It was there I saw the tribes of Israel. I mean saw Jews in tribes and as tribal. Just about everybody I knew in Safed walked over the hills to Meron for Lag BaOmer, in their own little groups. I walked (and slept) with the original crowd I hung out with, whom I named above, but I had dinner with the art studio crown. We ate on a forested hillside, and it so reminded me of SF. Mosheheim had prepared dinner, one of the spiciest meals I’ve ever eaten, hotter than fire. Everybody praised him for his cooking. I don’t think everyone was sincere. I had done that chameleon thing again that I did a lot traveling, which is to put on the dress of the culture I was in, take on its look, but not exactly, and not exactly purposefully, more like the artist of the Art Cafe of last chapter, who’d take suggestive shapes appearing on his canvas and bring out the suggestion. I was dressed with my very long hair down, but combed in such a way it appeared I had long, curled payos, and I had on black clothes, a t-shirt and slacks of some sort, but black nonetheless. I wore that white kippah I’d found in the cemetery. I think I was still considering converting at that moment. Over the course of the evening, a couple of groups of young orthodox, laughing, called me over to have me in a photograph with them, and I obliged, knowing they just wanted a picture with the clown. Someone from the studio crowd told me they were making fun of me, but I was thoroughly enjoying myself and didn’t mind. It was a lovely evening, so much excitement in the air, no bonfire of the vanities.

So you can see why I thought I was surrounded by ultra-orthodox yapping at me. Anyway, I spent my days in Ein Karem visiting the churches or just walking around, finding nice places to sit awhile, and I went to Yad Vishem two or three times. I saw some art there that bore the unmistakable mark of being created by someone who’d suffered something of hell. There are universal forms that remind you of the Void, even if you don’t know the Void is there, remind you of terror at its most real, and I saw some of those forms there too. I felt so much pain in places there. But I looked and looked for some indication that… I’m sorry, I don’t know how to say this. It will take some telling.

After the inner journey to the well of soul I related earlier in this book, I began having dreams of being Jewish, and I continue to have them. Some three or four years ago, I had a definitive dream that showed me my last life was as a Jewish man in Nazi Germany, as I’d had a definitive dream of being a Black guitar player in the American South around the turn of the 19th century. The memories of the Jewish life had been activated by the contact with my soul essence, and memories of past lives are stored near the soul. I was in hiding in the country in or near Germany, and I was very poor, came from a poor family. I wasn’t killed in a concentration camp, at least not that I can recall, but the threat of being discovered loomed over me heavily.

The soul math, derived by the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, does not add up; there’s not much time between the death of the Black man and the birth of the German Jew, and they say that the more developed a soul is, the longer it spends in the afterlife. Although I cannot quote any authority other than my own knowledge and experience, I have good reason to believe my soul came to maturity, adulthood as it were, at the end of the Black man’s life, making it free to manifest in the world, take births, at its choosing. You can look at this life, its inner and world experience and see something out of the ordinary is going on with my soul. This is what it looks like when a soul has grown into the adulthood of the soul, this type of participation between the world and the individual, the individual and God, but I must make a distinction between my soul and my ego self. My soul chose in this life me, meaning the outer personality Donny, someone born under the influence of a hostile being, a demon, and all the weirdness and bad that entails. This is for the purposes you see played out in this book and in my other works. My muse says enough about those purposes at the end of this chapter, has been talking about them in much of the poetry of this book, so I don’t need to go into that here.

But back to that German Jew. The dream of being him was representational, not like the dream of being the Black man, in which I actually lived the last hour or so of his life inside his body, hearing his thoughts, feeling his feelings, and mine at the same time, like when I was in my grandfather’s body as he died. Here, I was both the character in the dream and an observer of him, alternating between the two, normal dream stuff.  In the first part of the dream I was on a passenger train before the war and the pogrom against Jews. The train was later to become the cattle cars to a concentration camp. Now, though, it was where rich Jews really living it up. There was a car that was full of luxury items, really decadent, the most expensive cigars, liquors, liqueurs, all sorts of vice-like things, the best of the best. They were all hanging on the walls as if on display. I went inside, allowed because I was Jewish, and no non-Jew could be in there, but I knew I wasn’t welcome there and would be told to leave if a rich Jew saw me in there. Then the items suddenly all turned into kinky women’s lingerie, and I got out of there, and the dream shifted to during the war, the train something I was afraid of, looking at a it from a place of hiding up in a forest. The train tracks became the focus of the dream, the fear I’d be soon on a train to a concentration camp. I lived with a small group of other Jews in hiding, a farmer hiding us. At one point I was walking down a trail with my wife, the tracks looming large at us down below in the valley. I realized she was Sunshine, a very young woman I had a strong connection to in Garberville but couldn’t figure out why. That knowledge was just part of the dream.

At the end of the dream I was on this strange, huge, contraption beside the tracks that resembled some sort of ride at an amusement park, and it had you go in a spiral on a rope up it, and many people were on it, but not many made it to the top. I did, and when I did I had an experience of Silent Mind. It bears mentioning that in the dream I was utterly dejected, so scared I’d get caught. I hit some kind of fundamental low that triggered a momentary experience of enlightenment. You got to figure that I wasn’t the only Jew, or Gypsy, or gay, or whomever, that did. It’s not only spiritual practice that brings enlightenment. Sometimes the worst thing in the world can bring it, and you got to figure that some, maybe a handful at most, marched into death triumphant.

I could interpret that first part of the dream in terms of the behavior of some rich Jews, not all, during the Weimar Republic, when the majority of the population had to go without a lot.  Even if it were only a small but visible number of rich Jews, and I’m sure it wasn’t only Jews but other rich people too, non-Jewish Germans would, in the manner the masses see, distortedly, build up resentment to Jews in general, and Hitler and the Nazis took that and ran with it. Notice I was Jewish but not really allowed in that railroad car, which represented the decadence of rich Jews before the Nazis, not all Jews like I said, during a time when most other people in Germany suffered want. If you see what I see, it’s not Jews who were responsible for any blindness to and disregard of the suffering of the German people; it’s more the rich. It’s always has been like that, not only in Germany but everywhere, even in communist and socialist countries (the leaders got the good stuff). The rich rule the world, are the true masters of the race, de facto though they be, the ‘good’ rich notwithstanding. Here’s the ticket: we get the rich out of political office and make it much more difficult for capitalism to produce the super-rich. On the table, on the shelf, we have the equipment to change the world.

What I was looking for at Yad Vashem, although I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time, was an exhibit of the luxury stuff in that railroad car, with all the names of the Jewish rich people that owned them and their positions in German society attached to the items. You can put their donations to charities there too, their social work, to try and correct what needs corrected in that distorted how the masses saw. I think you get the picture. It means looking at the whole picture and not just at the fact of being victims. Do you like genocide? It will keep coming again and again as long as we don’t look at the whole picture and correct ourselves accordingly.

What do we do, though, with Jewish exclusivity? We cannot deny it exists. Does it lead to Jewish nepotism and Jewish privilege? In some cases of course it does. They’re human. Now let’s go through Hollywood and the news media (have I missed one?) and get their percentage down in those places to somewhere around the 2.4% of the population a net search will say they are, speaking of America. We can also, while we’re at it, make sure there are no areas of New York City where a red blooded American who is not Jewish cannot feel at home, and make sure there is no invisible zoning in Jewish neighborhoods in New Jersey to make sure non-Jews can’t rent or buy homes in them. I’m sure I’ve missed something, but you see the list. It’s ridiculous, and I’m being sarcastic. In the persecution and hatred of the Jews, the reasons thereof, we are missing something, something big that has to do with the abilities to interpret existence it itself and to handle intricately and fastly the outer world. And I’d need to simply spell this out: there is no cabal of Jews controlling the world, but I can tell you where that insipid, unhinged belief comes from. You would not have thought of it in a million years, and you will be so surprised you’ve missed it, and if you don’t believe it, that will be because you don’t want to, not because it’s not true. All the way to meaningful, that’s the position Jews have when they enter society. I don’t think you’d enter that with every Jew, but you have my meaning. And now we look at odd first.

The lights go out.
Strange noises are in the air.
What time is it?
The world transitions into stargate.
We’ll put our hand on the greater,
and we’ll just follow bloody apes will yah?
Joy by surprise
sculptured this to us.
I’m looking at the origins of man, are you?

I can do nothing else than jump into it with both feet. Imagine how we developed human self-awareness distinct from the other animal species. Whether you believe or not in an evolution of consciousness or of identity, what evolution is in its essence, you have to admit something happened to our minds that separated us from the other animals, or somewhere about us. Was that all in one go, or was it in stages, to get to the human identity we have today, ego identity is it? And there’s even a reluctance in science today to admit we actually have one and call it that. First, I’d call it outward tuned (wake-centric) ego individual identity, with an almost exclusive focus on the outer world for the business of human endeavor, and an emphasis on the individual. I’d imagine at first it was the opposite, with the central focus on the inner life and on the group, speaking of immediately after the initial leap or separation point from other species, the  subsequent stages taking us out more out into the outer world with the pinpoint of our awareness and towards being more distinct individuals within the group, however many back peddles there were too, as there always are, not to mention sidelines here and there and offshoots going nowhere.

I’ve suggested earlier in this book that infant orgasm, that administered by a mother, not just giving orgasm but the focused attention too of a love affair, perhaps in conjunction with some substance like ganja or a stronger psychedelic I’ll add now, brought us into human self-awareness, the first stage of it, or rather, brought a baby into it, maybe several during the same time period, but the number is only significant to the time it took this to spread to other members of the animal species that made the jump to man, an animal species that was on the brink because it had started to walk upright, the true king of beasts, us right before we became us. That spread would still happen if the number were one, especially if there were the hostile beings I’ve described, demons we call them, but here the type that construe worlds, making it happen in the first place and making sure it spread from mother to mother, to the fathers too, so the babies more and more would be ‘human self-aware”. If you doubt the power of infant orgasm under the right conditions view my process. It mirrors, minus the substance, how we became man. Here, have an apple Eve. Representative is that story.

The power was out.
I quit school.
Some mail to you:
individualism.
I was stand up.
I was really
excited
to exercise me
outside.
Now you see evolution.
Your turn.

That is all well and good, er, well, not good, but good has come of it, and it’s not my place here to explain our place in the cosmic order, having our evolution on this Earth. I’m interested here in how we got here, to this present stage of human ego identity focused on the outer world and on being an individual within a group. I’ve explained, briefly, that a house in Overmind, a divine Heaven, intervened in human evolution, which had already gone through more than one stage of identity, as I’ve suggested, how many stages it would be hard to gauge, but our milestones such as the development of stone tools, burial, representative art, agriculture, the making of alloyed tools, and writing, would perhaps indicate moving to another stage. The stage that we are in now basically began Western civilization, what has been the dominant civilization in world process (however much that is in decline and being replaced by more Eastern), which itself began when a divine house intervened in human evolution and created the Jewish people, who became a leaven among the peoples for the new stage, our modern one, again, as far as Western civilization is concerned, and I’m taking huge, complicated, and interconnected movements, compressing them and putting them in an ordered process and in neat rolls, but of course that is only for the sake of discussion.

Putting Eastern civilization into the process, you’d put it developing that stage slower than the West, very generally speaking, or you can say that it’s not been leavened by the more recent stage to the degree the West has been, and may not ever be or even want to be, as is evident in the major differences between the East and West, which have a lot to do with the degree of outer focus and the degree of individualism. Looking at the process of the introduction of a new stage into humanity in terms of a leavening, one that takes its time to reach every people on the planet, if it ever does, it would be evidence of such a process that, in both the East and the West, you can find peoples today that still have at least one foot in the former stage, if not both in the case of ‘uncontacted’ tribes, focused on the inner life and the more ‘primitive’ hands on the world and in Nature, meaning more on her level and on her terms, that would entail and all the magical interaction with the outer world such a focus encompasses. Whether that magic is real or imagined is not part of this discussion, but, from my story, you can see it’s not all imagined.

Incidentally, the world culture being created largely by the advent of the Internet, the one the youth of the world seem to be embracing, and with a passion, is basically that Western hands on the world and on one’s individuality. Now you can understand the conflict more traditional societies have with it.

The first thing that particular Heaven did, I don’t know, somewhere from eight to four thousand years ago, give or take a thousand years, was to introduce customs, rites, rituals, practices, laws and the like that cleaned up man’s act so to speak, not only on the outer level in terms of vice and cleanliness, but on the inner level to protect people from the Hostile Powers and those people who used them or were used by them to gain power over other people. It’s really, really strong custom. Most especially, that divine house helped close the door to infant orgasm (and the Pandora’s box that opened) and sexual child abuse, with practices such as circumcision and a more general respect given to a person’s personhood, starting from birth, as sexual child abuse would have been not only universal in early humanity but normal.

