My Scarlet Letter

The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli

Matala, Crete 2002 (living at the caves)

 (A later and more science-minded description of the experience of supermind that is described in this present narrative can be found in the published essay: “The Sponsored Man
What’s Bigger than the Universe; Hang on, What’s Bigger than Everything?”

Standing Erect the Lord in Me

None can reach heaven who has not passed through hell.
Savitri, Sri Aurobindo[1]

I suppose I should just write this to us, as opposed to you out there, since the very thing I’m trying to drive at is that we’re a we, whoever you are and whatever you’ve done, but I find myself in that most basic of conflicts, the individual at odds with his society, and so I would very much like to give you a piece of my mind.  I really can’t do that because I’m just as stubbornly ignorant as you are, every bit as much the herd sour animal, only I’m in the unfortunate position of not being allowed to be part of the group, not even given a place in the sun (or not officially, because I do have one), something from an eternal perspective rather fortunate actually, because if I weren’t such an outcast I would have had no reason to open my eyes to more of reality, something that just keeps getting bigger the more of it you see, and at some point in your expanding vision you get the picture everything’s being watched by the most compassionate of witnesses, our very selves on high actually, and so I guess so as not to appear a total troll I should end up here giving you a look at my open heart.  What I’m writing to humanity, most especially white Western humanity (although people of color and of the East are more and more acting like that breed, taking on its tastes, barking at what it barks at), is about the most unpublishable thing a person can write, something that will become much clearer the more you read.  If this were any other time in history I’d have to post it on some socially important door or print it up in a newsletter that would get no farther than being blown about by the wind in whatever city square I secretly tried to put it out in.  But now we have the internet, and however long it lasts, we have a worldwide public message board more or less where almost any idea can be posted, at least for a little while (until the public censor sees it, which is more you and I than the government), a global speaking platform in a public square I’m testing the parameters of with this provocative writing I’m reading out loud.  I want to know where our head’s at, what our heart’s doing, and if either one is in for more than just a little bit of information.  Would you like to know something, feel it too?  Somehow I doubt it; I mean, if I were in your socially acceptable shoes I’d want to be kept in the dark too.  It’s not that we’re in hell here, but we’re in basically the lowest evolving world, and it’s enough like hell to really suck if you know what I mean, if, that is, you’re still an animal as I am, still in ego identity.

First of all I guess I should get your attention, and the easiest way to do that is to tell you something shocking, something on the bad side of things.  We love to hate evil, unless it’s taken one of our loved ones, and then we hate it so painfully.  It’s a need really, to hunt out the witch, find the commie, at this stage of social identity at any rate – the pack, the human herd, which is as incomplete without a scapegoat as it is without an alpha male/female, something I’m going to try and get across in this world wide web reading.  After all this time we still don’t quite understand we are not an aberration of Nature but the dominant social animal species of this planet doing what any species would do if it had the self-awareness and intelligence and the dexterity of implementing that awareness and intelligence that we do.  It’s not bad or wrong to be a social animal species and act like one, to be in ego consciousness and behave accordingly (the former and the latter as necessary to one another as water is to thirst); it’s just that we’re at the extreme limits of both, have taken them as far we can take them, and it’s high time we move on to bigger things.  If I am any gauge of our ability to move on then maybe we’re doomed after all.  With bigger things in my face for years I stubbornly snatched at the smaller stuff.  It was only at the very brink of disaster that I reached out for the larger, tittering on the edge of the abyss.  It’ll probably be the same for us as a species – waiting until the very last minute to grant monumental change –, but it doesn’t have to be that way, and towards an easier change I’m writing this internet handout, I who have no right really to talk seeing how I compounded difficulty upon difficulty in refusing to allow my own personal change.  But if you do indeed accept the fact that we’re undergoing a process of evolution then you know it’s the mutations within a species, not the normal ten-fingered and ten-toed members, which leap evolution along, so maybe I’ve not been so out of step as I look, and maybe we as a whole aren’t either.  Our survival I guess will be the judge.

What do you want from me?
I help.
Exchange thanks.
If I were a bit more
Tell you somethin’:
For freedom
That’s remarkable.

Getting back to your attention, which is perhaps more picky than it’s ever been with so much information vying for it, and consequently much shorter than before the revolution (did you know we’re in one?), I’m going to start with something good rather than something bad, going to talk about the best thing I can talk about, something it’s doubtful you’re ever heard before, or ever heard so plainly spoken, and you’re just going to have to suspend your disbelief and give me the benefit of the doubt.  I’ll get to the bad stuff don’t worry, but you won’t be able to identify with me if I tell you in the beginning that I’m not white or not of your clan or whatever it is that would make you not see me as fully human as you, although I am white, even American, not a United Statesian, but most of you reading this would consider me the omega animal of the pack, what you’d want to cull out of the herd, although you’d want me handy to make invisible, throw stones at, or outright kill if you were to suddenly get an acute attack of that animal itch to scapegoat, which happens when the food supply’s threatened or our territory or when Mother Nature decides to give us a swift kick in the ass, and so I have to be very careful and show you my humanity before you get a load of the bad in me.  Can you see it yet?

Peaches on the road.
The atom,
Answer the question:
What is it charged with?
On that.
What about the moon?
Our bright stairway,
Steps along the way.

About a year or so after having gone to the moon, and I’m describing a momentary flight above ego consciousness, using figurative language for that place at the very top of Mind where are the ideas that create eternity, what appeared to me as a thought grid that stretched forever in every direction made up of cubicles in which in miniature could be seen the fantastic, beings and ornamentation of a form our three dimensional vision cannot express, and so it rendered them busting the seems of reason and sight, a grid we translate in our knowledge as heaven, which is not one mansion but many – I briefly flew above them you see, looking intently into the Buddhist and Christian house identical in the essential nature of the consciousness I experienced while over them, a consummate sea of peace, joy, and love wedded to the open-silence of infinity, except for some element of wrath and destruction in the center of the Christian house it itself did not fully understand nor could I scrap –, after first being opened to that top, the moon I just described, a necessary and natural preliminary to going above Mind altogether, of course, I suddenly one night shot up several meters out of the top of my head and sat for a moment in the sun, my higher self, the divine individual I am presiding over this little ego I think myself to be, presiding over a lot of things.

Look, it’s our job to report what we see on the frontiers of our being, in the outer limits of the human self, most especially what is on high, although I’ll also tell you what I’ve seen below in hell too, and I’ve gone to the very bottom of that night.  I’m a witness, a scout, and I’ll only tell you what we all know, what we all have seen somewhere in our many journeys in and out of life, on the body’s stage and off.  You’re not going to want to believe me, to remember, not only because it’s all a bit much for a little animal to lift its head up out of its habitat and look at, even somewhat terrible, but also and mainly because I’m probably the least credible witness, at least in the Western world, not because you’ll think I’m making it all up but because I’m not considered human, do not have human rights, am not allowed to speak in public.  I’m a person you don’t want to even see.  You have to wonder at the secret intelligence in things that would let someone like that, a person you do not accept to be among you, to be a witness of our divinity, scout out the heavens and hells of our long journey back to that.  I really don’t want this role of the bad man with something to say and will be glad when it’s over.  You’re not going to be kind to me, won’t even take into account what I’ve seen because when you get a load of me you won’t be able to see past the scarlet letter you’re always trying to pin on my chest, or most of you anyway.  If you think about it though, really give it a feel with the depths of your heart, what better person than the worst person to show you our best, since the most fundamental failure of humanity past and present is our denial of the underlying unity of ourselves with one another, with the earth and the sky and all things therein, with eternity and all things divine.  After all this time we still don’t know because of that unity we are connected to each other on the inside, think one another’s thoughts, feel  each other’s feelings, are really and truly our brother’s keeper.  The bad man becomes so by the hidden dreams and desires of everybody, can only become good by the heartfelt blessings of everyone, by the power of love.  Until we learn this, peace will be impossible on earth.

You will find the path to know God is wide open.
How do you know?
A lowly person,
I just see it.
Thank you for your bag,
Thank you.

It was about twenty-two years ago, not long after I embarked on the spiritual path, which I called the personal growth process towards wholeness and healing, a name that just sprang to mind immediately after my trip to the moon.  I hadn’t started any spiritual practices yet, just was doing a lot of contemplation and dream work, and I hadn’t even begun to clean up my act, and if you use your imagination you might know what I’m talking about here.  I was driving to my apartment at night negotiating a long slow curve listening to Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love on the radio, was right in the middle of all those strange sounds the song makes, and I was looking at a horned moon that had a planet or a bright star right at its bottom tip.  I was stoned on some good skunk, but back then I seldom wasn’t stoned, and I’d just put out a cigarette I do believe.  All of a sudden I blasted off like a rocket, although the feeling was more like being beamed up, and found myself in a station of consciousness several meters above my head.  What struck me was that I was me, the real me, the eternal one, and I couldn’t get over the fact that I’d forgotten who I was.  Although I was in movement, or the little me driving the pickup was, up there I was in absolute stillness.  There was not the dichotomy between an inside and an outside, and I could see down through the roof of the truck the finite I driving, who continued to do so and negotiate the curve without any difficulty, and I noted how imprisoned that small I was.  Anywhere I turned my gaze I could see through the objects I looked at into their essence, seeing through the walls of the apartments I was driving past, into and through the people sitting in them, seeing even the molecular level of whatever I saw, seeing into the essential nature of anything I looked at.  I could see in any direction, and I was seeing from up there, not from the eyes in my body driving the truck, a body that was nothing more than a finger of me, a small appendage.  The sense of excitement and joy was beyond anything I could take here in the body, but there was not the slightest anxiety because it expressed itself there in the limitless confines of a perfect peace.  I was not only who I really am but all things too, knew myself as the One, did not see in the vision of duality, and I’ve only described to you one pole of seeing.  There were four, and I knew at the time that the little I down there in the body would not be able to remember the whole of the experience because it can only see one field of vision at a time, think only one train of thought.  At another pole I was with other divine persons like myself as though I were them also (another experience a year later would amplify this to me, show me unity on the level of oneness), and at another pole I was somewhere in dream, but it was something much more than that, something I can’t remember, and at another pole I was not in the universe of form at all.  All these fields I saw simultaneously, moved, lived, and had my being on them all.  Less than a minute the experience lasted, and I suddenly found myself that little I again down there stuffed inside the body’s prison, and I stopped the truck and just cried my eyes out so overwhelmed I was.  I resolved to spend the rest of my life trying to get up there again, not only for a visit but to stay next time, understanding that was what the toils and trials of life are all about, all this seemingly endless quest, getting back again to who we are, God if you will, the first station of his sight, the first rung on the ladder of his ever bigger being (I was to learn years later when I discovered a yoga has been mapped out to this Supermind), for this was something that exceeded this universe, although I did have a cosmic station, like some sitting chair had been arranged for transcendence to sit and watch the stars and whirling worlds.  Now if you want to talk about freedom you really have no idea.