That the door to sexual child abuse hasn’t been closed in the Jewish people, or any people on earth, attests to the fact it will take more than law and punishment to stop it, and while we’re on the subject to stop murder, rape, theft or any type of wrongdoing as well, punishment and law being the main means that divine house dealt with earlier man and still deals with us today, why it’s time to change. By those means it aimed to create a holy people, and it did that in large part by separating Jews from the mass of humanity, a mass much different than the one of today, who are, the incompletely or unleavened parts notwithstanding, in the same stage of human identity that Jews are, which would mean the separation isn’t now the thing. Do you see why?

To get some picture of why a definite separation from the common mass of man was necessary, in almost all walks of life, you might imagine a humanity for the most part compromised by its inner life it was so open to it, open more to the Hostile Powers than the Divine Powers in the mass. Violence would’ve been the order of the day, in all its forms. Everyone would basically be a mess, even kings and queens. From the creation of peoples like the Indian and Chinese, as well as other peoples, where a spiritual elite was created, which later degenerated into a religious elite, and I stomp my foot here because that will be on the test, the test being the temptation to return to a society built on that latter elite, the former having been virtually smothered by that latter, it’s evident that other divine houses were intervening in humanity to help besides the one that created the Jewish people and it’s more hands on the outer world individualist identity, but it was that more solid in the outer life and in the individual self that was to take the lead, at least to our present day. It could grasp the physical world by the horns.

Now we can talk about Jewish exceptionalism. It would stand to reason that that their terms of man, what fashions the human ego in each child born, would be more primed to success in the outer world and as individuals, and please understand I haven’t dismissed the group by any means. In Jewish culture it’s maintained something of a tribal nature and hence is what the individuals look up to as in what’s larger than themselves and what they rely on, that pillar of their reliance really God notwithstanding. I’m sorry it’s impossible to talk about every individual in a group at the same time. So many differences and exceptions would be present. It’s this very strong, sometimes exclusive, identification with the Jewish people on the part of individual Jews, over and above the identification with any other grouping in humanity, including humanity as a whole, what was necessary in creation of the people and hence in the creation of contemporary man, which is no longer needed, but that’s not to say the Jewish people are no longer needed, not by a long shot.

A good book to read about Jewish exceptionalism and Jews’ thoughts on the matter is The Jew in the Lotus by Rodger Kamenetz. It has informed the writing of this book, and he emailed me a copy so I could read it because I didn’t have the money to buy it (thank you Rodger), but he wouldn’t go so far as to review this book, of which he only read an early chapter some three years ago, if he even did. He stopped talking to me once he discovered my social stigma. He got a poem. He didn’t respond to that either. There’s something I’ve learned more about recently than at other times I’ve confronted it, and that’s the tendency of us, which has also come from acknowledging my own stubbornness and resistance to change, to not only stubbornly resist any changes to our beliefs and options when confronted with the facts of the matter or the truth of the thing, or some very pointed art that shows us we’re wrong, but also the strange habit of digging in even deeper with our ignorance into the grounds of reality, the better presented the facts, the more poignant the truth, the more engaging the art, the deeper that digging in. I’m just sitting here wondering how we’ve gotten anywhere with that very pronounced handicap in our ability to change. Explains a lot, you know?

Burnt Books in the Margins
You said I know.
The whole class he won’t offer humanity.
My lotus pond,
it calls everybody.
Weren’t those beachers?
They were reporters.
I’ve got a helmet law.
Tell the people who ran for congress.
I’m golden at my job.
You just do away with me.
I need a last name.
Ginsberg no I’m not I’m Duke.
There’s a lot more in compassion
than a sympathy squeeze.
You hold somebody’s hand
people are afraid to be seen with in public.
Now that’s a railroad.
And it’s out of style.
It’s priceless.
I’ve caved in;
talk to someone else.
That’s the Batmobile.
It’s not a hero’s choice today.
They’re all in to counting sin.
See past safety lines.
See what you want to give humanity.
See the right road to humanity.
You don’t bubble anybody,
enforce their isolation.
That’s river of darkness.
You’re not a happy medium.
You’ve just shown humans in caves.
How we treat one another,
it boils down to this simple test:
will you shun someone shunned?
You’ve got a measure for humanity here.
I can call out witnesses,
even Jews.
What’s it take to learn this:
you are your best person to all?
Of course you sit out here:
that’s in such a bright answer
in nonjudgmental’s ways.
You reckon not their sin
or ugly feature.
You give them your humanity.
That’s how they learn theirs.
Am I blinded by the light?
I’m seein’ our course today.
That’s the necessity
at bottom
in humanity.
Examine history,
what’s the common of our feature?
A history of scapegoats.
A borderhouse,
it’s so much cultural today.
You kinda wanna give ‘im a nice healing procedure,
what I propose,
some of that book.
You made me a promise in pages:
the culture of humanity,
we give it every last ship.
And you made me a hope,
you the author:
there’s a vocabulary for the unknown.
Spread it your wings.
It is full of Jews
and the father thinking people,
your whole life?
Know their dimensions.
Is that a copy
of a fascist’s popularity?
In its backyard,
turnin’ your back to me.
I’m not gonna start sizzling,
show everything on the planet,
but enlightenment,
you got rid of this too?
I have to say something.
Where are the wings?
What do we withdrawal?
Where are the eyes?
Maybe subject to copyright,
it says:
here’s the door;
don’t let ‘im in,
human divinity.
Do you have the tree?
Do you have the classroom?
I’ve mentioned Savitri.
I have horizons.
Just get rid of it.
It’s testing human boundaries you see.
Over the head some opportunities,
and you just throw it out?
Ground Control to Major Tom:
train your eyes on me.

Now, he doesn’t have the slightest clue as to where that exceptionalism actually comes from (I don’t think anyone else does either), and he doesn’t go as far to say that Jews are basically the alphas in Western society, but you can call them that, for the reasons I’ve explained: their terms of man and the leavening of them into and through out their peoplehood. They are not a race but a people, some common physical characteristics notwithstanding. You would not take the authority of the Nazis to call them a race, as some people are doing today so to try and remove White Jews from the stigma of White privilege. And Jews have no innate superiority. Not knowing where their exceptionalism comes from and not understanding their elevated position in society as a result of it, resenting that, and smarting from Jewish nepotism and Jewish exclusiveness and Jewish privilege, where those do show themselves, and they don’t everywhere Jews are, although they really show themselves in Israel, they get persecuted. Do you see the difference?

The night before our little group of four left for Eilat from Tel Aviv, whom I’ve called the Dharma Bums, which the universe did too I’d argue, the Englishman and I were sleeping next to one another on the beach not far from where De Factor and Rhino were jailed, which is more down towards Jaffa than the place on the beach the bust had happened. We’d left our squat, and I forget why we’d temporarily separated. He was in his early twenties and was slightly developed, in the sense I’ve described that, a comfortable and warm person to be with. I’m sorry I’ve forgotten his name, like I said. We woke just after dawn, and I remember looking out over the land and water from our little sandy perch on the world, my body still cozy in my down bag, just my head sticking out, and for just a moment I got that sense you sometimes get that the world is a strange place, unknowable really, like an alien planet, and it felt good, because I was part of that unknown, as alien as the world; you know what I mean?

I told him the two very powerful dreams I remembered from the night, dreams that still carry significance into today. They marked a turning point in my life, the very beginning of freedom. The Englishman just listened when I told him the dreams, didn’t even wince when I told him I’d had full intercourse with my mother for the first time in dream, as a man not a boy, and that I’d come a long ways to be able to do that and not be freaked out by it. I’d told him of my love for little boys, as I told anybody that got close to me and that I wanted to keep as a friend, with some exceptions of course. I just knew some people would not be able to handle it. If the person remained a friend after that, they were more likely to be true friends. The Dharma Bums were such friends.

That first dream opened a door to freedom, as weird and taboo as that might sound, which was represented by the second dream. It released the second dream. I was a prisoner in an ancient prison, and I was locked in the inmost part of it along with many others. There were many outer layers of the prison, each fortified and guarded to the max. The inmost prison was the most heavily fortified and guarded. The walls were the thick, old, yellowish, stone kind that make up the ancient sectors of the old city of Jerusalem and other places equally ancient. The guards had swords and spears and were dressed in ancient armor. I attacked a guard and took his sword, killing him, and that started a rebellion, as all the other prisoners followed suit, attacking guards and killing them with their own weapons. It turned into a fierce and bloody battle, severed limbs and heads flying everywhere. There was quite an emphasis on the bloodiness and ferocity of it. Then we stood on the ramparts, bloody, war-torn, but free men, having killed all the guards and liberating the inmost prison, looking out at the next level we had to take, knowing there were many levels and it would take a long time. In the reality of that dream we had already won our freedom, and it couldn’t be taken from us, and it was only a matter of time before we would be out of the prison entirely. The sense was that we hadn’t just won our freedom in the inmost prison, but that we were now free men, the coming battles to write that out like thoughts you think out but don’t have to because you’ve had the wordless thought already that held the kernel of the whole thing. Need I tell you what that dream represented? It’s like I was surrounded by layers. In the most basic one I’m free.

There is but left one constituent element of becoming this thing that you all hate to show you. It’s the clincher. It’s what not a one of you see, or even want to. You’ve heard me tell you I was girl crazy as a boy. Oh, even at seven I could see I liked younger boys, but there was no sexual thing attached to that, not yet. It was girls I was attracted to. I did a lot of sex play with other boys growing up, the whole nine yards, loved it too, but I’d have pushed the boy aside if a girl had come into the room, or behind the bushes, or wherever it was we did it. Entering adolescence, I was a girl lover, coming out, a boy lover. What happened?

I told you I became a Jesus freak, a very religious young adolescent. I tried to be a perfect Christian, and that included purging myself of impure sexual thoughts and sexual acts, which was not only masturbation. I was sexually active with girls my age, even had intercourse with one, at 13. The fear she was pregnant was also a big catalyst to my becoming a Jesus person. When I became sexually mature, I stopped the sex play with other boys my age but began that with little boys, and with a couple of little girls, in my neighborhood, this even as I had sexual relationships with adolescent girls. I was a sexual kid. So, when I began to purge myself of sexual thoughts and acts, even rebuking my penis in the name of Jesus, I only purged the thoughts of sex with girls my age and with women, allowing the thoughts of sex with children, especially boys, to continue, and the ensuing masturbation. I did that because I hadn’t admitted to myself that I was sexually attracted to children, was in denial of it even as I entertained masturbatory fantasies of sex with little boys. An adolescent mind is a complicated, divided thing. You see I was programming myself, unawares. You really are no help here, you know?

We do not realize that what goes down in adolescence has a lot to do with the adult we are to become, shapes us, not as much as the first years of life do, but shapes us nonetheless. All the constituent elements of ourselves are up in the air, and how they are fitted back into place, if they are and aren’t rejected with enough force to put them down into the subconscious in some lock, what I did with my attraction to women, determines the adult we are going to be. That our sexual/romantic attraction does change in adolescence if evidenced by the fact that, normally, unless someone is on the track to becoming a pedophile, a boy becoming sexually mature will change his fantasies from little girls to girls who are sexually mature, to women in other words, although there is usually attraction to the mature female all along. So our sexuality is not engraved in stone as many now believe it is, but if you want to change the engraving, you’d have to do it in early adolescence and with a religious fervor. It has to be that strong, not that you have to be religious to do it, which means you have to will to do it and will intensely, and it can’t be forced upon you. I entered adolescence with a sideline attraction to little kids and came out of it with that not only as my main attraction, but my exclusive attraction, boys being the focus of that. And there you have it.

It bears mentioning that this is my ‘pedophile becoming’. Someone else’s would be different, maybe not so dependent on early adolescence to seal the fate, and, while we’re on the subject, I can’t tell you what all early teens need, but I can tell you what I needed. I needed to have sex and that often with a girl my age, preferably one that had sexual disorder issues too. We’d almost have to restructure society to know those things about our kids. Big Brother couldn’t do it. And while we’re on the subject of forced sexual morality, let me ask you: what would you rather have, and say you had to choose between the two, a pedophile or teen sex? That’s what I thought. Have you ever thought about this?

Returning to Ein Karem, where I was camping and waiting to take the journey to the Sinai and Cairo to finish the art action of posting poems in sacred and powerful places of my culture and civilization, doing the groundwork for a book such as this I see now, I got invited to a full moon gathering in Ein Karem that Jeff was attending, but I don’t remember him inviting me. I think I got noticed walking around, looking like I’d just stepped off the New Age, candidate for Christ consciousness bus. It was a New Age gathering. It began after dark, and we were on top of a wide hill above the town, above the tomb of a Sufi saint whose name I don’t remember and whom I can’t find in a Google search. Maybe it was a Christian personage of importance? We were gathered standing in a large circle holding hands, and the first thing we did was sing our names, each one of us. I sang out Don like an opera singer, what I called myself back then. Now I’m Donny, my original name. It’s like the story of the mountain becoming the mountain again after it being so strange and different for so long.

After the name sing out, Jeff was giving the reins of the gathering, and he had everyone do his thing, which was hold your two hands close together and imagine a ball of energy between them, feeling of it as if it were really there. I could never actually feel that. The look on his face when the woman who’s property and house it was, the host, abruptly gave those reins to another person, and then another, and another, as we made our way to the house some distance away, it was not a happy face. It was more like a slapped ass. Sorry Jeff. I’m showing my butt too. The reins of the group were given to anyone that had a thing they did, energy and group-wise that is. I don’t think Jeff quite appreciated that, as he kept saying, each time we came together a moment, that he could handle the group the whole time, offended he wasn’t being allowed to, but he wasn’t angry or terribly upset. He was just showing his spiritual ego, the bane of the spiritual path because it’s so visible to people around you but so invisible to you.

Some years later I’d be sitting in a similar New Age circle, although much smaller, in the Inca ruins of Sacsayhuaman above Cusco, Peru, seated with natives of the city, not tourists. Douglas and I had apartments up there. We also had a weekly TV spot on the local Good Morning Cusco show (I forget what it was actually called) teaching yoga. We turned into a comedy hit, for a little while, doing theater skits about horny yoga instructors like Pedro Perverso and channelers and their handlers like Imposlosdos. With our badly pronounced Spanish and rather poorly done yoga postures (we were not really Hatha yoga practitioners), we just hit the right spot at the time, the city’s funny bone. It was something walking down the street and having people come up to you and know who you are. Anyway, Louis, the leader of our little group, a local dentist, gave me the reins, asking me to lead the group with that Indian mantra I sung a lot (it was the Gayatri). Anything Indian was prized, but word was around there that the Andes were the ‘new Himalayas’. Funny, I never saw any deep spirituality there. It was all New Age. When he introduced me to people, he’d always say I’d lived in India for years and years, and I’d have to always say I was there only for six months, but you know, he was actually being prophetic. I led the group in one repetition of the mantra, felling that ego swell you feel when you’re leading people and they are a following, or at least I felt, and then he gave the reins to someone else, and forgetting all about ole Jeff, I got offended.

In that gathering in Ein Karem, our movement ended at the back patio of the house and had been reduced to just a handful of people. The others were eating or milling about. We were seated in a small circle. A young woman had been given the slot to do her thing, which I was to learn quickly was channeling. The way she slightly convulsed and then introduced herself as Jesus, as if her words were about to change our lives, seemed forced and smacked of so much pride. Afterwards the other host, the husband of house, told me it was obscene, and I agreed. He commented on how everyone there now knew my name, and how lovely I’d sung it out, and I was so flattered.

That would be my last night in Ein Karen, and in the morning I would go to Issac’s and get the cash to go to Egypt and post my poems, as he was sponsoring me, just enough to survive seven days, and I was to return almost shekeless, but I managed it. Issac gave me a copy of The Sunlit Path, a book of talks by the Mother, my first introduction to her. He gave me a copy of the book, not a photocopy, as he’d ordered it for himself originally but decided to give it to me, saying he’d order another one. What struck me about that book was the photo on the cover of her standing on the stairs, looking like feminine Mystery herself, and, in the book’s contents, her understanding of childhood education and of the spiritual path. I stayed in a spare room in Issac’s apartment for a couple of days before I left Israel and went to India, to Auroville, his blessings speeding me on my way, his and Jeff’s, as he had given me a tour of a Jerusalem I didn’t know existed, leading me down thin stone steps into a cistern two thousand years old, and I had walked within a few feet of the entrance many times ignorant of the depth of time just in arm’s reach, into other places as well, where the cafes are underneath the city in three thousand-year-old stalls, and I didn’t even know they were there. He went with me by bus to Tel Aviv to the airport, he paying the fair, we both sitting like kings in the two front seats of the upper carriage, the windshield so big it went from our heads to our toes, the sunlight so warm it went into our hearts. Thank you Jeff, and thank you Issac. It would be a gross violation of good faith and given hospitality if I didn’t also thank in this book the Israeli family who lived in Yemen Moshe, near our first hunger strike camp, who feature in the Tongues story “Behind the Mask Jerusalem”. The father Josef, his son Milo, my age, and the mother of the family, slowly adopted me in my six months in Israel, encouraging me, dressing my wounds, giving me food, cash, and near the end a place to stay. And thank you so very much Israel. I couldn’t have done it without you, and that’s the spiritual path. Now can I give you something?

How do you start?
You cover it,
where you go wrong.
That’s your principle change.
You work on that.
It’s where you’ll find a handle for the world.
That’s my method.

That works for some,
if you’ve got this big wrong to the world,
somethin’ you can’t handle,
somethin’ that just takes you by the nose and runs you in ruts.
I don’t think good people understand it.
They are so self-righteous mean,
lookin’ at you.
You don’t know what to tell them.
Freewill is strong?
It has you by the balls.

I’m a lead on that rope.
I will help you get out of it.
It can be done,
and you’ve got so much help doing it,
if you can open yourself that far.
I’m on your side.
I know how it is.
A mountain,
you see it?
You’re climbing the path of yourself.
What makes you tick
you investigate,
look at everything about you.
That’s the spiritual path.

You are discoverin’ the truth of yourself
and where it intersects the world.
You want to find yourself,
who you really are.
It’s larger than spheres,
so you’ve got a lot of work to do,
investigate everything,
so it doesn’t falter you.
Nothing can stand in your way
if you are truly exploring yourself.
This is so much an inner journey.
You have so much to discover,
so much to do,
so much to learn.
It never ends.

Substances matter.
Our officials
need to embrace social change,
need to let ‘em in.
I’d caution agains pot
as a daily stopover.
as a habit forming substance.
Now read me
no substances.
We move on from that crowd.
It has its price.
Diamond LSD for pedophiles.
Can you see the social change?

Boldly face the world a question mark.
That’s how you begin.
You see the process?
You just keep asking questions.
There’s a gap here,
and it quiets down.
The hush,
they themselves,
and then with God.
You learn to be quiet inside,
not to react so to outer things.
This is at first impossible.
I think we’re dealing with this right up to the very last.
It takes such a long time
to quieten yourself down,
be calm.

God is your front man.
I told you the story
of how God happen.
He becomes everything.
You’re not foolin’ this.
It’s the reality behind the times.
You’re lookin’ at it when you see the world.
How long it takes you to see that.
You have no idea.
You just begin.
It’s your handle on meeting the world.
God has so much to teach you.
There’s God.

Oh my He hit me,
and you learn about agency,
the order of things,
everything.
Why is this happening to me?
It’s not God’s fault.
He went the other day look.
I don’t know what’s you’re talking about.
It lasted forever.
You know who that is.
I’m editing your clothes,
your clothes,
your plain old clothes.
Did you know beyond my nail?
Have you learned reality yet?
Whatever comes,
practice God,
and the Hostiles,
you’re outgrowing them.

In ten you grow up.
I’m lost in God,
minutes deep down.
Chevy bubbles up.
It’s like he inquires
and commercials.
Your status
as a person in a hotel room,
relax, there’s a video.
Like substance abuse area,
watch out for false gods,
and hit your national registered cottage
right in the face.

Nobody knows how to concentrate
integral spoon.
As you know,
there’s some forced toys Sri Aurobindo asks
to leave alone.
Don’t leave here the here out of it:
aware of my shortcomings.
I listed them,
I looked at them.
It didn’t help.
They baffled me.
I’m ready to tell me
I can’t do it.
I’m impossible.
With another life two things:
I am actually human;
I can work on it.

I improve.
I get better at it.
Then the breakthrough came:
I can do it.
I began to celebrate.
Things go backwards.
Things go back and forth.
Finally I realize,
my attitude had to be perfect.
I don’t brag to the world,
and I don’t brag to myself.
I don’t practice any firm believers.
I’m a lawyer back.
She just asked for things stolen,
and now to remember
tears what happens.

Come ‘ere.
I was okay.
I was not a monster.
I was not an evil person.
This is lawyer.
I can.
I can do it.
With that I continue,
and in time there it is,
my freedom.

What wisdom I picked up along the way.
I got to know the world.
I got to know the reason we fall as human beings.
I understood.
To remember:
how close I am to fall,
and I keep from it.
Every place that used to be alright
to show my weaknesses,
I became strong instead.
You won’t pass this zero direction
without the knowledge in my material.
I’m a unique influence,
a map
of integral healing,
a soul process.

Auroville’s national trust,
let me have ‘em.
You read your name
you a journal.
The other group
you cast out.
Noway,
you don’t do it.
You don’t do it that way.
We turn this into a peaceful
under that gun you know.
I’m admitting Auroville and me at the same time.
Entered through a curtain of bring mind,
you stock the Earth.
You have integration key,
a harmony of all parts,
a natural healing method.
It works.

Something happened
that involved the world
at its deepest level.
It touched the Earth.
The spiritual path is the path to freedom.
Enlightenment comes,
but it’s not the main goal.
Don’t worry,
it’s always there
waiting to happen.
You have a temple of God
in your very life.
All things ensue from there.
It’s beautiful.
It’s wonderful.
It’s real.

We’ve spiritual’d this out.
We’ve put it in ground zero of the Earth,
and that’s the live event,
what counts in world terms.
A book,
volumes of poetry,
they could be read or not.
This is live wire
for fuck’s sake.
I’m gonna go
and be that land to the Earth you need,
and I love you,
regardless of what you’ve done to me.

I see the whole,
and we are a part of each other,
whether you admit it or not.
No, I paid for it,
all of my mistakes
on that ugly.
You’re such the terrible thinker.
I’m redeeming the world, you know?

Concentrate
on the needed change:
we love one another,
each and every one of us.
I’ve explained what that means.
Let’s just keep going.
Whether you read me or not,
this is world process.
I’ve awoken earth kind
at the dim roots
of world need.
This is what I have done.
Hear my report.
Human behavior
has got this key in its pocket.
Now anybody can draw it out.
Do you see we are not dependent on outer circumstances?
We are here,
all together,
all at once.
Here, have this knowledge.
It’s free.

Call 911.
Someone’s violated the world.
You’re looking for
a means for change.
It’s where you also process risk.
Oh you insecure people,
you can’t let that be,
and you can’t get rid of it.
You’re so afraid of it.
You remove it from us immediately,
if you have the hands to,
and there’s where you stall change.
There’s where you blot it out.
Remove the stimulus,
we’re fine—
the report you give to the world.
I’m tellin’ yah we’re not.
We’ve just been made to do no wrong.
It hasn’t come from ourselves,
where it has to come for change to happen.
You don’t see this.
You don’t even know it’s there.
You just react
to the possibility of risk.

It’s all along the line.
It’s everywhere we turn.
It’s in your car, your sleep,
your walking down the stairs,
your cross the street.
It’s on your bicycle.
It’s on the ground.
It’s everywhere you move and live and eat.
It’s all around us.
That’s why you’re so afraid of it.
We can work with risk,
don’t let it take us,
but come together with it.

Now there’s the risk to harm a child.
You take them to school everyday.
Do you understand what goes on at school,
how many teachers abuse,
how many children bully,
how much pressure there is?
Real harm happens there,
I would suspect more than children are molested.
You have some inkling of this sometimes.
You send them to school anyway.

Am I gettin’ through?
School’s a terrible place,
but why do they go?
You think they learn there;
that prepares them for life.
And they are damaged for life because of it.
Is this not the truth?

Why are you so stubborn here?
It has to do with convention.
We are herd animals.
I’m talking out of the herd.
I show you a different way of doing things.
I show you real.
It’s right here in our hands.
We learn how to use them properly.
We learn they are our friends.
Can I get you to see this?
Can I get you to try?

He offered it,
and the election is:
oh my gosh,
that’s weird.
It’s how we change ourselves,
putting will on the equation,
putting it there.
You inform your will you understand.
Knowledge and will do meet
at the crossroads.
Let’s take the world there.

Have you ever heard this spoken so plainly?
Have you ever heard change done right?
Now hear this:
you are…
I’m an ashtray.
The butts of America
put themselves out on me.
What are you livin’?
Are you livin’ a horror story?
Are you really hurting people?
There’s danger,
but there’s also help.
It’s here.
It’s in this room.
Can what I do help you?
Yes, yes it can.