I have to tell you the things we celebrate so much, romance (ad infinitum), some sporting event, a blockbuster movie or bestselling book, some hit song, the discovery of yet another hair-splitting detail to the world of things or the invention of more technology to make more an ease of life, or any other thing we think so big and important, other than human achievements on a par with our moon landings and socially progressive acts like real heroism or the bringing to an end a long and bitter conflict, are so very trivial, are things bright monkeys would go on and on about, in comparison to what we’re really here to discover, what true entertainment is, and nowhere in our contemporary technological multi-cultural ironically intolerant of other societies society is there a hint of who we really are and what we’re here to do, speaking of our journey to Supermind or even that it’s there above our heads (hear about it though and test it to your intuition, if you can indeed tell the difference between your mind and inspiration, and eureka yes something’s up there you certainly now do believe).  I look and I look, watch our movies, read our books, listen to our music, search and search online, hear us talk and talk, and we are so animal in our aims, so utterly mundane, even and especially the religious among us, and if we let in anything of God or other than the ego at all in our music and movies and other popular media it bears the official stamp and seal of one of the world’s major religions, as if we didn’t know there’s a spiritual path in and of itself apart from those belief systems.  It makes you think we do indeed live in a matrix where each and everyone of us are fooled into believing life is about littleness, God about the same.

I must assure you, and you’d readily agree with me, that I’ve not seen all this stuff because I deserve it or am worthy or chosen or special or anything of the kind.  I’m no different than anybody else in essential human characteristics, although many if not most would consider themselves better than me in matters of morality.  Seeing yourself on high is a common experience actually, one many of us have in our death journey, since it’s who we are, and what are we doing after death other than stripping down (up rather) to our true self?  Granted, it takes a hell of a long time to take off the clothes of our former life and what can seem like an eternity to rise up out higher than the heaven that has called us, and many of us for some reason or another don’t make it that far before we’re cast back down into the throes of another life (you can’t even really generalize about the afterlife so different it can be for one than for another, and yes death too I have seen, but then, so have you).  What makes my experience uncommon is that I’ve seen these things while I’m yet living, and why that is you’re not going to want to hear as fascinating as you might find it.  That’s what a face to face encounter with them is like: the lust of a wet kiss mixed with the terror of having your throat torn out.  If I’m able to reach anything of that recollect in you you’re going to want to forget I told you what I’m about to tell you, or you’re not going to want to talk to me again, as has happened with all but a few people I’ve told this story to.  What makes it so upsetting is that it’s not just my story; it’s yours too, and your children’s, and their children’s, and on and on, your parent’s, and your grandparent’s, and theirs, and on and on.  It’s a horrible story, terrible knowledge, as they aren’t human, aren’t even made of flesh and blood, and they’re more intimate with your family than you are, more in your house than God.

Did you find any proof?
His parody lacked magic –
It didn’t help you.

You could write something very good one day.
The important thing is journal officer,
Just keep a journal.
At 2 shots after.
Here I’m just sleeping now.

She’s hided,
She’s going on to woman
In the United States.
You see stairs just didn’t sit there.
To have to spell everything out but
Something facing fraud.

Carlos Castaneda,
You pulled your choice:
Demons go to school.
What do you see?

Just get you to the point where
A salmon watches.
Personal history ha ha
Just get you to the point
You learn from it.
A Rushdie comes in and finishes it.

Who’d he learn from?
Nothing spiritual
In his head.
I am arranged,
And you.
A witness
Let’s leave it.

I remember when I officially met them, shortly after I’d conjured one using techniques written between the lines in the books of Carlos Castaneda[2], writings which comprise probably the best parody of the path in the business, best not in terms of quality but in terms of disguise.  They go all out to hide from you all your life, but when and if you do actually see them and know what they’re up to, as opposed to adopting some belief about them, their way of trying to repair the damage is to simply scare the shit out of you, try and get you to think they’re all powerful, and you’re helpless against them.  Or they try and win you over, get you to pay more and more attention to them and their doings until they have more influence over you than anything else, the most common trap people fall into after having come to the shocking conclusion they’re actually real.  I was lucid in a dream (their haunt is our inner life; outside princes of the air, their trails are in the upper atmosphere), and I walked into a den in a darkened house where I knew I’d find them, and they were sitting in chairs and sofas all around the room, not of course in their true forms but in the form I knew them as – short dog-dragons with electrocuted-looking fur.  One got up and came to me, and like some ugly parody of a holy chant I heard them all whispering “This is what it’s like to meet the Weirdings.”  It pulled me close so as to both kiss me and rip out my throat with its teeth, and I just managed to keep it from my lips and neck.  The shear animal terror you feel in their presence is all too familiar, and you know you know them and have always known them, but it’s not something you want to remember.  Earlier in that same dream, when I realized they were present, I had to force my head to turn and look at where they’d come from (as symbolized by the dream at any rate), a darkened wood of tall pine trees on a slight rise in a large open field, and their trail to the house I was at and the signs of their presence, and as I did a heavy sleep came over me, and it’s this sleep that keeps us from knowing they’re here, although they steal so much from us right under our nose, so much of our life-force, that of it which is produced by the reaction of our ego to things, which would include basically the whole gamut almost of what kind of vital energy the human animal emits when reacting to something, a tainted quality of life-force called loosh in the writings of Robert Monroe[3], but as I don’t believe he was aware of the human soul hidden behind the heart and the quality of life-energy its reactions to things produce, not so much a reaction as its way of feeling out upon the world, a feeling that has its base in an underlying equanimity, something they cannot eat and go to great lengths to try and corrupt so they can, I don’t think he understood you’re not making loosh when you’re feeling empathy with people, non-attached love to someone, a sorrow not despondent at the pain you encounter, including for the people or person that caused it, joy at just being alive, responding with goodness to the bad you find, even to that bad, and sweetness at anything sour and stale you happen upon, and faith in the face of even certain death and destruction.  If we’re giving off anything other than these soul qualities, we’re feeding demons.  It’d probably be a toss up I’d imagine, but I wonder who’s feeding them more, those we consider evil or those who consider others evil.

It’s not my place here to try and describe the cosmic order and the chaos that threatens it (although it would be good to know that in our higher self we are above the cosmic play and not threatened by anything); a chaos that inadvertently ends up making sure the cosmos is an order able to withstand any addition of disorder would be a better way of putting it.  It does help to understand there are other planes of reality than that of matter, and if you don’t believe me then explain to me where exactly do you go when you dream if not to some other plane of consciousness or whatever where we also have experience.  Anyway, there’s a whole other dimension to the nature nurture debate, something the ancient Greeks called the family daemon, which we’d be more apt to call the family curse, which are unembodied beings attaching themselves to families for generations, since they live a whole lot longer than we do, and whether they run through the father’s side more or the mother’s I don’t know, but they particularly get in there on the children being born and attach themselves to them from the start to ensure they emit as much loosh as possible, the particular loosh that particular family is more inclined to produce, and they especially try and exaggerate it as much as possible, turn it more and more towards that kind of loosh they most like: that that results from behavior that causes as much chaos in human affairs as can be caused, murder, rape and so on up to the large-scale wrongs such as war, genocide and the like, but they like tidbits too and will satisfy themselves with just run of the mill wrongs like little envies and lusts as well as disguised delicacies of theirs such as self-righteousness, righteous indignation, and the whole range of wrong reactions with which we most usually think we right wrong, making wrong basically the order of the day, a topsy-turvy arrangement they are particularly apt at arranging so to eat.  The Screwtape Letters[4] by C.S. Lewis give some picture of their action upon us, but in his parody he fails to capture how utterly mean and insidious they are, although they can be quite comical, especially to a little kid  (which was how my “imaginary friend” got me to laughing so he could get me where he wanted me), and his Christian view gives them much more organization and aim than they have, although they do seem to have leaders and pell-mell ranks among themselves, but there are many types of these creatures, and you really can’t put them in any one category, but as he describes there certainly are demons of knowledge that know the path and are experts at sidetracking you or tricking you off it altogether, only as he himself had been sidetracked, he couldn’t see that the greatest weapon they use on us is organized religion itself, which is not at all the same thing as spirituality, the path in and up.  These familial demons I’m describing however are among the lowest type, eaters primarily.  About demons in general you can say that they just want to destroy everything and eat as much of our suffering as they can eat in trying to bring that about, not that they’re loyal to the principle of destruction.  Loyalty is not something they adhere to.  It’s just that the loosh animals omit when they’re being destroyed, particularly violently, tastes so damn good to them, and that fiendishness, believe it or not, is their very downfall, the way we snap them loose (that and taking on their aspect, divinized though), why I ended up seeing Supermind – they go for the kill every time, even when it’s more prudent to wait for a better shot or not shoot at all.