We are in serious business now.
What do I do?
You really engage yourself,
apply the method I’ve employed.
I don’t plan to take his side of it.
I’m here alone.
You’re valuable,
and help is right there close to you,
if you can see ‘em.
It is you open’s Heaven’s gates,
more so than the master.
Don’t sit there and entertain bad thoughts.
Call on the divine for help.
Call on God.
Voices hearing will not be a waste in your ear,
urging you to wrong.
You will hear the inner voice,
coming in on the situation.
Learn to discern the difference.
It moves you towards light,
doesn’t flatter you
or put you down.
It’s sweet and open.
It loves the world,
so you see
it’s what you listen to,
and it loves you,
firm but sweet.
Here I’m showin’ it to you.

Now come on,
no one has to kill anybody,
and don’t believe it.
You know you want safe.
You know it’s there.
Move into it.
Be there with yourself
and give that freedom to sin the number
you do not dial.
You’ve understood how delightful it is.
You’ve understood what no one can about it.
You feel a shape of God there.
You have some sense of mission.
You feel empowered,
excited.
I’m not really tired.
I just don’t want blood on my hands, you know?
I can’t help but feel bad about it.

Look, help is coming.
You can see it in yourself.
It’s not because it’s bad you stop.
You don’t want to hurt anybody.
You don’t want blood.
You see the situation,
and you see the way out.
Take the way out.

And Nature herself will help you.
Circumstances change.
It’s not so easy to slay.
It’s not so fun either.
Or maybe it’s all one big plan
you’ve played out so many times.
You don’t want to do it.
You want to be free from this.
Come, let’s go.
Let’s get out of this mess.
Let’s get on with our lives
freed from horror story,
and let’s do this everyday
for the rest of our lives.
Be in command
of what ails us.
Be free from it,
the horrible blood-taxed tears
of death
in the eyes of other people.
Come on let’s go.

Laugh at it
don’t touch it,
I know that from dream,
what a smart Bible.
I know a lot of things from dream.
I know my life from dream.
Finally,
I got that ancient knowledge,
your interpretation of dream.
It’s a representational channel,
showing the inner essence of things,
movements in your life,
this and that happenstance,
the nature of the universe,
what are you doing in it.

It will tell you about yourself
in no uncertain terms,
like show where you are,
what you are
at any given moment.
It can talk about the past it can talk about the future,
and most dreams are about the next day and the day before.
That blows your mind.
You can’t get over it.
Now let’s predict the future.
Your dreams do it everyday,
every single day.
How do you read that?
We are loved and cared for.
We’ve got a lot to be thankful for.

You don’t even know why.
Episode—
how horrible you are,
gunna be,
to another person,
to this flagship of people,
and it could be Nature’s gifts you know.
It was prefigured in dream.
You saw it
but did it anyway.

Amazing grace,
you’re shown to report to yourself how to change.
Seeing this over and over,
you get out of it.
You stop doing that to people.
It’s all in the book,
the fantastic book of dream.

You’ve got your own dream maker
put in light of the universe
a representative of the divine,
so you know what to change.
Incredible, isn’t it?
You won’t find anything on earth like that.
You won’t even know where to look.

It’s right here in dream,
and I’m beggin’ you for it,
so stupid with this world’s things.
I’m sorry I managed this.
Behind you look.
The stunning creature
put you in a spell and you did it,
but at least you didn’t do that boy’s ass.
You find boys won’t let you do that.
It’s a grace season.
Let’s get on with our lives.
I’ve given you a key to dream.
Put it in your pencil work and wrap your head around it,
and we’re all better for it.

You measure change
into whatever movie you’re watching.
And I’ve given you the interpretation of dream.
I’ve put it down on paper
in this digital format.
That’s the actual of dream,
telelink
to where you’re goin’.
Wait I hear negative footsteps.
There’s oil in that dream.
Don’t put it on a kid’s bottom and smash it in.
It’s not tellin’ you to do that.
Get out of this mess.
A probability has arisen.
Don’t shake its hand.
It’s not what you have to do.
It’s a probability has arisen.
Don’t make it anymore than that.
I’ve told you how to do it.

Look,
just be gentle with him.
That boy can love you so much without sex.
You needn’t cross rivers.
You needn’t take his stock.
He is so into you.
Look, he’ll give you himself.
There’s where you stay:
respecting himself.
I’d love to John but
he’s just delicious.
How many years has it been?
Nine years,
we started when you were three.
How many people say uncommon here?
This is all over the world.

Parents love their children,
and so many have sex with them.
It’s not something you want to see.
It’s so human.
Do you know how common this is?
Not so unusual,
and we’ve got a world to find out.
They walk around angry wound.
It’s their adulthood.
There’s only one way to stop it.
You stop it yourself,
and you’ve never licked the bottom before,
and to think you have to’s a trap.
There is no bottom here.
There is only continue.

Alright daddy,
mommy,’
you’ll win this war
if you try,
and I’m helpin’ yah try,
showin’ you the way out.
There’s only stop,
because you love them,
and all the knowledge keep
that informs your will,
and you stop because of this:
you love them so very much.
Please listen.

We’ve put this in the book to show you
we can change the world.
We know where the levers are.
Can anybody hear me?
Does anybody care?

Where I come from,
man I told yah,
I had sex from birth.
You know my mother stopped.
How hard that was for her,
how incredibly difficult.
I loved it,
though it was awesome scary sometimes,
her lust,
her woman’s lust.
Now you see why I like boys
and don’t like women.
We’d need a transition here:
really scared of a woman’s lust
deep down in my bones.
I’m showing you the copter,
and now we slide the transition in.
I’ve contact with God,
and there’s the way out.

Open that door,
and a hurricane comes through,
but what a gift she gave me.
She put stop in my plan.
You’re hearin’ it today
so you can stop.
That’s the master plan.

Can you offer such advice?
Can you stop them?
You see where I’m comin’ from?
That place of heal.
It’s got so much love on it.
Do you love?
You just to want to catch and kill,
or hold them in prison for the rest of their lives.
And we’ve made change?
You’ve just spit on us,
again.
You’ve spit on the whole human race,
and that’s just how you do things.
Who’s the killer here, anyway?

He lost Buckshot.
Oh God daddy. [Nitish’s voice, terribly sad]
Oh, my, God. [heard sung by Diamond Eyes, song “23”]
There was some dog there.
She was my Rottweiler companion,
glued to me like my shadow.
She was killed
by a veterinarian mistake.
Lisa Joy Rottweiler
we called her.
She was principle human,
so safe to be with
if she had you in her paws.
No death has rocked my world more.
I don’t know what to do about it.
It’s still hurts so much,
a year later.
She misses me.

You would not believe the contact we’ve had
with her on the other side.
It would educate you to the dead in our lives.
I don’t want to think about it,
but she presses on my mind all day.
I give her my grief.
We have a special mission together,
and letting her go is not an option
until it’s done.
I will rescue her
and give her
her sanctuary,
where she will wait
until I return
when I die.

Right now she’s in hazard,
a dark place between worlds,
caught in the trap of her love for me.
She will not stray far from the window to here,
and I can see that,
and oh how that hurts.
Silly puppy,
hers is a protection range.
I can’t tell you that demons rattle the house,
besiege my room,
and I fight with them everyday.
Only sometimes a form I see.
They speak in my muse.
They harass my boy in dream.
She’s a protection model,
my beloved Rottweiler girl,
and she helps keep me safe
against intrusion,
me and my little boy.
She’s an angel really.

This is field of my house,
and she’s focused on us.
Her presence comes to me so often.
I just cry,
embarrassed someone might see,
and look out the window.
She sees this,
and gives me visions of her great big head,
so close to mine,
that tongue of hers lolling out in smile
like dogs do
comfortable and at ease.
She is so strong.
She fronts evil with her paws.
She’s great.

Now what do I do with that?
Give you a vision of dog you’ve never seen before.
Oh how home they are to us.
They’re not just dogs.
They’re angels unawares,
and when you get one like Lisa,
you see the reach of dog,
but what suffering has brought this to you.
You think I’m bluffing,
but a dog’s worth
can equal ours
if they’ve reached their human,
and she has.

Now I’ll show you one more thing,
the love of dog and child.
It moulds their lives,
gives them love to play with
and loyalty
wrapped around that child.
They’re cleansers.
They’re such unabashed lovers
it makes the child’s heart sing,
and you don’t know the strength of this bond,
or you have forgotten.
Look into its eyes once more.
Now tell me God is not the cause of this.
And they are here to school our children
in love and fidelity.
Wow, what principle dog,
what holy sacrament.
It’s too common to believe,
but I’ll let Lisa show you,
that big wonderful dog
waiting on her master.
She’s here.

I’ve heard the angels sing
right here.
We each hold water for this dog.
You’re not human,
Bruno be quiet.
He’s a troublemaker,
that one.
He’s so shadow,
and I don’t know how
to get him
to stop botherin’ the female dogs.
We measure heartbeats,
not spankings.
I hold it for ‘im,
his paw,
a lot when I’m at computer,
just so he knows he’s safe and loved.
He’ll bug you to death if you don’t.
And we take care of children.
What else do you do with dogs?
And some dogs work too.
So what?
They’re still our kids.
They are our special angels.
A thought in the mind of God
that balanced our mind
with a companion of love,
that’s dog.

A catalyst for change,
you know it,
that’s the history of this book.
It’s a divine love laughter science with a twist:
it brings you home.
It’s got everything in it
in the need to see.
It’s a holy book entails
so much interpretation.
We wouldn’t treat it that way.
A lot of interpretation’s already in it.
These are your divine glasses.
They help you see.
They help you be real.
I could use some reality myself.
I am an integer in this book
just bein’ myself.
I’m not in divine form yet.
I’ve just got to where I love you,
and I do that like myself.
I’ve just go to the point I love you
just like you are.
I see the whole
frequently.

I try not to step on your feet.
I just spent the evening with my little boy.
We loved dog together.
We got crazy
with his homework.
Potty humor spell it out.
I think we belly laughed.
And the way that boy looks at me,
oh wow, it’s got stars in it.
I know we have fleeting time.
Boys grow up,
wouldn’t you know it.
He looks at me for keeps,
tells to shut up about growing up.
He likes it just the way it is.
That’s our life,
and it’s good.

Do you know the meaning of the book?
It’s bigger than stars.
We would go out of the universe with it,
and we would be ourselves.
There’s an on high,
a riding car
regarding time.
That’s us in there,
making our lives matter.
It’s the principle person we are.
It’s who made the universe
as a field for its self-expression.
We become that self.
It’s higher than thought,
higher than Mind.
The Gods both help us and oppose
our moving beyond them.
You would think I’m the Devil said that.
It’s just virgin territory
for religion.
It’s who we are,
that self on high,
who we are becoming.
It’s a new interpretation
for the book
of man’s journey through time.
It’s bound to raise some eyebrows,
religion or non.
It’s the shape of things,
explains why we’re here,
and there’s just so much to that,
more than religion can figure,
more than the human mind can know.

We are a free ship
in our truer selves.
We ride there
a vehicle of God’s love,
an expression of His force.
Great the angels sing.
We hear Supermind
beyond angels,
bigger than any God
in the cosmic sea.
That’s our real self,
the true individual
that we are.
It’s bound to come sooner or later,
the advent of Supermind.
It’s here among us now.
We wouldn’t gauge it rightly.
I see it in my room.
The form doesn’t show—
its all eyes presence.
It’s everywhere at once.

God’s presence is there
the sustainer in the room.
Supermind is our true self.
God is the whole thing.
Supermind is small in comparison but God nonetheless.
I meet Supermind
my Godself
stand and sing.

Tales,
that’s what you read here.
What do you make of it?
It’s real it’s live it’s happenin’.
I put it on your block corner today.
You will not for me let anything enter your house you don’t know.
You block the unknown.
I’m a blog unknown,
and I listen to you I’m sorry.
It’s evident in my speech.
Kunji, kunji, kunji,
why does it go so high?
Why is it the main meal of the day?
Why do you have to do it?
Can’t you just do something else?

Animal,
that’s where it breathes.
You can’t arrive there without it.
It’s hungry.
The animal nature sucks.
It’s perturbed.
It just wants to eat
and guard its territory.
How do we get rid of this
animal nature?
We evolve,
and evolution will take us to a higher type.
That’s direction enough.
I’ve put it down on paper
how to resist
in digital words.

That’s ludicrous:
we can’t keep from doing that.
We are ordered animal creatures
we can stay awake.
An informed will
bids time
it’s rock solid.
You’re lookin’ at it.
I take your hand.
It’s need,
just how whole you are in a big bed.
I have written the vocabulary.
In the future,
I think you’ll use it.
Can I just see?
I really do have the vocabulary.
Are you gonna wait until I’m dead?
It would help you now,
boy would it ever.

We have crossed the world
in the entire of a book.
I just don’t know about the read thing.
You don’t seem to want to.
Okay it’s out of my hands.
It’s written.
Bye.

Agent provocateur,
come back here.
Uncle,
grandfather,
we’re listenin’.
We’re really readin’ it.
We just don’t say a whole lot.
I don’t know if thank you’s the right word.
What’s you’ve given us
defines the world.
I am so excited to read it.
I’ve read it done.

You just never know
what those views mean,
and right now,
they’re few and far between.
I’ve published a book
online,
and writing it while I post it,
well not completely.
It was finished some.
If this were an experiment in reading,
like that alternative format,
the results were dismal.
I think we’ve processed delete,
and we can get rid of it today,
so easily.
No, not this baby.
It’s here to stay,
grounded completely in time.
And that’s the storybook.
You hear me Houston?
Okay world,
I’m done.

A laughter love story,
it’s yours for the takin’,
divine word.
We laughed at ourselves for an hour,
and then just went to sleep.
Divine providence reads it.
I am so very careful with seer.
I don’t hit you over the head with
I am a chosen preacher,
and I am a the prophet;
God will destroy your city if you don’t;
He’ll make you eat your children.
Oh, I’m going too far.
Let us return to peace.
It’s a book about me,
but it’s not centered on me.
I am infallible,
that’s not me.
Look it’s God I want you to look at.
God is free.
Even in Supermind we adore Him.
Just wait and see.
Goodnight people.
Snorin’ dogs will put me to sleep,
and I’m complete.

The prophet speaks.
Will you shut up?
Align with me.
I am a seer see,
a poet-seer,
and there it is.
Will you shut up?
Rage puppy,
oh I forgot about that crowd.
How to burn a book
if it’s online?
Hackers,
they won’t let you read,
or they try and stop you.
Not the brightest crowd,
damn right dumb if you ask me.
What are they tryin’ to prevent,
manipulate public opinion?
Hey look,
they are so manipulative,
block you from reading material
that would make you think differently than them,
and that shows their superiority?
They just hate, you know?
She was singin’ bye bye Miss American Pie. [heard sung, by Don McLean]
If you leave me now. [heard sung, by Chicago]
Uh oh, we’re windin’ down.
See yah later.

Teacher, leave those kids alone. [heard sung, by Pink Floyd]
Shut up.
You’re just a Hostile power
mixin’ in my music.
I can recognize you,
see?
And we wrote it down,
the whole nine yards.
We’re done.

We’re ready to happen with society.
Brain pickings
five hours from now,
but that’s gonna last
so happily through the ages.
So long.
He reveals himself
that part of man’s mind that thinks of Him.
He reveals himself as a God link,
and that’s the driving of this book.
The author’s stuff,
his worry,
is just a vehicle to get there.

Totally devoted to You,
that’s where we’re goin’.
That’s the icing on the cake.
It doesn’t get any larger than this.
Do you understand my balance?
It’s a vehicle for this Earth.
Beings are a dime a dozen.
We get to know God.
Public spirit
we got there.
Supermind was just a stepping stone,
tremendous,
really, really big.
Come on let’s get going.

The stigma of the pedophile,
that’s not read today.
The stigma of the pedophile,
it won’t let anybody believe it.
You are not supposed to speak,
you’re feeling the taboo yes.
It’s a better book that way,
more real, innocent.
I would not be cosmic:30.
I would be a wharf in your room
where you can dig for deeper fishes.
I am so led by history you have no idea.
You just say no.
And no shelf
of no read
will keep this book from being read forever.
You’re intendin’ me some just by bein’ here.
Adios.

I peed in my pants.
I clean it all up.
Now showing in the depths of Auroville,
the liberal elite.
They don’t got any stakes higher than that.
As besieged as they are,
I’m on their shit list.
Now you wanna landmark?
There it is.
I ask you to read my book and pass it on to Auroville,
a pick me up,
right about now.
I remember thinking
what can you do?
Too angry to set fire to my words,
Aurolow is in a bad position.
We need to get them off the ground.
We need to get them started again.
The ways and means committee decides how much politics,
how much voice.
Everybody’s staying here tonight.
We’ve got a lot to go over.
That’s your package.
I’ll see yah in the morning.
Goodnight.

What do we do for air flyers?
You’re writing on her book.
Didn’t know she’d do that
after questioning the law from destruction,
and it started everything:
and help me I’m super.
We’re not gonna use your word.
Don’t just stand there and shoot human unity.
I’m sorry,
I stood between you and Tamils.
I am not that now,
and try not to be in on this shot:
the secretary will try to kill me,
once she gets a load of me.
I barely remember that from dream.
Dream exaggerates,
but you see the threat.
Now she’s a pole employee,
and that pole can be removed.
It’s all in the book.
Are yah hearin’me?

I’m on my way.
Here, make a story different,
make the whole thing different.
I’ve got your love at heart.
Piece me together, will yah?
The history of a lifetime
gets you a private school.
I’m lovely to your cold tablet.
Just pick me up.

You read it.
I can feel the shift.
To be interested in the best and the rest reading,
Auroville give me a glow.
I don’t think you understand I’m your seer,
and cities like you have always had one.
Why wouldn’t it be now?
Modern times exclude them?
You just don’t know what you’re looking at:
divine intervention
that a seer expresses to his world.
I didn’t get a chance to show you
years ago:
my mother and sorrow and with other man to eat,
the one I was years ago.
First thing do gonna take medicine,
what this book is on its most basic level.
Have it course,
have it now.
Stand for the movie.
You’re likely to get inspired by it.

He was so impress us.
His cells early had the light.
We gave him our middle finger.
Come and doubt
what make me visible again.
Is that yours?
I am, really, truly, here.
Can you forgive me?
Our museum,
no it’s crazy:
everywhere you come you die.
We just don’t know how to listen to kids.
We don’t know how to listen to anyone.
Alright Auroville, alright,
you have so much of my stuff.
He hung up,
and now it got weird.
You might say he had some friends.
They helped him—
Auroville live up to your charter.
Hide away,
here we go.
Ooh grandmother,
you’re serious.
That’s the Mother,
and she’s here,
sending modern letters to the captain
because of Brian.
Get ready.

Computer this is,
computer teaching,
your fault.
You’re acting the whole comes out,
and forget it.
It’s far from you.
People don’t understand the need to read human things.
We just hand-me-downs.
Hey buddy,
you’re not the only one
provide answers to humans.
A little tired baby,
a little headache braid,
that’s what it does to you,
the computer medium.
In heaven,
even if they die,
we’re gonna feel their aftereffects a long time.
They dangers in using them
put us all at ease.
Computers generate hostility.
There’s your Internet.
There it is plain.
Let’s get back to microphones
to call one another.
They mysteries of the airways have us all on our feet.
Are you listenin’ to this?
You don’t know it, do yah?
Now this book is processed
a room to say you’re sorry in.
Give it to people.
Alright everybody,
I’ve said enough.

A Medieval adventure,
why they after the camera?
A Hindu camera,
Islamic State in religious observation.
Fear this.
Nobody wants it,
especially the people who think they do.
Get it the Matrimandir,
they’ll eventually control India,
tougher even
than any Moslem fundamentalist regime.
Come on,
Auroville’s where we meet.
Every able-bodied person in the world
converge on Auroville.
Free it from government hands,
and bring it
to the uplifting of the world
a human unity center
and the place we create the new human being,
where love holds the door,
nothing authoritarian.
Come on let’s get out of here.

It is time for me to say
goodbye.
Who am I fool?
I can’t get read today
because of the tightly controlled races.
A computer never allow me.
Hero fantasies,
hero wars,
that’s what you’re doin’ online.
You don’t have a clue what’s goin’ on.
You’ll stop and tweet
to say somethin’ profound:
I don’t know what to do!

Manny you’re next,
but you’re naked.
Now I’ll tell yah,
just like there’s right action there’s right speaker,
and you’ve found him.
Here I am.
It’s that dog.
Yeah, it’s that dog.
You don’t have to worry.
I’m afraid you’ll never see me—
everybody’s censorship.
Put those on a month.
In less than a month
I’ll be in your garden.
Mornin’.

9/11 came from conflicts in Israel.
It happened there—
and you understand it.
Israel’s got the foreign policy of sharks.
Okay and we see that.
Now let’s go
channel her to humanity.
You know the flavor of this book.
It calls for peace in all settlements
in the land of Israel.
We’d need to help them do that.
You hear me?
Don’t fudge on this.
The Jews have to accept humanity, period.
It’s the only way out of this mess.
And we’ve got a sovereign State of Israel
learnin’ how to love the world.
Okay I gave you the book on that.
I mean we begin.

That will certainly relay the cosmic guitar
you get in Heaven.
It’s not a dust model.
It’s clear open and honest.
It’s good.
Throw the dust toy a limited view.
This is more about models,
sky history.
Paint it red and orange and gold.
Let’s get on with it,
building our reality.

My talking to the announcing editor also helps.
Who’s sleeping all in they’re a baby, isn’t it?
Nature added up the original score by banging it.
You see what I just did,
shaking it for to our understanding.
Memories of leaven filled the pie.
Seconds of the processing center,
listen to my voice,
you are still illegal in man’s eyes.
We get there from here,
to a whole lot of redemption.
Then it will have
live poetry reading.
That’s what you said.

Luna,
what are you doing?
That’s not your bag that’s Lisa’s.
Human awareness,
that’s your ordeal too.
Let’s bake this bread,
take this show on the road,
get right down to changin’ the world.
Would the world hear me?
Would it even care?
And we get the equipment,
regardless.

A monumental change
is happenin’.
You know what they say about the missing link?
That’s his file.
Wow, hallelujah.
That was hung over.
Look at that process,
a success.
They’re all over the place,
world ideas.
You can’t find them
on a regular news stream platform.
Now look behind you.
You’re going out of business.
Look they network.
They get to humanity despite you.
Blue line,
from orange to some practical gold,
ask anyone,
it’s the dream of humanity vision.
Oh my God it’s you.
See yah in the morning.

We’re thoughts on the line,
every picnic basket,
every universal human.
They’re in every principle place on the planet.
A milestone
this book is formed.
It reaches you anyway,
even if you don’t read it.
World process is not dependent on books.
They give rise to things already done.
They’re just a record.
What has bubbled to the surface for our keep?
Now I’m a national anthem,
and we employ a world chant too.
Peoples of the world unite.
We got a lot to do,
boy have we ever.

Sorry,
you’re hearin’ my boy in my arms,
sleepin’ away,
and a five-year-old
I let him be with me.
A ten-year-old would be big and little at the same time.
What I love you takes care of them.
They are so sweet and little, you know?
Look I’m tired.
We go to the lake in the morning.
We must be there
the finishing of the book.
That’s all I’ve doing, writing,
just about nonstop.
So long.

A five-year-old,
he hangs out with me.
I love my golden retriever,
and that’s the storyline.
We got it.
What are we doin’ here?
My God that’s bigger than answers.
You see?
And we’re ready to go.
We’re on world terms.
We’re where they happen.
We’re in sync with you.
I’m right here to inform you
a world is on our table.
Half exists
as a physical motion.
The other half’s comin’ out of the water now,
right before your very eyes,
bright world ideas dripping with change.
Gather ‘em up, move ‘em out.
We're in the light of time.
We’re there, you know,
a world round at your feet.

This is ridiculous.
Gotta get some sleep.
I hand you the world
for your good keeping.
Take and disrespect it no.
A world is at your eyes,
and like a child watch it grow.
That’s the large part,
and that’s our expression now.
A bell for humanity,
I’m showin’ you the way home.
I’m showin’ you
the large degree.
Keep it safe and warm.
It’s your very child.
He has such soft skin,
and I could hold him in my arms all night.
I usually do,
those nights he stays with me.
Goodnight.

Bruno,
stop pawin’ the boy.
Gimme your paw.
I’ll hold it too.
Dogs and kids,
the dogs are a little jealous.
Luna where you at?
Right at my very feet,
and we’ve got ourselves a convoy,
takin’ night to a good night’s sleep.
Sweet dreams.

Leelow stop beating your tail against the bed.
You fat dog.
I love you too.
I think we’ve counted everything
in the world’s bed
we need to draw attention to.
Stop flappin’ those ears Luna.
I know you’re here.
Please bear with me.
I can’t turn this off.
Ah, there it is,
the lever.
I hold you in my arms tonight
world.
He said he’s going to Cleveland.
Who pulled your chain?
Now goodnight.