Before my sister and I were born, my mother, a young woman not yet twenty, poor in terms of money but rich in her openness to what Arnold Mindell calls in his writings the dreambody[5], had what is called in the literature of parapsychology a phantom lover.  Sometimes at night, while her husband was away for the weekend on one of his “fishing trips”, the lonely young girl would hear the back door open and shut and the creak of the wooden floor as someone or something walked slowly through the house towards her bedroom.  She was never afraid.  She knew who it was, although she couldn’t place ever having actually met him.  It was as though she’d always known him, like inevitability was strolling through the house.  The invisible being would come into the room and stand before the bed.  She could feel his presence and hear him breathe, breathing raptly like a man in desire.  The bed sheet would slowly slide down her body, making her tingle with sensation, and it wasn’t something he did but what he gave her the power to do, and she’d lay there and roll it up and down her body using her will.  Sometimes a rain of golden flakes would fall upon her as she lay there exposed to him.  Once she admitted it would lay down on top of her and make love to her, and although he was invisible, she could feel him inside her, but this wasn’t something she’d readily discuss with her son; it just slipped out once when I was asking her again about the family guest, when I was grown and trying to come to grips with its hidden impact upon our lives, one that in me was manifesting all to openly, one that I could not for the life of me hide.

Reading this you might see I’m through with trying to, but I’m not coming out of the closet wanting you to leave me alone and let me do my thing, live openly gaily in San Francisco so to speak.  I’m getting some horse done: standing up and claiming our right as human beings to heal and be made whole the natural way, in harmony with Nature, which is not a method of denial but of integration and self-mastery, a process of soul, which, in that of a minor attracted person’s, would include the presence of children (feelings and kings).  You know it’s soul healing because the circumstances you’re in you did not set up; they just rose up naturally out of the necessity in things, just came down the pipe as it were, and because they’re not only a little bit that’s incredible, somewhat larger than life, with all the help you get and the protection you have, but they also fulfill the soul need of everyone involved, are also what they need so to heal and be made whole if they consent to such.  Did you know that soul and Nature are not only the best of friends, soul mates, but also that Nature in reality is a sublime field of soul?  Understanding that you really clean up your act – so many watching you see.

They don’t,
They don’t act like that alright.
See singing.
See somewhere.
Next time you tell me to go
You’re not going to hear my phone ring or any of this stuff.
I need to know:
Is it lost?
Look at me –
Knowledge to you.
He fell down the stairs more than anybody fell down
And enhanced how the men take off.

When I was a young man and still had open relations with my father, when I was still a person to him and his son despite anything, before someone like me became the hated inhuman monster I’ve become in the eyes of his society, and hence in his (a parenthetical rant here would be appropriate to show how cowed by the herd we are, how small.  In the late 80’s I was a hospital volunteer for people with A.I.D.S., a hand-holder they called it.  Story after story I heard of someone’s family turning their backs on them, even as they lay alone dying, because of the social stigma associated with the disease, though if you were to ever corner a family member they’d tell you it was because of this or that quirk or transgression, never because they were being small and self-righteous and were unable to stand up to the herd.  At that time a young man and a senior in the university, with the love and support of at least my immediate family if not also the goodwill of some in its extensions, who did know of my socially unacceptable sexuality but despite that still treated me as Donny their loved one, I marveled at the lowness of those families.  I had no idea that in the new millennium, one more and more defined by herd thinking, reactionary behavior, and narrowing moral parameters, my wrong would reach the level of a mass hysteria and public panic, and my family would do that same blind dirty, make me invisible, turn their backs on me, my entire family, on both sides, every single one of them, even my mother), we returned to the small coastal town on Galveston Bay where my parents met and began our family.  As we drove around the old neighborhood he suddenly stopped the car and said he had something important to tell me.  His voice was real low, and his eyes shown with fear, something you didn’t see in him all that often, and I knew that whatever it was it had to be something quite beyond the ordinary.  When he told me we left there and moved to Houston to get away from demons a lot of things clicked into place.  When he described an old witch with a knife that would come and stand in his bedroom doorway as he lay paralyzed in bed unable to even scream, I knew he was talking about the same entity my mother described, the same one my sister has known since she was small as a large hairy monster that would lay on top of her smothering her as she lay paralyzed in bed, the same one that I knew when I was small as a short dog-dragon that was my playmate.

Demons are shape-shifters, and they appear to us in a strange combination of how they want to appear with what we fear and desire, which with my family was just plain and simply that, since we were a rather simple lower class lot, but you have to wonder that in more educated scientific-minded circles whether they might appear more as what we might imagine aliens to look like and encounters with them as abductions (though when you do see one in their true form, something you’ll see as you make the journey to find your soul – in that self-revealing journey the demon eating off you, twisting you, turning you so to do that, can’t hide itself –, they are unmistakably alien, more alien than anything our imagination can cook up to look alien), since generally speaking people in those circles are more materialistic and less likely to have much control over their dreambody, and hence these creatures can just waltz in, snatch them up, take them to their lair, and just ream them in the ass either literally or as a way of describing the utter violation.  Not to preclude the possible presence on or around our globe of embodied extraterrestrials, but it appears to me that for the most part we’re dealing with inter-dimensional beings in the phenomenon of UFOs, that is, aliens that come here via the inside as opposed to the outside, who have mastered the dreambody and projecting not only it but craft here to our globe and can show their ships temporarily on the physical plane.

Nothing strategic,
Just the power to shoot threw the grivlen.
That was their movie.
Maybe the next one
Hold your at
With its Florida,
With its seen in our skies.
That’s behind the iron curtain,
That’s further afield.
Whadda we got?
The aliens to sit nothing.
Gave them the technology
To helicopter
Like an earth.

Whitley Strieber in his writings on his own personal experiences with similar violators does mention the possibility that what was experienced by people of old as demons modern people are experiencing more as aliens (currently he’s adamant that what’s he’s experiencing is not demons), but in Communion[6] he doesn’t seem to be all that aware of either the dreambody and its many levels of trance and experience or of the existence of other planes of reality, such as a vital plane (as opposed to the mental plane more appropriate to higher beings, as I described in the trip to the moon earlier, but there are mental hells and vital heavens, so you can’t just emphatically state the bad guys are from one plane and the good from another), every bit as real as the material plane and in appearance very much like, just more fluid so to speak, where it’s not matter that’s dominant as it is here on the material plane but the life principle, allowing for much more play, or much more pain, whatever the case may be.  By Transformation[7], by that very title, it’s evident that not only had he not figured out that’s not what you focus on – you restrain them –, but also that they’re not here for our edification and enlightenment to say the least, though presently he does seem to be more aware of the possible inter-dimensional aspect of these violators he calls the visitors and hence of the existence of non-material planes.  Getting us to consider them divine beings or masters of illumination is their oldest trick in the book, and the telling sign of their trick is that your focus is on them, not the seeking after enlightenment or love for God, but if you are actually making forwards strides on the spiritual path by opening the inner consciousness, approaching the silence, drawing nigh to your soul, or going over your head and what not, then you’ll have to confront them, as they will be a problem.  Yeah you can protect yourself with some divine name, but that’s just a momentary patch.  I cannot in this single sentence possibly show you the deep wisdom of bringing all the forces around you into an integral harmony, even demons, but when you’re able to do that you neutralize these monsters in the process, and they cease to be so.  That, however, is not something they guide you to, not something they have any say so over, not something they can take a bite out of at all once it’s in place.

That creature in the bathroom,
We know his name.
Stay on them,
I’ll disturb.
It’s probably quack of a beast-mystis,
Your harder’s beast-mystis.
But that proofread,
Proofread his name.
That bottom at the beginning
Not by itself.
The TV went down.
We gotta get outta here.

Ant sergeant here
Be gone.
I like to talk
Without the tape.
The tape I was readin’
Not gonna be here.
Some of you know w, e, r, e.

Kuala bear’s quiet.
What happened to his wife?
At arms length
Holding the damn thing.
Including yourself.
Just kill the bastard
Open enlightenment.
We’ll study that.
Gives you sweat lodge instructions.
I’ll say.

Put a jumbo jumbo coke in front of them
They’re gonna be sitting like royal folk
You are
They’re in the room.
Another gun five-0-seven
Give to me
Some God with a forearm
Razor sharp.