He’s slept through this whole muse envision—
kids.
Oh God is that the fires of dawn?
Muse, let me go.
And we go.
Thank you.

I’m ahead
of where you think you are.
Okay that’s litter.
I’m in the beginning stages of man.
Try again.
I’m at world process, you know?
I think we’re comin’ along.
We Grasp the World Now.
I do. I do.
Good answer,
those risks
are quality,
and I’ve been showin’ you that all night long.

Oh the importance of dawn,
even birds sing it.
All the animals sing it,
it’s so good to see.
It lights up our world
with the responsibility
of daytime.
Now before we get out of bed,
let’s fly this room
right into dawn.
Done,
the book is finished.
Nitish sleeping with a jealous Bruno beside him. Photo by me.

Next post:

Epilogue of Ideas

Between Jerusalem I’m Sorry, Chapter 11

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

Now What About the Bathroom City Toy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next post:

Chapter 12

Between Jerusalem I’m Sorry, Chapter 1

SIX DAY WAR. ISRAELI PARATROOPERS STAND IN FRONT OF THE WESTERN WALL IN JERUSALEM by David Rubinger (public domain)

Where White Puts Supremacy Last

On a bright day in Jerusalem in 1995, a young woman approached our little hunger strike camp like a Buddhist goddess, with her flowing orange robes, crew cut, and a face made out of sunshine, or so it seemed, and I was immediately enchanted. Walking straight up to Lars and I, my partner in the hunger strike, she deferred to us like we were kings, calling us hunger strikers like it was a title that meant we were God’s gift to the world, and we just ate it up, since we both secretly considered ourselves such a gift, and we gave her our complete attention, fell over ourselves to seat her there in the center of the world with us, fooled like everyone is by where our senses place us in the scheme of things, dead center. Hen-ya was a master at this disguise and was not aware she was wearing any, had lost herself completely in the part she played, a young Jewish woman defying the powers that be, embracing another religion, and daring to love everyone, but I could not see her self-ruse at the time so lost was I in mine.

I’d have followed her anywhere, and when she urged us to go to Safed after the strike, it was there I would go, Lars going back to Denmark for some soul searching, having his individual world somewhat altered by the intense clash with the world itself. He had, alone unto himself, considered himself the Mahdi of Islam, having converted in Iran and been treated special because he was a Caucasian convert, the only one around. Not understanding why he was the honored guest at every household he went to, all that special treatment went to his head, but the Golden Gate did not open to him when he touched it, when we were taping poems of mine on it one midnight standing on our tippy toes on Muslim gravestones, and it was supposed to open for the Mahdi according to some prophecies, and that had sort of rocked his secret ‘I am the one’ world, not to mention someone else in his face constantly reminding him others saw themselves at the center of the world too. That person was me.

Returning to the present of this story, it happened that after the strike, which wasn’t a real hunger strike because we drank milk and vegetable puree, although we technically didn’t eat anything, everyone went their separate ways except Zeke and I, who went with Hen-ya to Safed. Although Lars and I were the only ones not eating, by the time we finished, Easter and Passover of that year, 1995, a small band of people had joined us at our camp. Most were backpackers who wanted to be part of something interesting, but two were perpetual pilgrims who had made careers vagabonding the Holy Land: Zeke, a Russian Jew, Torah scholar, and Kabbalist in his 5o’s, and Andre, a self-proclaimed Catholic monk from French speaking Belgium just turning 30, who figures in the story from Tongues “Without a Miracle a Few Fools Salvaged Hope”. It was Zeke who had persuaded us to stay in our camp early on when a group of young Palestinian men had threatened to kill us if we didn’t leave, our test of fire during our action. It’s not an absolute rule of world action, but it happens often enough to be a guideline: when you draw a definite line in this world, stand up for anything with enough force, your resolve will be tested. Watch what happens with anyone that proclaims they love the world: someone will come along that shows them to be a hypocrite. Sorry Ari.

Safed, in the north of Israel in the Galilee district, is the highest city in Israel and is considered a center of Kabbalistic learning, or became so after 1492 when Jews were expelled from Spain, but my search there for mystical practice yielded no results, only what seemed to me a confusion between that and being ultra-orthodox, although my search was admittedly limited by language and culture. I slept in the old cemetery and in the bushes of a small park in the artist’s quarter, spending only three or four nights inside in my month or so there. I was used to that since I’d been sleeping outside during the three weeks of the strike, but of course I wanted to be indoors. Zeke, being Jewish, easily found houses to sleep at. My dream life was quite enhanced in Safed, and not only was there a lot of lucidity but also very deep dreaming, and it was apparent to me that the location was quite conducive to inner exploration, either because it had been used for such over a long period of time or because it was just naturally situated to be such, like an unusual mountaintop in a region or a strange and special place in a natural area, but it’s probable it’s for both reasons.

It was in Safed that I came to terms with my inexplicable Jewish identity that had been coming up in dream for years. I reasoned that maybe it was because I was circumcised, but that wasn’t sufficient to explain it to myself. It felt more substantial than just having a conditioned penis. While there I explored the possibility of converting, after having a powerful lucid dream about what Jewish identity meant. It was set in some European city sometime before WWII, judging from the 1930’s style clothes. I walked into a city square, a plain one surrounded by brick buildings without any grass. There was a large pile of kippahs about a meter high in the center where the fountain usually is in a square. After a moment of deliberation, I took one off the pile and put it on. As I did, a young, married Jewish couple walked by arm in arm, and the man saw I’d put on the kippah, and he said, ”You know what that means don’t you, putting on a kippah? It means you’re a Jew, and that means being part of a people.” The sense was not any kippah would fulfill that for me, only one from that pile. That I was lucid added a lot more weight to my decision, as though my waking self had made it, not only my dreambody.

Of course that I was surrounded by young Jewish Americans exploring their Jewish identity aided my feeling to convert, not to mention where I was, but I ultimately decided against it because I didn’t want to become an orthodox Jew, which was at that moment in Israel the only way to become Jewish, and there were two kibbutzes that specialized in that, where I’d go if I converted. Besides, it wasn’t the religion I identified with, not in the least; it was the people part of it that I identified with, but that’s what makes one’s Jewish identity so difficult to explore: can you be a Jew and not practice Judaism? Or put differently: can you separate Judaism from being Jewish? That’s a question that probably has as many answers as there are Jews, but all I knew was that if you want to convert you have to go through the religious side, and I didn’t want to do that nor had that calling. The real reason I didn’t convert, unbeknownst to me at the time, however, was I was being called to another path. To this day, my Jewish identity still comes up in dream, but I know now where it’s coming from, but you won’t easily believe it unless you hear how it fits into my life story.

I was born in 1961 into a White Protestant lower class family that became middle class during my early adolescence, after a divorce and split. The identifiers, i.e., what group identities were most stressed while my ego was being formed, were being a Duke, White, American, Texan, southern, and male. I should mention that the southern identification was with the South of the Civil War, as the Confederate flag, heroes, and symbols of the South peppered my childhood world. My father regularly schooled me on the inferiority of both non-Whites and women, and it was his attitude in regards to the latter that made my mom ultimately divorce him when I was six. Although a racist and bigot, he was not anti-Semitic, and I never heard him belittle Jews. He greatly admired Israel, and it was a country regularly put before me as deserving of respect, mainly because it was able to defend itself so well against what seemed overwhelming odds.

I remember once he was driving the family down the road, right before the divorce and right after the Six-Day War, and he was turning his head back and talking to me in the backseat, as he did often while driving, as though my mom and sister weren’t even there, and he was telling me about Israel, how it had been surrounded on every side since its birth, by nations that wanted to wipe it out, and it had just beat them all again. That, he told me, was a nation to admire.

He didn’t, however respect Black people. He taught me often that African Americans were an inferior race, were little more than monkeys. He called them niggers. So did, inceidentally, every other White person I knew except my teachers at school and the clergy of our church. One day, when I was four or five, and we were getting out of the car to go to the house, I saw the only Black family on our street standing in front of their house, a couple of houses down from ours, just the mom and dad, and I went up to them and told them “my daddy said you were monkeys,” said it loudly and proudly. They looked a bit stricken but didn’t say anything. I’ll never forget them standing there silently looking at me the way they did. They weren’t mad and didn’t even seem offended. They looked very sad and looked at me like you’d look at a small child that didn’t know what he was saying. It did not match with the behavior of monkeys, and even then I could sense a discrepancy, and I teetered a moment looking at what I now know was their humanity, what it was they were showing to me, but then I marched back to my family, thinking my dad would be proud of me. He was embarrassed, as was my mom. I didn’t understand why he was. After all, he’d taught me that so confidently and righteously. He didn’t scold me, but he did tell me that I wasn’t to do that to Black people. Our neighborhood of Southpark was in the preceding years to experience what was called back then White flight, and in time the racial demographics changed completely from a predominantly White neighborhood to a predominantly Black one.

It would bear mentioning that among the kids that I played with on my street, Southmund, and I lived at 5918, we all identified with the Rebels and not the Yankees, as the Civil War was a common theme of our kid talk, like it’d just happened a few years back. I do not know, nor can remember, why, except to say that the Confederacy was such a part of our culture. Once I told my older sister Gwen that I liked the Yankees, and I always secretly identified with them, since I liked the blue uniforms better and the fact they were Americans, and I really identified with being an American. Gwen said she’d tell Pepal, my father’s father, who owned and worked a small farm in East Texas, one I’d live on as an older child. I remember how serious she was—you know how kids are—and how afraid I was that she’d tell Pepal, as if it would’ve gotten me in big trouble. I immediately took it back and said I liked the Rebels.

When I’d return to Houston after living on the farm, I’d be an avid reader, and I liked to read war stories mostly, and on the war shelf in my school, George A. Thompson Intermediate, there were biographies of all the Confederate heroes, and I read every one of them. There weren’t many biographies of Union heroes that I remember. There was, however, a book I kept passing over, because it was about a young Union soldier, and I actually felt guilty to even leaf through its pages, like someone would see me and tell someone, the historical novel Rifles For Watie. It turned out to be the best book I read about war while in that school. With such an obvious effort to keep the Confederacy’s memory alive in a school library, you would not wonder over the fact that the city of Pasadena, Texas, whose school district I attended, had a sign at each of its city limits well into the 60’s that read, “Nigger don’t get caught here when the sun goes down.” It also had a KKK bookstore that stayed open until the end of the 70’s. More than one kid in my high school went there to get material for book reports. I visited it when I was 17, and, although I was of the cowboy crowd, called KIKKers in my high school because of the country and western radio station KIKK that the cowboy crowd listened to, I felt as though I was in enemy territory and looked at the guy behind the counter as a goon. I went there with my two best friends at the time, both KIKKers, and they felt the same way. The book reports, too, were not pro KKK. There’s a hard thing to get across here, and that is, although people of my immediate culture were racist and still identified with the Confederacy, and even the popular country radio station’s call sign sounds a lot like KKK, most anyone I was ever around growing up didn’t like the KKK itself, did not take their ill will towards Blacks that far, not even my racist father.

Although racism against Blacks was a common feature growing up, and I went to school with many Black children, who, however, made up a small minority of the schools I went to in and around Houston, I didn’t encounter much anti-Semitism, other than I’d hear someone being called a Jew if they were stingy with money, which is of course still anti-Sematic, and there was only one Jewish person that I remember in elementary school, Kelso Elementary (a part of H.I.S.D.), a girl who sat beside in second grade, but I never saw her harassed by the other kids or singled out by the teacher for being Jewish, and I knew that she was Jewish because she talked about it often, as it was such a part of her identity. I didn’t look at her any differently than if she were Presbyterian or something, as my family were Baptists. I remember that she was quite headstrong for a girl, vocal and not hesitant to stand up for herself, and we clashed along gender lines, as per dad’s indoctrination. I actually had a crush on her that I never could quite admit to myself, and I was a romantic lad, had had girlfriends since kindergarten.

In high school I had a Jewish girlfriend with those attributes, Rachael, but she had converted to Christianity, something strongly opposed by her family, and I faced off with her older brother a couple of times over it (she and I were 15 and freshmen), but I just thought he and his family were ignorant of the truth, since at that time I was a ‘Jesus person’, (Jesus freak to my classmates), that is, fanatically devout and evangelical, and so in my mind Christianity was the only true religion. But I did begin to understand that being Jewish meant more than being simply a Presbyterian or such, and that there was something stronger about being Jewish than at that time I could put my finger on.