All this talk about a shift in consciousness, and we don’t even know yet where ego consciousness came from (don’t even know where sexual identity comes from), or rather the more self-aware ego experienced by human beings, since all animals have at least a rudimentary ego identity, a sense of a separate self they want to protect and preserve.  Okay I’m going to tell you, but you’re not going to like it nor are you going to understand we don’t repeat the experiment in order to make our next shift.  You’re apt to think I’m subvertly saying that, but my aim here is to actually inform you there’s a better way to let the genii out of the bottle.  I’m going to tell you where our ego came from by telling you where my ego came from, under what conditions it was formed, extreme conditions similar in certain regards to the birth of our self-awareness as a race.  My mother was Eve for the purposes of this story.  I her infant, her garden more or less, had on me these trees, which the esoteric Hindu would call chakras.  One in particular she was by instinct and by all things right and proper forbidden to eat the fruit off of, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, the genital chakra, which in this symbolic story bears fruit called an apple that when you eat it really gives you a potent dose of the difference between good and evil.  Or she was Pandora, and that place on me was this box that when she opened let out all this evil upon the world, although she was able to get a hold of herself in time and not lose hope.  Either way you look at it it’s not the wisest thing to mess around with.  Going back to the first Eve you might be able to picture she was part of the clan of the true king of beasts, wild ape-men roaming around the serpentine fiends I’ve described did some experiments upon, or actual ancient alien astronauts either playing God or wanting a more conscious workforce since truth is stranger than fiction and history just plain weird when its all been told.  Whoever or whatever it was got a brute mother or group of brute mothers to give their infants orgasm, dad also getting in on the act later (my dad however had no part in such snake business and was what my muse – the poetry you keep reading – calls a good lap to flow into), making self-aware offspring that repeated the procedure with theirs for however long it took for the new consciousness to take hold of the species (one more like what Julian Jaynes[8] has described in his writings as taking its direction from inner voice and vision rather than from rational judgment, and you have to wonder if the arrival of divinely inspired lawgivers and rites such as circumcision were instrumental in making that second shift), not the clinical observational infant orgasm Wilhelm Reich[9] describes in his writings, nor the much more parentally intimate but almost as detached ones Peter Reich[10] describes in his, ones his father gave him, nor even the bell ringing clairvoyant making ones portrayed in the both entertaining and make you think novel Gravity’s Rainbow[11] by Thomas Pynchon, but the full on really in your stuff lover-type orgasm that has this tendency to make you self-aware if you’re an animal ripe for that standing erect on the cutting edge of a world as we were postured then (making you think our fall from the paradise of a relative self-oblivion was in the design however it happened), adult sex which Cordwainer Smith in his science fiction short story The Dead Lady of Clown Town[12] has a man and a woman let a five-year-old underperson girl participate in, though very prudently, almost in-between the lines, so to make her fully human, and she was martyred almost immediately after, in the story because she challenged human authority, but for the purposes of this writing I would put my own personal twist upon it and say that when you become self-aware that way you just get burned at the stake over the difference between good and evil – you are your mother’s lover Oedipus Rex?  Before you get all bent out of shape you should know that there was this other tree in the garden, one that if Eve and Adam ate of its fruit they’d be immortal like the Gods, the Tree of Life, the crown chakra located on your little one’s body at the top of the head, and pardon me for making this leap back to our future, but I must tell you that no matter how much giving your infants orgasm might make them self-aware much earlier and open them up to their dreambody, or keep them open to it rather (babies are basically spiritual masters having just come from the other side you know), in pell-mell fashion I might add, opening them up also to be a feeding ground for you know who, and consequently screwed up royally, although they will be quite creative in some art chances are, focusing on the top of the head, or getting them to rather as they’re stumbling around getting a sense of themselves (keep that kippah on your head kid), since you can’t really touch it, will not only open them up to the ability to control and manipulate their dreambody, in a very orderly fashion when they’re well prepared for such powers I do have to say, but will also and more importantly open them up to the moon and sun, to the divine and to their higher self, to the path, why they’ve been born to begin with, and you should see the art that comes from that, that comes from the muse.  We will find our shift on our body there, even as adults.  I’ve said more there than you might believe I can say.

Slay the spiritual truth,
Oh the body of truth. [lines sung]
Going to meet his mother.
Would’ve died of A.I.D.S.
If one of us,
A gay man.
Good hands his father.

She loved the C.I.A.,
Covert operations,
His battlefield mother.
At various destinations.
She sucked
A lot of the good out of me.
It was toileting;
It was wicked.
I saw stars
Hit in the head.
Put me to sleep
On bottles of energy.

She went alone down there
A lie at the same time.
A lie got in.
What happened?
Her lover the demon.
Look, I’m not full of shit.
My mother got for him
Those bottles of energy.
We declared this a disaster area
And get out of this kitchen,
No survey,
No known to bed.
You’d imagine with my kitchen
Get that right at 6 so clear.

Now move this.
They both tell you one thing,
They both tell you one [both lines sung]
Heard daddy,
Had to go to rainbow.
You wanna make a business?
Move the spiritual concrete;
May outta here
This that you are,
An ego
Sitting there at
What a founding down.
Some hurt like a
Someone up to

A combination of suck it serve it, have Sermon on the Mount with it: not long after I was born my mother began giving me orgasms, at night when she put me to sleep, in the bath, and sometimes in the mornings when I woke up (orgasm change that diaper).  She suddenly stopped when I was three, and I remember her teaching me how to lock the bathroom door so she couldn’t come in.  My muse told me her mother had breast feeding cancer, something more common with mothers than you might imagine – fondling her as she suckled at the breast.  Interestingly enough, my mother didn’t breast feed me.  How the whole unsightly business happened was that I had a condition at birth: my anus was too small, and our family doctor told my mother to both open it more and massage the area, the former something that hurt and the latter something that felt good, making the erection that came from that rubbing somewhat confused.  Holy Cornholio said Bevis and Butthead, figuratively speaking.  Anyway that erection got rubbed and kissed and so on and so forth until it got what my muse describes in the line above, a full on religious ritual, since it was as though I were a little Jesus my mom worshiped.  Years later when I was grown, after a humiliating public fall I’d had half-way across the country, my mother, for the one and only time, sat me down and told me I could ask her anything.  Although at the time she told me I could write about it, since it’s always seemed as though I’d eventually write some stuff people might want to read, later she was to deny all she told me – she’s a liar, she’s a liar, my mother never lies.  She was so very nervous, and I was conscious I had her sanity in my hands, and so I was very gentle in the way I asked the things I asked, but I wish now I would’ve asked more and for more description, since I was never to get the opportunity again.  She basically described the scenario above, in bits and pieces, minus her mother’s touch, which I doubt she remembered, and what was most striking about her description was how beautiful she experienced the whole unholy thing, like it was a spiritual experience or something, telling me there was not a hint of any sexual feeling involved.  I asked her how she thought I experienced it, and she answered that I just got it all mixed up.  Of course that’s just bullshit; she was quite turned on, and in one of those dreams that you never can forget and that help define your whole life, I saw her face while she did it, one right there in my face, since hers was almost as large as my whole baby body.  It’s a face that has made me afraid of a woman’s lust.  You need to hear the dream so you can see how incredibly real and right on the help the divine gives is, the Divine Mother’s in this case, who was able to show me she wore that face too.  A little reflection will reveal how much that can heal.

I was lucid and walking around the house of my infancy, the one my father had said we bailed out of to get away from demons, and I was trying to avoid my mother, who was wondering around the house naked looking every bit like a specter, and she had that look on her face I was so scared of, and she was looking for me.  The Divine Mother’s voice was guiding me, telling me this and that about the situation, but mainly trying to calm me down and get me to face my mother, which I finally did, stopping in one of the bedrooms and waiting for her to find me.  As she walked in the room the Mother told me to stay where I was and not move.  As my mother stood before me the scene froze, like a movie that had been paused, and the Mother told me to look fully in my mom’s face and let go of my fear, which I was able to do.  When I did I saw not only my mom’s lustful face eyes brimming with insanity, but the Divine Mother’s too, and I understood more than anything you could tell me, only what God can show.  Can you understand that?

Open tank.
Now listen.
You can’t just fall in love with this.
You have screwed type.
I didn’t just make her dumplings,
But she fostered on growth.
She didn’t explode.
She the life-body
Of this man here.
Tingling sensation at the top of the head,
It’s our earnest order.

It wasn’t good enough
For your uncle Toby.
He wanted me to be perfect.
I’m beatin’ him.
He wakes up
To his alarm clock.
I woke up
To our survival.

I bet you’ve been waiting for me to take you down to hell haven’t you?  It’s the Inferno that’s made Dante’s Divine Comedy such a popular poem, not Paradiso.  I guess you can find things in the lower worlds like he describes, since pain there is the ticket and pleasure painful, at least it becomes so you get such an overdose of it, much more than you want however much you think you want it, whatever kind of pleasure that snared you or that you just snuffed, denied, either way keeping you from what your soul came down here to get (the razor’s edge), but from my experience the hells resemble more how Sri Aurobindo describes them in his epic poem Savitri[13], a poem I’ve read a dozen times, am reading now, since it’s the only book I’ve found that not only describes the states of consciousness I’ve experienced and other worlds I’ve seen, but it makes my experiences and travels look so very small in the light of the scope of experience and journey of that poetry.  We need that if we’re having a lot of inner experience, to see how little we’ve experienced compared to how much there is to see, otherwise we start thinking we’re special or something, a master or messiah or some such nonsense, and we stop learning because no one can teach us anything so puffed up we are.  What I’ve gotten a hurried glance of, seen but the tip of, reading Savitri you can stare at the whole diamond, but you might not realize you are if you haven’t done at least a little bit of traveling in and up yourself.  It’s a map, and it’s the instrument of your own experience that enables you to navigate by it.  The more you experience of the journey, the more the map reveals.  It’s actually a four dimensional writing, and by that I mean it can address you personally and your individual needs, whoever you are and how ever many there are of you, something any piece of inspired literature can do if you’re inspired to read it, if it’s on your table of soul need to read.  But getting back to hell I began to visit those lower worlds as my mom chomped down on my penis, to just come out and name the beast.  By orgasm I’d usually be down in the weirdest of places.  Disassociation I believe it’s called.  Babies are so very wide open.  We have no idea.  Anyway, my imaginary playmate, the grinning dog-dragon, who was not a figment of my imagination, just in what form I saw him was, was always right there with my mom, although she couldn’t see him and wasn’t aware he was there.  I talked about him a lot, when I began to speak that is, but I was tongue-tied until the age of five, started almost every word with a p, and only my immediate family really understood what I said, and they just took it in stride and paid it no heed because I was a wild weird kid, to say the least, understandably so since my life-force was ignited, meaning the kundilini, the sleeping serpent at the base of the spine, the bottom chakra, which is more of a fuel filter actually than the energy reservoir it’s generally considered to be, had been partly aroused, opened up more towards full throttle, and I was a boy on fire.  (Did you know a baby’s genital is its life-force volume knob? But it’s not the TV you want to turn up.) I don’t remember much of the how and when, but he basically showed me how to astral travel, and I do remember crawling under the house a lot, and that’s probably a place too I’d encounter him, as well of course in dream in bed.  Sometimes he’d just be sitting in the middle of everything grinning at me, always grinning.  He was quite funny and did things to make me laugh.  We’d go down, always down, visiting the lower regions, and each place we went to was a distinct world it seemed, and there was less and less light the farther down you got.  Some of the beings and things I saw were so dream-strange that if you were to see them in broad daylight you’d be in danger of losing your mind, unless you were accustomed to seeing such strangeness, or a baby that doesn’t yet know something can even be strange.

When I was a young man in the university, having a lot of lucid dreaming cycles during those years, I re-visited some of the places I’d gone to as a toddler until one day, as I lay in trance one afternoon, I was suddenly pulled up out of the dive down I was taking, yanked right up out of it, as though some turning point had been reached, some decision had been made on some higher plane of me, and the way up became my focus and concentration, the way down somewhere I’ll occasionally go when the need arises in my sadhana, once to rescue our family cat that had been a ghost for years and had in her despair sunk down to that “sketch reality”, and several times to visit someone recently deceased, the last time my mom to help keep her from becoming a ghost, and now my little squirrel’s trapped somewhere close by, and I’m getting ready to go in and get her and send her off to where squirrel’s are supposed to go.  She was just too attached, a mutual affection, and I didn’t handle her death right.  I wish it wasn’t so, but just like life, no instruction manual comes with death either, and as Robert Monroe[14] and Carl Jung[15] found, and countless others no doubt, anybody that really cares to look, there are dead people wandering around without the slightest idea where to go or what to do, even “underpeople” like Kittypus and Raji, believe it or not, so knowledge-oriented is reality, so much of a captain you have to be of your corporeal craft, you and your pets, since their evolution has been spurred by living with you, their awareness quickened, since consciousness breeds consciousness, all that focused and intimate attention you see.  If you haven’t noticed it by now life is such a mixture of it doesn’t matter and it means the world, carefree and careworn, like birth being such a welcomed anticipated joy by everybody, and death a heavy dread that leaves a trail of tears.  It’s like they’re not really opposites at all but the same thing seen from different ends, but what, exactly, are we looking at when see the whole nine yards, and why does it hurt so much to look but at the same time is so very liberating?

Of hell what can I tell you?  I don’t really know its relation to the realm of death, which my muse calls the city of the dead, a place right next door to the human life sphere of dream but one you have to go through a barrier of some sorts to get to, but like heaven hell seems to be a bit more at an extremity of the other side, though close enough to simply wink into if you’re pulled there.  There are places down there oppressive to even be, where you feel an almost unbearable pressure, really, really icky, such as the shadow world of moaning ghosts, or the pitch black place that bears only a sketch of things, a thin outline of world stuff on nothingness, a place you can’t take for very long.  You see pain and torture too, but what I saw was more self-inflicted, such as the small girl that had peeled off all her skin and was putting it back on with safety pins only to pull off snatches of it again.  There were people around her to minister to her, oddly, and you could see they were trying to help.  Once I went somewhere down there and a party was going on, one out of control and wild, of course, and the people there looked and talked like us, although if you really looked around you could see the shape-shifters too.  I was lucid and going down in dream (if you know that falling place in a dream, like you’re falling in a complete darkness, that’s a place of travel actually – as is the spiral whirl and the blast off, but the latter will take you up to the spiritual and supramental reaches, not under; the former, the spiral force, will take you specifically to the place you are at that moment orientated to go, up, down, or horizontal.  If you manage to keep from coming awake in your bed or wherever, speaking of that falling place, which isn’t easy since you’re riding right on the crack between the worlds of the inner and outer, and only opening your eyes would facilitate finding yourself out of the inner and awake in the outer, you’ll arrive somewhere in your deeps, but there seems to be more than one direction down, one down to the under worlds and another down inside into your hidden center, your deepest within, to the place of soul, where I went in one of my journeys down as a young man, a journey in stages of several days, right before or right after I’d seen Supermind, since I was pulled there because what we normally call the soul is actually some portion of Supermind that it has put down inside of us to experience the pains and joys of life and lead us back to itself, and without the soul’s leadership, called the psychic being in the yoga, which acts more like a physician, in my case a psychiatrist, you’ll only get to enlightenment, liberation, to the silence of no-self not to your higher self, as that’s where the comic Gods will guide you, or you’ll take yourself if you refuse or are ignorant of their help).  It was nighttime, and I was outside in a garden of sorts, and I met a rather flippant young woman who asked me what I was doing there.  To my surprise I answered “I’m looking for God.”  At that time I was seeking knowledge not the divine and was not comfortable with that word or anything that smacked of it.  It was then I began to notice there’s a difference between who I am in waking life and who I am lucid in dream or out of the body, or in the body but unable to pull any of its strings, a very subtle difference that becomes more apparent as you compare the inner being you are in dream and trance to the outer being you are under the sun.  She laughed in my face and told me it’s impossible to find God.  Her laughter had that demonic cruelty to it, and it was evident it was time for me to hit the road, and I closed my eyes and went deeper.  As a child though I had no such control over my travel; the demon did, which he took full advantage of and tricked me into the Void.

Only in Savitri[16] have I found a description of this place, but if you’re unfortunate enough to find yourself in it, you’ll find it terrifyingly familiar.  We actually refer to it all the time, not really knowing it’s there at bottom.  You can call it nonexistence, blank chaos, bottommost hell, the nothing, the waste stuff upon which the worlds are built, the emptiness existence is expanding into.  I’m sorry to have to tell you it’s real.  It’s the basis of all our fears where a single second seems an eternity of suffering.  It was here the demon always wanted to take me, but even as a toddler I instinctively knew not to go near that place.  Once, by getting me to laughing, we got all the way down, and it’s not just a journey from light to dark but through an ever increasingly unbearable closing in.  To represent the entrance, my mind had made an image of the door to a storm cellar, since the Void is something totally other than the worlds that rest upon it, and its boundary is abrupt like a cliff edge, only it’s not space that you fall into; it’s nothing.  Sobering up rather quickly at the sight of the open doorway and what lay behind, I flat out refused to go in.  Sometime after, how long I don’t know, he got me to the threshold again, and like that joke of a perverted disguised Superman tricking someone into jumping out a high-rise window by jumping out and back in himself, that devil jumped in and jumped right back out to show me how easy it was.  I’ve always had that memory of him doing that, and the slip and slide down through the worlds to get there, but the memory of him looking down at me after I jumped in with that shit-eating grin of his as he slammed the door shutting me in, that has always been vivid in my mind.  It was the same one he wore when, as a young man in the university going after knowledge (as opposed to a graduate degree or a career), I conjured him up again into the conscious part of my life, but that’s another story told somewhere else.  Now you have to realize that although I was only a toddler, I was more self-aware than a child of that age from the orgasms administered by my mother, had a more distinctly formed ego, which of course the demon had set up (all the better to eat you with my dear), and every inch of me knew that I was hopelessly doomed, for all eternity doomed, and there really is no way to describe the devouring terror of that clear and certain knowledge, the absolute aloneness of that nothingness, the crushing weight of it, the panic quaking through every inch of my being as I experienced it, and I simply lost my mind.  I remember that distinctly, the sudden dive into insanity like it was some net of barbarous safety, and then I remember nothing more.  All my life I’ve held the memory of this, the five phases of the experience I’ve described: the laughing journey, the trickery, the shit-eating grin looking down on me, the shutting of the door and terror of being shut up in there, and the loss of my mind cut off from existence, and when as a young man seeking knowledge in collage, it was a very unfortunate self-knowledge I was to gain, that time I conjured the monster on a reflective surface and found myself eye to eye with it, and it all came crashing back to my conscious mind, the mom-given orgasms (although I was already getting up on those), the demon and our journeys, the last one to the Void, the last time I was to “play” with the dog-dragon, and I was able to place that god-awful isolated memory finally, and if it were the only isolated memory like that, one from not just out of left field but from off the grid entirely, I’d gather there really is no hope for us if a child can be left in such a place, if only demons are here and given leave to do as they please, molest us so, but fortunately there was this other incident, which I never could rightly place, one entirely opposite than the demon and the bottom of hell, and I know now it was the rescue.  Always after the night comes the light, and you just wonder why it’s like that and why the light doesn’t usually come any sooner.

The story of the love of the head is the look of the tribe.
You would say broadband
There’s people you don’t believe it
That told yah
All of civilization.
I have a gun.
Oh dear,
Look who’s talkin’ –
You’ve heard about the other guys.