I don’t remember when I first heard about the Holocaust, or realized what I’d been seeing in the media and whatnot all my life in regards to it was an event called the Holocaust, but I do remember, once that realization came, that I was baffled as to why Jews would be singled out. Hitler and his henchmen were in my mind the face of evil itself, and it was the same for my society, as this was only the 60’s, and WWII was yet fresh in the Western collective mind. When my reason was sufficiently developed, I attributed it to Hitler’s madness and the insane evil of the Nazis, but of course my reason was informed by my society. As I got older I began to understand the need in human society for scapegoats, and the more authoritarian a society the more violent would be the singling out of scapegoats, and, as I saw it, Jews in Germany at the time were the most convenient target.

That is certainly true, but could the willingness to accept them as the scapegoat have anything to do with the behavior and/or attitude of Jews themselves? What we have lost in the Western time spirit’s adamant directive against blaming the victim is the whole picture behind any occurrence of people harming other people, and I must say the issue here isn’t just harm but attempted genocide, which is all the more reason to be open to seeing the whole of the matter: so it doesn’t happen again, to any people, and that it has and continues to this day may have something to do with the fact that we hold the victim aboslute in their innocence of becoming and being the victim, will not admit any ‘fault’ on their part that might’ve made them targets in the first place. Wearing kid gloves, with an attitude of respect, I aim to question Jewish bigotry in the light of the persecution Jews have faced. Don’t count me wrong. I’m of the opinion there is no justification for persecuting anybody. Just listen.

In college I worked for three years as a doorman, valet, and concierge for a high-rise condo complex in Houston, Four Leaf Towers, and many of the residents were Jewish. I was an employee popular with the residents, and I was well taken care of, although I had to pay the price of my privacy, as I’ll explain later. Working graveyard, I was an ear for some who had no one else to talk to about things, and one of the residents who came regularly to talk was a concentration camp survivor. He never talked directly about his experiences in the camp, but he showed me his tattoo, as did others there. They were, in my mind, people to care for and listen to. As an undergrad minoring in History, I’d come across many firsthand accounts of the Holocaust in my studies, as part of my class work and what I pursued on my own, that event in history standing out to me as holding some key to our evil that, if we could find it, could possibly show us how to heal human evil itself.

It’s pertinent to the story to mention here that during those three years of employment there I was a post-baccalaureate studying Classical Greek at the University of Houston. I had no major but did have a focus, once, that is, I dropped my plans to do graduate work in the History of Science. I wanted to learn, which was a project of self-study, the process of both individual ego transcription and how we became human beings apart from other animals in the first place, where human identity came from and how it’s continued with each child we have. Greek was a doorway into the ancient world as well as a means whereby I learned to think, as learning that language broadened and deepened my ability to think, and think creatively, as much of ancient Greek writing of significance is poetry. It also helped keep me, along with my job, grounded in the outer world.

It was during that time I had a spiritual experience that rearranged the identifiers in my ego, or a series of experiences I should say (and include in that metaphysical experiences) that showed me we not only share a field of consciousness, are connected to one another in our inner lives, and communicate with each other therein, but that we also share identity, and my racial, familial, national, religious, regional and gender identities became flimsy things only skin deep, not who or what I was, although I am still influenced by them. Focused on the inmost feelings of another human being around the world is how I might put what it’s like to identify with humanity as whole, and it’s not a decision I made that I try and live up to; it’s who I feel I am, a human being first and foremost, here in the flesh among human groupings that is, however much I fail to treat everyone with the same importance I give myself, as my ego has not been surpassed, just rearranged, where humanity has become the group I identify with as opposed to some grouping within humanity.

It’s this identity I took to Israel, one human-wide despite my failings, and I was very surprised to be discriminated against by Jews because I wasn’t Jewish, just about every time I turned around, as I’d naively thought that Jews, because they had been discriminated against so harshly and for so long, would not be prejudiced against anyone. Chalk it up to not understanding human nature, how we tend to become victimizers if we’ve been victimized, turn around and find our own scapegoats if we’ve been scapegoated. It’s important to mention that I knew next to nothing of the treatment of the Palestinians at the hands of the Israelis (not all Israelis) until I heard and saw this firsthand in Israel.

It’s not easy to identify the problem, simpler to assign blame to this people or that, but once you see the problem it becomes rather obvious, like the snake you didn’t see in the grass in front of you: humanity is divided into groups, along many lines, racial, religious, national, regional, gender, etc., the group being part of the very identity of the individuals in it, stressed by ritual and whatnot to every child from birth onwards, and each group puts itself before the other groups, not always in theory but how it happens in practice, and no group identifies with humanity as a whole more than it identifies with itself, puts humanity before itself in importance, acts in the best interests of humanity at the expense of itself when faced with a choice of putting one before the other. If you stop and consider this for some time, recognizing that the overlay of the ideal to ‘treat everyone equally’ is only that, an overlay, not how either you or anyone else always or even often behave, the problem will become crystal clear. It will be the solution we’re looking at in that clarity.

“You’ve got to be kidding me Zeke. Human unity means nothing to you when it comes to your Jewishness? You’re a Jew before anything, feel you’re one more than a human being?” I was exasperated at him, having just been abandoned by him for the second time in a moment of need, when I was being discriminated against because I wasn’t a Jew, and one of the main topics of our conversation had been, up to that point, the ideal of human unity. We were in Safed, standing near the back wall of the artist’s quarter, having gone there so not to be heard, as he knew I had a bone to pick with him about not being Jewish. On the other side of the wall was the cemetery, which was quite large and occupied a downward slope of the mountain. The city was on the top of the mountain, which wasn’t like mountain mountain, with ragged slopes towering to the sky, but you wouldn’t call it a hill either.

“Why yes of course,” he said with the same sweet smile he always wore. That’s just what I couldn’t get over, how equal he seemed to all things, was a person you couldn’t make mad or even offend, did not ride the usual emotional rollercoaster most of us ride, although he did get a little upset when, in the chaos of our camp being temporarily turned up-side down by the aforementioned Palestinians who’d come to threaten us with being murdered, all his Hebrew dictionaries and references were stolen. A short, little, skinny man with an almost perpetual happy face, offset somewhat by peering eyes intently regarding the world, he was the first person to give me an email address, as he used the net back then, and I remember thinking how nerdy he was, how I’d never use such a thing to communicate with him or anyone else, ignorant at that time like most were of how the net would soon become the preferred postal service of humanity, would become virtually the world for many if not most of the literate among us. Here, however, with his blatant racism, what I’d come to call religious racism upon leaving Safed, he was neither being equal nor pioneering. What he’d been was a coward.

“You don’t think that’s wrong?” I asked.

“Morality has nothing to do with it. It’s a matter of what it means to be Jewish.”

“Even when it means just standing there and letting your friend be treated like a dog? You were such a coward, and that’s the second time.” It had happened that we went to a Moshav on Shabbot, near the time of the second shabbis meal, the big dinner of the week. I’d been taunted from the moment the men there learned I wasn’t Jewish, young men, native Israelis, who held me in such contempt I could feel it assaulting me like blows. They had started out by asking me if I liked Wagner, and not wanting to show my ignorance of Classical music, not knowing Wagner was greatly liked by the Nazis, and that I was being asked the question to see if I identified with the Nazis, I didn’t answer right away. My hesitation they took for a yes. Finally I said I didn’t know the composer, but it didn’t matter what I said. They assumed all non-Jews were Nazi-like in their hatred of Jews, and here was a non-Jew, a Nazi-lover as they saw me, and so I got blasted with their hatred, the kind that uses the power of the sneer and cruel laugh as opposed to actual blows, but it hurt nonetheless.

I had looked to Zeke and my other friends who came with us for some support, which included the all-compassionate Hen-ya, but they ignored my eyes asking for help, just sort of looked down shuffling their feet and such. I was bewildered, as I hadn’t expected this, could not make any sense of it, not only the ridicule but my ‘friends’ not standing up for me. The men rudely told me I couldn’t eat there in the house with everyone else, had to eat in the barn, and still my friends didn’t say a word, and to the barn I went, feeling like a whipped dog. Lucky for me they had an omega member, as all human groups do, a non-native Israeli from New York, older than the others. He lived in the barn, and we shared dinner together. He told me not to let it bother me, as that’s the way things were, but I could see he wasn’t too happy about his low position in the group. It happened that he had all the volumes of The Zohar there in the barn, the basic authority on the Kabbalah, although people I asked about the Kabbalah were adamant about it not being in a book. After we ate, I asked him some questions about the books as I flipped through them, and then we talked some of mystical experience, which he didn’t have, or none really he could count on his fingers, he becoming intrigued at mine, as I knew he would. I guess I bragged to feel bigger than being put in the barn made me feel, but I was a braggart in the best of circumstances.

The first time Zeke abandoned me was while we were still in Jerusalem, just before we posted my poems all around the Temple Mount, as it’s known to the Jews at least. It was just past dark, again on Shabbot, and we were sitting on a tourist bench inside the ruins of a Christian church right above the Wailing Wall. It’s hard to get a picture of the surroundings on the black and white of this page, but it was a bit like being back in Biblical times, the way the darkness meshed with the ancient scene in the seat of my feelings. I was explaining the meaning of a couple of my poems, when out of nowhere there appeared four or five men dressed in black wearing the kind of hat men wore in the 40’s, looking to me like the Gestapo. I’m sorry, but that’s the way they looked to me in that moment, as they wore that attitude. They were angry and asking if I were trying to convert Zeke to Christianity. They spoke good English. Stumbling on my words, I managed to blurt out that I was just showing my friend my poems. One of them snatched the poem I was reading out of my hand and read over it a few seconds and proclaimed, “This is gibberish!” It was the poem “Speaking of the Devil”. I could say here: “and speak of the devil,” but the irony isn’t lost to you, or is it? That he considered it nonsense and hence not a threat to his religion got me off the hook, but his pronouncement on the poem rather stung. Then they turned and questioned Zeke, very kindly, as though talking to a child, as they recognized him as being Jewish, but they had to confirm that. They then asked him to come with them to dinner, to their house, to share in the Shabbis meal, and I was sure he’d say no, so as not to abandon me, but I was surprised to find his face light up with an immediate bright yes, and off they went, leaving me alone in the dark with my poems in hand and wondering over exactly what had just happened.

Partly because of these reasons and also because it was the happening place in Safed for young people at that time, I began to hang out less with Zeke and Hen-ya and more at Avraham’s art studio, which was in the artist’s quarter of the old city. It had been a large Arab house, which consisted of a main house, courtyard, and a couple of out buildings surrounded by a wall. In 1948 all the Arab inhabitants of Safed had fled, after a plan to kill all the Jewish inhabitants on the part of the Arab Liberation Army had failed, leaving the former inhabitants’ homes open for Israelis. The now art studio and home of Avraham was one of these. Of course it certainly helped my inclination to hang out there that most of the young people, including Avraham, were fellow Americans.

A common language and culture are powerful magnets, and they are not wrong magnets, as neither are the magnets of a common race or religion, or gender or sexuality for that matter. It’s when a magnet sees itself and its members as the only real human beings, or the most important, that it becomes a magnet that’s a force that acts, however slightly, to destroy humanity and not ensure our survival. Up to this point in our history we’ve had a world that could contain this ignorance of which I speak, putting a grouping within humanity first and not humanity itself, at, however, a huge cost, which is as plain as the nose on our face. We’re rapidly approaching the point where the world cannot sustain us separated in this ignorance of the superiority of our group, which also should be as plain as the nose on our face. Let us not let it become the writing on the wall, but, knowing us, it will. That won’t be the end of the world though; it’s our usual call to action: we have no choice.

Avraham was a young man from America who had made Aliyha, which means he came to Israel declaring himself Jewish and thereby was more or less automatically accepted as a citizen, once his Jewish identity was verified, to say it concisely. I don’t remember where in the States he was from, but I don’t believe it was New York or New Jersey, like most of the young Jews I met there. He was a struggling artist supported by his parents, who lived in America and came to visit him while I was there. They were quite rich, how Avraham could swing having a studio. His canvases consisted of collages of cut out Hebrew letters and Jewish symbols with a dab of painting here and there, nothing even remotely resembling art, but, as he was the man, the one you saw for a shower, a meal, a hangout spot or whatnot, you didn’t make negative comments on his work, and most just didn’t say anything. He was quite tall and rather slender, youthful looking, with dark hair and eyes but a friendly and open face that smiled easily but could get wrapped up in a frown just as easily, not so much a frown on others, the kind of frown that tried to deal with adverse circumstance, and that’s what I’ll say about him, he tried.