This memory is less distinct.  It involves being very little and injured or out of it or something and these robed beings with stars for heads taking me to this place of utter majesty and perfection.  Somehow an ancient Greek building has always given me a hint of what architectural forms stood there, but that might only be because the Greek milieu made a deep impression on me at a very early age when I saw a movie based on the Odyssey, and my mind associated the weird I’d experienced with that televised weird, since it was the closest thing in my waking world to portraying the other world I lived in.  (In collage I translated a couple of books of the Odyssey into English and wrote a paper arguing that the second shift in consciousness, the one that put out the eye of the Cyclops, the one that watches in our depths, thereby making the shift from inner voice and vision to rational judgment, was what that book was about, maybe what it even helped to orchestrate, for that culture at any rate, since such a shift would happen people by people until it really took hold of humanity, and haven’t we seen and still see aboriginal peoples still in that inner voice and vision decision making mind?)  I don’t remember anything that happened there in that place they took me, but I do remember at age six, as I shut the door to my sister’s room and entered the hallway of our house, suddenly becoming weightless and remembering how that had happened before, most especially immediately after returning from that perfect place.  There were bubbles of pleasure cursing through me, and I half flew, half bounced to the door to the living room at the other end of the hallway where my parents were watching TV.  Finally I’d be able to show them I was telling the truth and really could fly.  But just as I touched the doorknob my weight came crashing back, and my body was a heavy body once again.  Disappointed but still very excited, I rushed into the living room shouting that I had flown in the hall.  Needless to say my parents didn’t believe me.  Of course you don’t either, or most of you, but I know what I experienced, have always known it, and consequently it has always made me view reality much differently than a materialist would see it, even when I was an atheist.

Because I’d had so much experience with my dreambody, I knew this to be happening too in my physical body, to it, though when I was 10 I’d get completely fooled and think for all the world I was in my body, though it was a strange mixing of an out of body experience with dream, how they are usually experienced in most instances, mixed with dream and inner elements (O.E.B.s in themselves seem to be more a mixing of locations than a cut and dried leave your body and go somewhere, since in point of fact everything’s here everywhere at the same time).  I was so hoodwinked by the reality of the experience I used the bathroom in my underwear while sleeping, the number two variety, something that embarrassed me to no end, causing me to pinch my thighs against the toilet seat every single time I sat on the toilet from then on (so much so I wore purple welts all over the area) until I was 13 when I had another one where I was out of the body fully on the physical plane with no inner or dream elements manifesting and finally understood what the heck was happening.  I should mention that I knew I was out of my body on the physical plane because I followed my then best friend, Johnny Caughlin, from his front door to mine, hovering around him without any form of myself that I could see, trying for the life of me to get him to hear me call his name and know I was there.  It was a bright and sunny Saturday morning, the sunlight really something to see from that place as a spirit, how I envisioned myself, and what brought me back into my physical body was him ringing the doorbell (though in the bathroom experience I saw myself in my body, nothing unusual at all: I got up off my cot in the living room of our trailer house and went and sat on toilet during the night).  Of course opening the door I fell all over myself telling him that I’d followed him as a spirit to my house, but like my parents about flying he didn’t believe me.  When, however, I told him the song he whistled on the way, every bend down look at this, go off the sidewalk and look at that, touch it, smell it, take it in as a boy does, he was astonished.  I didn’t need my parents, my school teachers, science, religion, the TV, Rock n Roll, anything other than the astonishment on Johnny’s face, to tell me it was real, know what I’m saying?  It also more firmly validated other experiences, notwithstanding having been fooled that one time, where I didn’t have the benefit of outer confirmation, but in the weightless experience I actually traveled  from point A to B in my body, and I know how I did that, whether anyone would believe me or not.  Such experiences also showed me point blank even as a boy we are not the body and are infinitely more than just material processes. I began to see myself as a spirit.  In my atheist phase as an adult I just didn’t see there being any ultimate or absolute spirit to all this spirit stuff, or any point really to the whole thing.

The flying or weightless experiences I’ve always associated with where I went after the Void, where those rescuing beings took me, a place that made such an impact upon me that for a couple of years after in my very body I occasionally lifted up off the ground.  Where else would such a place be but heaven?  You can call it a heaven world to be more descriptive, what one of those thought cubicles I’d flown over would open out into if you went in it, a place in the mental plane at the very top, called Overmind in the Supramental Yoga, although I was to learn later that what I’d seen was actually the lowest part of Overmind, that part closest to us, what wouldn’t you know it humanity has had the most contact with, as opposed to higher and more integral steps upon the way.

A whole lot of confusion would come to an end if we could understand that God does not sit in his heaven, which, as high as common wisdom understands, we interpret in different ways according to culture and other factors and make of that interpretation separate religions.  God actually is bigger than location, transcendent of universe, although he fills it, and as an idea is so very creative that all his attributes, or ideals, as they come into a field of separation such as a universe, to say it in an easy way to understand it (and in doing so greatly oversimplify manifold, multifarious, almost enigmatic processes, something I’m guilty of through out this say it all in one gulp internet exposition), become in themselves personalities and living presences each making of its attribute(s) a world, a heaven if you will, or one of the many mansions in the house of God if you prefer.  Not only do the many religions of the world come from these different attributes, even some probably from the same ideal expressed to different degrees, human civilization itself comes from them.  Our dreams and silent musing sequences are scattered with seeds from Overmind, have been since we became self-conscious man (notwithstanding that stumbling step was brought about by the other guys), probably since we began to think, since even in the animal can be seen evidence of culture.  I’m not just talking about the complex things like writing and arithmetic but also the simple things like spoons and sewing machine needles, the whole spectrum of human culture.  Yes we are quite intelligent, creative, and inventive, and it would stand to reason that we’ve invented many if not most things on our own, but what I’m speaking of here is so very basic to the way our mind works, so normal, so much a part of it – inspiration – it might even be that everything we’ve invented, thought up, speaking here of what improves our lot, has come however remotely from that highest part of our mind, since it’s not something outside of us but a part of our very being.

More conscious contact with the higher parts of our mind has produced the religions, usually facilitated by a prophet or seer.  Can you listen a minute with both ears?  I have something to tell you, again, you’re not going to like.  The stuff that comes from the cosmic Gods, the story Gods, is so very creative that there’s no way in the world any man or woman can grab a hold of it and make heads or tails of it as it is unto itself, as however whichever ideal is in its own reality.  To make matters worse, we get the material expressed through the nature of the seer, through his or her character, in terms of what he or she understands or is capable of understanding, and not only that, but the material is temporal even though it’s eternal in its essential nature, meaning it’s for the times of the seer and the culture in which he or she lives and doesn’t work very well very much longer than that.  As my muse puts it, “What works for a minute.”  Add that up with our tendency to build fortified castles out of the material and not make ever closer contact with the heaven itself that spoke it, and you get religion as it is on our globe, to be kind often something quite distant from the ideals of the divine, but to be perhaps more truthful: you get something that hides a lot of lies, especially when you consider the other guys are all over the material trying to corrupt it from the onset.  If you’re a follower of a religion and this upsets you, you can remedy the situation, at least for yourself, by going in and up to the highest part of your mind and making that personal contact yourself.  When we all start doing that we’ll get something of true religion on our globe.  It’s the nature of Overmind that if we all make conscious contact with it we’ll all be on the same sheet of music even though we’ll all be to varying degrees different notes.

I’m not just whistling Dixie, using rosy language to say something reality can’t back up, but I do have to say that a conscious overmental contact is that most rarest of birds, and out of thousands claiming such we are lucky to find even one in that touch, and if you have not winged the horse and gone through the roof of the human sphere of dream and visited however briefly a divine world, and I’m describing a process in dreaming that seems to be generic in human experience for going to heaven while on earth, a personal one as well though not described in this writing, or gone up and seen some tier of Overmind, which I have described, or made the inner journey to your inmost center, where in formlessness is the home of the human soul, a journey I’ve mentioned above, then chances are whoever it is you’re talking to, or is talking to you, is not divine.  Because someone like me has experienced these things, just some guy, and one pretty screwed up, I’ve always figured all you had to do was make the journeys.  These things are there in our realm of being, though beyond the human life sphere, and so I thought if you intently searched for them, used dream and trance and to a certain extent thought as far as you can take them, then you were bound to end up in and up.   But that doesn’t seem to be the case.  Setting aside the numerous accounts described by people that have somehow missed the mark but think they’ve arrived, something you can usually tell by a certain hokeyness quality, which is often surrounded by glittering angels, dancing spirits type artwork on the web, where some angel or alien has come to some chosen vessel and explained everything but what you really need to know, there doesn’t seem to be many of us getting past the human life sphere of dream and inner experience.  Take the net writings on lucid dreaming by Robert Augustus Masters[17] or Linda Lane Magallón [18]. I mention these explorers because they seem to have adequately explored the human life sphere of dream at least, but many more could be mentioned too.  For some reason they haven’t gone out of that sphere, do not seem to be aware you even can.  Although it doesn’t give justice to Robert’s descriptive accounts at the boundaries, he more or less melts away or comes awake where his body’s sleeping and doesn’t go beyond.  I guess it has something to do with need, which is great in me, and to do with how wide open you are, which I’ve been basically since birth the story of which you’ve heard.  I suspect, however, that in the not too distant future, because we are coming closer and closer to global critical mass on many fronts, and consequently our need will become great, more and more will break the bounds of our human bubble and report to us what they’ve seen in our deeps and on our heights.  But if you think of it more in terms of reaching an overmental inspiration rather than a contact (although it certainly is that concrete touch, at the same time sweetly intimate and painfully self-revealing), where it’s not a prophet you are with a teaching you have for the world but a poet, artist, or musician you are trying to hear and see the highest inspiration you can, then you’ll be on the same sheet of music as your need, and consequently on humanity’s.  I should add here that a direct supramental inspiration is not yet in our grasp I don’t think, and that the action of Supermind is quite different than that of Overmind.  It’s not someone you pray to, not a god to worship or adore (it’s the you really you), and it doen’t hold your hand and uncle you along like an overmental deity does.  It looks and witnesses, aloof, unmoved, all-knowing, all-powerful, and that look changes everything. The precise action, though, the way it slowly takes over our intuition, as it’s its origin, takes over the whole process and procedure of our evolution, and consequently the way we are supramentalized in the process, I’ll leave to Sri Aurobindo to explain, since it was him blazed that trail.

People tryin’ to say
Never be one of mankind;
There are many individual texts.
He created you,
Created difference.
Now listen to me,
Open the inside of his pueblo,
One single man’s,
On the grounds of everybody,
By the likes of everyone.
What more do I have to say?

Don’t listen.
Think you’re a beer.
Shame on it.
Gotta get by the coffin.
The real beholders of the group,
You make my difference
In the airplane.
That’s who we are,
Right direction.
In for four doors,
In a different paragraph fly.
Buy my head count.

I’m afraid I don’t like it –
Too left church.
Are you gonna talk to me?
Would be seriously injured.
Like he came to me before.
Before you were so book sensitive.
I’d like to talk to yah –
Another coffee.
Would you like a cup of tea?
I’m up for it all the time.
Where have you been?
Is that so
No correct tires?
Since it’s about unity,
Seeing it for the first time.

Where did they make you?
That’s what we’re questioning right now.
That’s not the best way to do that.
The change,
The change would be our whole life.
The Hague,
You’re immediately surrounded.
Why don’t you just take the rain?
Martin no.
It’s fantastic:
Chaos olive green –
No, blue blue blue green.
One doesn’t know if we’re ninety and be another.
Paint the world with strawberries.

I still don’t understand
That devil thing wrapped inside him.
I’ve been given
A little half-life
It felt at the very center
Like an idiot.
It’s just a magnifying glass
For you
To see the mechanic’s plough,
You know,
In the house.
You just see it up close in me.
Find me at the top of this question:
What the heck is going on here?

By now even if you’re not a religious fundamentalist I’ve raised some of your red flags I’d imagine.  What I’m in here are the terms of man.  I get into them much better in my poetry (you aught to read The Freedom), but you don’t seem to want to take the time to read it and figure out what it’s figuring, so I’m having to give it to you in bite-sized bits like you like poetry now, in-between a lot of pull out all the stops prose so you might take an interest in it and maybe even see its value, and consequently the poet’s too in the process.  You normal socially acceptable people really have no idea what it’s like in the monitor world of today if you’re not.  My very survival’s in question.  Many if not most of you would just like me out of the picture altogether, at least those of you from those world dominating nations wanting to police their people and the globe too, which are not just Western nations now.  I’m not talking to governments; I’m talking to you Joe Blow and Jane Doe.  Your government is just a more hardcore reflection of you, or of us rather, since I’d be in on it too if you’d let me in.  Being an outcast does have its privilege.  When you put someone out here God comes close, the story Gods talk to you, if you learn to listen on the inside (their scribe angels at any rate, since even the attributes of God are a little too big for small creatures like us to hear head on, God himself way beyond our one concentration at a time mind).  It’s kind of like that demon putting a little child into the Void.  Add that to being my mother’s lover as an infant, her little Jesus, something he was also instrumental in bringing about, and you get a person unable to even appear politically correct and a story too weird for TV, and it’s inevitable Compassion’s going to come down and give some divine compensation.  I was eat up with it, almost to the level of soul almost always in dire need of intimacy and looking for love in all the wrong places.  A trip to the underbelly of the worlds and your mom in yours will do that to you – make you crave closeness with however you define the opposite sex, your other half, like it’s nobody’s business.  Especially when I was a younger man, it was such a sad thing to see, as I’ve always had a lot on the ball, but the minute I got around water (I’m being figurative, poetic) I’d get dizzy and just be led by the nose by my desire.  I remember when I was a kid on a farm in Texas my grandfather bought a new bull, a solid regal looking animal, but he wasn’t interested in what he was supposed to do.  Instead he’d suckle the utters of the cows, really get after it, and the little calf would be standing there with the most confused expression watching its step-sire drinking its milk.  So I understand how I must look to you, can even sometimes get totally on your side and throw stones at me too, but that doesn’t accomplish anything, just makes for more dizzy spells and more people like me.  It took seeing who I really am to snap me out of it, get my head out of my ass (other’s asses also), but even still it took many years for the sight to take hold and overcome the whole wide world, grow larger than Space, and I’ve had to do that my way, or my soul’s way rather, not your way, and from the outside you might not see any difference, speaking about my present living conditions and not about my past, but if you can look past appearances you might understand what I’m up to.  You can’t deny your nature, even if it’s not right, but if you follow the leadership of your soul it will get your nature in harmony with Nature, straighten it out enough so that you can be yourself and be right at the same time, or die trying.  Unfortunately we as a species are not in harmony with Nature and use the denial method exclusively, even making it illegal not to.  With your rules you rule out the very way to follow the rules.  Anyway, I’m writing for my life, and if you do come after me, torture me, imprison me, or outright kill me, you’re going to know you’ve gotten a hold of someone, a real live human being, and like the underperson made human and killed soon after, you’ll hear me scream and cry and carry on, because it hurts so, but I’ll hit your heart, and one day, when we’re on the other side having to help those we hurt, which is how we take responsibility, not by being punished, you’ll feel it.  (Don’t worry, I’ll be there paying my taxes too.)  Humanity is still so cull the herd judgmental that’s about all I can hope for now, but I’m hoping for more, breaking the rules, letting the cat out of the bag, doing the stupid and standing up and shouting, “Here I am, over here!  Look!”  I’m counting on the fact that there’s got to be somebody out there, somebody with an open heart.  I’m showing you mine.  Will you show me yours?

You know you really can’t cast someone out, get them totally away from you.  When you try you just end up bringing them so much closer.  I’m in your stuff man, I really am.  I hear your thoughts all the time, talk to you when you’re not looking, am surrounded by your feelings, and I feel them too.  Everywhere I turn there are the things you’ve made, the ideas you’ve come up with.  They clothe my body, make me cry and sing, feed me, flush my waste, allow me to sit motorized and ride the roads you’ve also made, grant me the grace to sit in one place and surf the digital face of the world.  Although impatient upon your roads I cuss like a preacher, err, I mean a sailor, I love you, am lost without you.  God himself can ask me to dinner, the Mother of the many worlds sit me upon her lap, and it’s you I want to have dinner with, you I want to sit with, you I want to talk to, your hand I want to hold, your stories I want to hear, you I look to for to confirm the world.  (The Lord won’t mind; that’s his skeleton test for you.)  I anticipate your needs, your turns this way and that to try and make sense out of things, since they are also my turns, and this writing results from that, a web writing, an autobiographical short, some blog-fashioned meeting ground between a letter and an essay, a rant and a piece of literature, personal, intimate, frank, honest, deep, dense, humorous, dead serious, long enough to ponder but short enough to read in a couple of visits, if that is you’re as well a reader of books and not just a net surfer, have brought the longer attention span of the former into harmony with the shorter latter and joined with today.  This would be two chapters’ worth of attention then.  Although you think we’ve made the web for business, or population control, or gossip, or playing games, or being entertained, or to just pass the time, we’ve really made it for this: our search for meaning, our look out for how far we can go, our direction we go to grow, to heal, to be made whole.  But we are like people that have been raised in poverty used to only eating what costs the least.  Give them a meal topped with cheese, cooked in butter or with olive oil, served with the finest wine, and they’ll scrape off the cheese, frown at the funny taste of the food, and ask if you have some beer.  You don’t believe me?  Just watch.  What’s the matter mob, haven’t you ever seen self-sacrifice before?

Canto II

For nothing is known while aught remains concealed;
The Truth is known only when all is seen.
Savitri, Sri Aurobindo[19]

Try to set some fire.
The whole horse is running at attention through me again.
Do you feel it?
You’re in a hurry.
You got my card.
Triple way,
You got this down.
There are two options
Drivin’ me home.
I can handle it.
Fly things under their roof.
His sign is gonna start.
I don’t wanna hear it.
Be here like a zombie.
He was dead.
But it works.
A slowness involved.
You’re gonna be here
Closed to infinity
Just livin’ in Nature’s surface act.
There’s nothin’ great.

Are you gonna hear me?
Get up.
Force finger.
Kill Bill.
I’m just a stack of cards.
Come over here:
Give ‘em thinks for what’s happenin’.
It’s gonna happen –
Off the beaten path
We interpret dreams
And we interpret libraries.
I’m here to remark
It’s an algebra
You get come from.
You get part of it.

Look I like you kid a nice job,
But there was a cup
You’ve left out of your verse:
His body charge.
Come to realize
One like this
Is what you aspire to.
It’s up to you.
If you want to end your tuition it helps
Point of view glued to the sky
And to the ground
Of your soul.
Later this year
You’re not feedin’ demons.

Jeremiah said why does he not sit at the table and eat with us?
Only in sadhana is this possible
The question
Only you can answer
Not some fool for you.
A poem,
That’s what I give you –
Did you know that?
I doubt it,
But have you met empathy?
You open
To give me some of it?
The kind forgive me,
The kind that’s in the tool’s shed,
Everything you develop over a lifetime.
What does that mean?
Where are we?
With one,
Two butterflies
We graciously took from the redwood.
To birth our children
A grain of hope
Opened by fire
And even greater capacity:
How to walk
A friendship
With someone who cuts you down
Say home.
You walk away from the black forest.