Whatever talent you had, the way the place was scheduled, you could sit in the courtyard at a certain time of day and show it to a small audience, the regulars hanging out there, which consisted mainly of young American Jews who’d made Aliyha and lived nearby and ones that had been just passing through on their tour of Israel but had decided to stay awhile because of the happening scene. Non-Jews were welcome to show their stuff too, and at that moment it seemed no distinction was made between Jew and non, but that would change in the days ahead, partly because of my poetry and for reasons that became apparent later. I had read a couple of poems of mine in that venue and was so enthusiastic about my poetry and performing it (whether it has any poetic merit or not, and I’m now inclined to say no or not much), I managed to convince Avraham and the ‘core members’ to allow me to do organize a poetry reading in the courtyard, where I’d be the MC and a poet reading his own poems.

I called the reading Noise From the Innerwho, and I’d started it as a monthly gathering in the veteran’s center of the small American town I’d been exiled from, Garberville, California, what I speak of in the Tongues series. I was a cross between the town prophet and town fool, more emphasis on the latter I see now in my later years, where I’m still the fool, jumping up and down and waving on blogs, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Medium, and Internet Archive saying, “I’m still here!” You aren’t liable to give me a medal.

The poetry reading was a monthly show I put together mainly with the homeless population of Garberville, but poets also came to read from the general population. It was there I first began taping up poems of mine around town, on bulletin boards and in front of places significant to the community, doing that twice before I had to leave town in the dead of night, a public fall that gave rise to the journey of redemption the Tongues story wags on, a story the town never heard, a redemption that never happened. While all of human society would at this moment disagree with me, it takes the support of a community to bring a person out of their bad in the same spirit it takes a village to raise a child.

Even before the reading in Safed, I’d begun to clash with people over not being Jewish, since I was quite present in their circle, unlike the other non-Jews, who showed up one day and were gone the next, and it wasn’t like there were many of them either. With Zeke’s help I’d gotten a backbreaking part time job removing large stones from old abandoned houses that lined a street near there, not getting paid enough to stay in a guesthouse or hotel, just enough not to be a beggar. My afternoons and evenings were spent with the crowd at the studio, my fellow Americans, who were mainly there to explore the religious side of being Jewish, and so the Torah and Talmud were major topics of conversation as well was what it meant to practice daily being a religious Jew, an orthodox Jew but not an ultra-orthodox one, not a Hasidic Jew. They were learning to observe Jewish law, all 613 of them, although in my understanding some of the laws were for olden times and could not easily be applied to the modern day. In such a circle of course the non-Jew would be a bit of a problem. Most had had a secular university education, which was clashing with their adoption of such strict religious beliefs, internal clashes which added to the clash they had with me, although I did not try and dissuade them from becoming religious and observing their law, as I was torn at that time over the question to be or Jew or not to be. What I did wrong was just be my mystical, bragging self.

At that time, and for a long time in my adult life I am sorry to say, I wore my metaphysical and spiritual experiences like merit badges and readily proclaimed them to anyone who spoke with me of anything religious or spiritual. If that wasn’t enough, those experiences topped anyone else’s I had ever encountered in person (I am sorry but what can I say?), and I regularly had lucid dreams, and every so often out of body experiences, where I explored reality with a passion, always having a question to ask or task to complete when I got my conscious will online in sleep. Even most of my ‘unconscious’ dreams were quite vivid and interesting stories in themselves, and anyone around me when I woke up got an earful of what I’d experienced during sleep, although I was also keenly interested in what whomever had experienced, and being around me meant talking about your dreams and things first thing in the morning. If you didn’t remember your dreams or they weren’t all that lustrous, then you could not help but feel a little outshined, quite inadequate I’d imagine. I’m sorry.

I was oblivious to this so wrapped up I was in being me. I’ve since learned it’s really our most basic difficulty in relating to one another, one I yet grapple with, what it is about human relations, or our relations with other forms of life, that’s the stick in the mud. I’m talking about the weird and enigmatic way we are situated here on earth, so common we don’t even question it, where our senses put us in the center of the world with a vivid inner life environing everything our senses engage, but we don’t hear or see the inner life of others (not directly that is), neither feel their bodily pain nor pleasure, only our own, certainly don’t see others sharing the center of the world with us a center unto themselves, see in the sense of know it because that’s how we experience it, however much we can infer others do by how obvious it is that they do. When you add all that up you get a world where it’s not only not easy to love your neighbor as yourself but also damn hard to see any and everyone as you see yourself: centrally placed. You get a world where we can turn our backs to one another at the drop of a hat, kill each other over the turn of a phrase, or just sit and spout about ourselves at the expense of others.

Although I used some Christian symbols in my poetry, I’d left Christianity, had quite suddenly put my Bible down at 17, realizing religion was just a set of clothes I’d put on and not a good stand in for an actual relationship with God, God being something or someone I still believed in. It was just religion I rejected. But about three years later, at 21, going out the door of an aircraft as a Green Beret in the army, I realized I hadn’t done the usual prayer and rededication to Christ before I jumped as I always did, no matter how strongly I’d resolved not to do that before going out the door; I realized I’d fully become an atheist, what I was by that time (1982) except at those scary moments in an aircraft seconds before a jump. Only God knows if there are any atheists in foxholes, but I’d imagine so, although in the army I never heard a shot fired in anger and can only reason there are. In any event, being an atheist notwithstanding, I continued to question the makeup of my reality, in my inner life as well as in my outer, explore both with a passion that enabled me to surpass the normal limits. As my muse says, “Passionate people alter space.” And so I didn’t remain an atheist, as I don’t think anyone would if they went out of the bounds of everyday life, and it was God they went out there to find, but neither did I simply just decide by my reason or emotion that God is, did not use belief. What initiated those three years of metaphysical and spiritual experiences I’ve spoken about, that happened before my trip to Israel, to place us in the story, was going beyond the forms of our world and encountering, with my very own eyes, a very different answer to the question of God.

The rule moves on and you need love— [line heard sung]
a holistic speaker.
Let's not damage Jews.
They're everywhere.
They're so much of ourselves.
We get bigger all the time.
We need to understand somethin':
you won't find a separate people.
They don't exist.
We are humanity.
A group exists in that,
and that's its very nature,
no matter how much they conceive themselves a separate group.
Our world depends on this.
You hear humanity?
We need each other,
and a people survives on that,
great the people are.

Next post:

Chapter 2
Questions by the Moon

Between Jerusalem I’m Sorry, Introduction

Lars Nørgaard, from Denmark, my hunger striking partner, made this flyer in March 1995

Introduction

I am the non-Jewish traveler in Israel, that one [1], that did a three-week hunger strike for peace in Jerusalem and afterwards taped poems of mine on holy sites in the old city, on the top of Mt. Sinai and inside and around the Great Pyramid in Egypt. This is the story of after Jerusalem and before the mountain and pyramid postings, a five month period in 1995 when I was in-between actions, when I was a vagabond sleeping outdoors more than in, when the Internet was yet too young to be the world wall or whatnot I posted my poems on. Those actions are told in a series of stories entitled, “A Journey of a Thousand Tongues”, posted on the world wide web, a stand in for honest to God face me reality, where we are yet but stand ins for human beings and not actual living and breathing people a world unto ourselves, or at least that’s how we act with one another on the net, where value is not put in terms of quality but in how great a diversion something gives. Nonetheless, it’s where I’m publishing this book, because of the absence of the usual censors, who most likely wouldn’t let this book pass. I doubt you’ll find a book that’s that hits us in the quick of our social selves more. Netizen, you’re in for a wild ride of a read.

You know about memory? Number one, no two people will remember the same event the same way, and even the same person will give slightly different accounts of it as time goes on, because memory gets things mixed up over time, puts this after that when this came first, forgets what a location was wearing, can’t remember this name but remembers that one (oftentimes more the name that did you wrong than did you good), adds things that weren’t there (usually things that make you look better), gets rid of things that were there (things that make you look bad), and it exaggerates events to make them more interesting or you more the hero or victim. Yet the mind is sure the story’s true when told. Dialogue is especially difficult, impossible really, since you basically just have to make it up when relating what was said (why I use it sparingly), trying as best you can to capture the gist of the conversation, if, that is, you are trying your best to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and many of us aren’t. It isn’t only Hollywood that embellishes stories to make them sellable. We all do that a certain extent, even when we don’t want to.

That’s just the way memory works, unless you’re under hypnosis or something, or the whole thing was filmed, the conversation taped, and even then there’ll be debate. It makes narrative nonfiction part fiction no matter how you slice it, why I imagine the genre autofiction has come about in the first place: just to admit at the get go you’re not letting the facts get in the way of the story, to quote partly Farley Mowat, author of The Dog Who Wouldn’t be and Never Cry Wolf. You might wonder if he’s not doing that with his attitude to the truth. Getting the facts as accurate as possible gives the story more reality, and that’s what I’m doing, showing you, as best I can, as much of reality as I can. If you haven’t seen sides of it I’m going to show, then I’m doing my job. My muse however, which gives the inner perspective on the happenings of the outer world, has been insistent on adding the following: “I don’t think facts life earth.” Since it’s basically also the inner that remembers events, it seems the deck’s stacked against a 100% factual narrative of any event in the whole history of us.

It’s all so normal, so everyday, but, when you look at it, it’s out of this world. I’m talking about the fact that we are only here for some seconds before here becomes a there you cannot go to again save by a faulty, elusive memory. It’s a little scary too. Did that really happen, I mean, anything that we’ve experienced? Past experience has a will-o-wisp feel about it, can make you doubt the reality of reality itself. When you top that off with the fact that you only hear your inner life and not that of anyone else’s, as if you’re the only real one around, even though you know you aren’t, know with the same sense you know you’re real, you get the strangest world, impossible to capture with so many words.

Now let’s just get down to business. What’s at the bottom of racism and bigotry? I explore that, with an eye on how to heal it, but I’m not looking at it through the usual lens, the Black and White card of racism, although I do look through that lens quite often in this book, as a way to see more clearly the main focus here, which is something that is not officially allowed to even be named, much less examined, without you yourself being charged with racism. It’s a no name situation. This book exams the bigotry I experienced being a non-Jew in Israel, not only by religious Jews but also by Jewish American university students and graduates, and it was so ‘don’t sit at the table with us’ it felt like the lines weren’t being drawn on religious lines but on racial ones, like there was a fundamental difference between us in our very humanity, and I was the inferior type among them. Many Jews will tell me I’m being anti-Semantic just by saying this, but I’ll tell you what I felt: I was the Black American trying to be seen not as nigger but as a human being. You know, maybe it’s here, in this unwieldy, unmentionable thing, the bigotry of Jewish people, not all Jews by any means, but enough it was the main course on the table, humble pie, when I was a gentile in the land of Israel, and I seriously doubt I’m the only person that’s ever experienced this, that we just might find the heart itself of Western racism, and in so doing, have an eye yet to heal the world’s.

Yet this book isn’t about racism, and it doesn’t put Jews low on the rank card in terms of being human (if you’re not Jewish you might be offended where I do place them on the totem pole). Racism’s the tool I use, the jumping off place, in order to get at world origin and human meaning. Can you think of a better one? And if those two inscrutable, cabalistic things aren’t enough, I will take this book all the way to spiritual enlightenment and beyond, all the way to God, mentioning even devils in-between, and I’ll do that with my very hands and feet, not just my mind and mouth, and, believe me, you’ve never read anything like it in your life.

You’re sitting right there a you. The complexities of the relationship between us preclude any real knowledge of me, I mean that you taste me as substantial as you taste yourself, and, like me, you taste yourself bigger than you appear, much bigger of course than me at this moment. That’s just human nature. But read this book, and another person will become real to you in taste, become a taste of your very self. That person is this author. You game?

Because curd rice
is a healthy alternative to chicken.
Center for where things go alone.
Are you anti-Semitic?
I think you see the healthy alternative:
examine racism in all its forms.
That's the hero of the day.
We get rid of racism that way.
Now let's go.

You’ve added onto barley.
This smells the world.
Tell me about it,
a feature of muse.
Come on let’s go ride the mountain,
a lonely seer’s voice in time,
the exclamation of the book.
I’m modal thinking.
I’m reachin’ for everything
that will knock your socks off.
You’ve got the book.

Chapter 1
Where White Puts Supremacy Last

Title of tomorrow’s post
I’ll be publishing this book serially, daily, or thereabouts,
unless circumstances don’t allow that.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

[1] The writing of this book resulted from the efforts I made over a period of months to get Ari Mahler to speak to me after he accepted my friend request on Facebook. He never did, although finally a personal friend of his did and told me basically to be quiet, that he was a public figure and to leave him alone, and I did but began this book, which has been some three years in the writing, put down, picked up again, and now picked up to finish and significantly edit all I wrote before. Ari wrote the famous Facebook post: “I am The Jewish Nurse. Yes, that Jewish Nurse. The same one that…