Where did that come from?
Kill the killer.
He’s dead.
We’re friends
Finger does it.
You point it
To a friendship
That brings him back to life,
Somebody kills you.
I’d never
Grow the body armor of a chair
And just sit there
Letting him kill.
A pacifist
Not the wise thing to do
He’s got his fully pressed in my living room.
Will’s harbor Willy.
Turn around turn him over to hospital
You manage to catch the navy.
Some of the worst crimes
Are cleanin’ out criminals.
Let’s all do
Here we don’t have any criminals:
I was in a tough spot;
You’re the one
Tell her goodbye –
Saw one on a world map.
It was the one together.
A big care
Sittin’ on the world’s face.
Time we took off,
Made heart search and rescue.

I won’t let you down.
You can pick it:
Important to the effect.
I don’t think Adam and Eve
Got it from a dictionary.
They tried for this:
A huge grammar.
The message
Went to hell.
I was pretty much
Just the Scanner.[20]
We walk you to it,
Do it today.
Gives you that
Certain way to feel the fuel filter
With not your hands with faith.

Hey that was fast.
The top of the head arrived.
You hear that barber?
It just comes out and shows you.
It is a boy.
Is that clear?
Okay now
With her son
That’s out of the basement
They will walk.
If you can,
Give them some room.
Thank you.

Something important:
Some gust of wind called.
Standin’ over
The abyss.
What do you say we
Avoid that trap?
I’ll take you in.
Who said that but the right kind of touch:
Clean you but not knock you over.
I been busy,
I hope.

The rights who rule tomorrow,
What a diamond.
We went in from the cup of tea parties
And laid bare on the table.
When you’re finished sweep the moon.
Organized religion folly,
That was like a comin’ storm,
But it just gives way.
They tried to take my room.
Shut the door.
My best friends
The two kids I am
Said something actually nice.
They’re bigger than you.
What do they
They put a
What does that mean?
They need me
This much
(He was watching the screen to see if he’ll survive,
But there was no screen –
Arise creation.
Looky there,
Good look):
And I love you too.

Our king loves your work.
I’m mountain ugly.
Come over here sir.
Get in
How a reader might read you.
Shocked that someone had made this:
My friendly answers.
I’ll read your poems.
And that was how we hear the rest of the story
Thank you very much.

The rediscovery of man,[21]
That’s my destination.
No disturbance
I’ll go for that.
I don’t know what page it was.
I am concentrating.
That it?
I’m finished.
Take the deep Chinese brush
And apologize.
I’m sorry I really am.

Although any man can tear it down,
Quietly she waits.
I turned it up a little bit.
Yes she should smile.
How do you define numbers?
I’m up over your roof
Countin’ all there is.
That’s the number One.
Now you got the tires
To drive Russell to revolution.
Let that information to dry –
What’s that supposed to mean?
Take your hand out of desire
Sets the table.
We’ll all be family.

Into many of these things mirrors start it.
But you stand for us too like we’re way up there.
They cast him,
They cast him to the ground,
And the stones remembered nonexistence.
Of course not,
But you do wanna apologize,
And I do have something to say,
And it is just that I say this:
The wise men of the times were underpeople too.
(On a lunar map this web writing would look more like telepathy.)

Can we go good people?
I need your help I need your help.
Are you crazy?
Some people think
That I’m a criminal.
Grandma’s table
Is slightly bigger than worn.
Oh come on –
Black and white.
A little bit
I’m going to set you
The old accounts.
Then you might be
Then you might study
Her tides out in the world where seas at bay Galveston.
Ready launch?
One minute.
Don’t be such a stuff queen.
One or two
Had larger land.
You idiot,
You’re not gonna tell me you’re free are you?
My comments on the door is this:
In the body’s prison I wait around it.
Then I’m going home.
If I can do it
Isn’t it
Freedom you wanna give me?

Take your shoes off
When you come in here.
You don’t –
The difference between a terrorist and driving
Is less and less exposed.
I don’t ride a bomb.
Search for a future,
That’s my appellant business.
You’re gonna have to lie down.
Only a wasp on the important art scene.
Hundreds of atmospheric questions.
Referring to
Who we are:
Art business,
A roving work of art.
Cause life is so short,
In your face,
In your place,
Eating you
Like a lion.

Just be quiet
And tell something:
Give me hope.
Here let me show you
Human beings
I can be with them.
That’s not my problem.
(I was cleaning under the table.)
You’re a window dealer.
It’s the same for everybody.
Importance from the Buddha –
His sons just love
Sizing people up.
I’m next.
I actually get something:
A good morning,
And a good afternoon,
The vitamin
How are you?
Like this:
If we make invisible
There’s a way,
A process,
We make you visible once again.
Time in jail no.
Feel it
This process of soul.
Open it.

This is Kibble.
We share it shake it.
Somebody goes all the way down to the level of soul.
That raises up the question who are they?
I think I’m not looking at your witness.
Perhaps wide open hit by Supermind.
What happens when we fathom down here?
A lot of soul work to do.
Have you seen it,
Mr. Soul as it comes out of the closet?
Jumbled up wires and things,
Some extraordinary romance
You get in the soul with everybody.
That pollutin’?
Said the tree.
Can you fathom safeguard?
We actually.
They’re up in the hills.
What goes on in the house of soul?
All the townspeople come in.
That flew your rag.
Let’s just play courageous.
Oh how they run their rounds,
Take some planetary time.
Will actually
Become a stock animal.
They held up
The most important set of changes.
Now here’s real wisdom:
Don’t stand there and look at dead skin.

Got to be amiss
Because when you put it on the News…
That’s what they do.
How did Bond’s trusted wife
Public street?
Ever comin’ back to him from the inside
He wrote it down poetry
In some familiar process called art.
There’s your larger than life.
Are we social chaos?
It doesn’t stink.
Is this one war?
Surely you remember it;
Like you came down here for that suited,
Not war mankind –
The self-battle.
But life has ‘im.
Bury that stuff,
The causes of sin.
You didn’t
Get that schedule in front of you a new mathematics.
What did you work out,
Hope, change?
It’s funny,
Carry the bag
Restlessly into death.
You open it there.
Here lemmie see.
She had this will of it a lot.
Read professor
How I will
Be good
All life.

We’re here to be good.
Please daddy,
Can you do this
And not sound so evil?
That’s not what I said.
They want you back here
At the end of the week –
Out of what’s wanting to take over.
What time is it?
Everything’s comin’ so quickly.
Oh great,
I’m supposed to end desire on the chair,
And there it is on my lap?
Right on.
Oh boy are you in trouble.
Look over there.
You got a thousand birds over there.
They help.
You know their name:
Whichever which one
Your soul chooses
As an assistant
To touchdown.
A black box
A safe place to put her money in during the stress days of democracy.
We’re honkin’ our horn and we’re comin’ to water.
Where was that box?
I go watch.
You wipe it off like you found it,
A witness hush.
Touchdown somewhere our feet aren’t fugitive from our body.
Does that mean
You found your soul?
Surfacing letting it take over
Immediately jump to conclusions:
All of soul be nature.
You’ve seen the question of Jesus.
Bigger than him
Gets big.
Be ready.
So these are the spirits.
People want her to marry the great subject which is the Lord.

That’s a good catch.
Now throw it back to everybody.
That’s a good detail.
[Vision of a street scene in Vienna. Suddenly some of Mozart’s music begins to play loudly and distinctly, and a Victorian-dressed woman having a coffee at an outside table stands up shocked, and then faints]
That’s another story,
Useful though.
See you soon.
You’re talking too much.
Let’s move on.
You have to add sponsor to his list.
Wait, come here,
Just put forty-one
Here daddy.
Chinese actor
Henry David Thoreau,
Mix these together
hat’s your standing ground.
It’s a miracle.

Look to you to lie down there.
Allow some girl to ride
The fife of Bodhidharma.[22]
She make you do that.
Can’t trust our rush?
Reality sandwich,
Your favorite food.
Our trick of fate is a dry wood.
Huge barriers visit the site
Cause it’s asking you to be one,
Each in turn
We want to add that other reality.
That thing happened
A great way to end personal troubles.
With me?
He likes his job.
And then
Anything from the arts.
Is that flown down to us?
Cause a lot of ‘em
Okay the Flintstones.
And another thing,
If they have a TV coming up
Get in the detention center.
And another man
Took the streamings of doctor into himself.
What was that?
That’s my itinerary.
Followed a different
High performance.
Way too many problems
For followers.
You got that right.

Answer the questions please.
In playing an ear are you acting urgent?
No he’s not.
Savagery mixed with savagery
Made clear to open ocean.
Take on the wavelength.
Change upstairs.
Find the formula
That you can take this snake
Where snakes don’t bite.
I guess related
To the other snake.
It would be out in the backyard
Close enough,
But this is a positive experience
Not a negative impact.
What’s the problem?
No evidence
This is happening
When you get there.
Nobody knows this is what you’re spinnin’ out.
Both dropped his head off
A new bottom.
Wait a minute,
Harmony here?
We understand each other
As far as I’m concerned.
What does it look like?
I wanna stop that waterfall.
That makes it different.
This is where they’re going offline.
My spiritual tops
Has never my watch
Been put to a stop.
What’s bringing me home clean.
From the Department
A piece of evidence,
Why haven’t you seen metal before?
That’s how it is
A new glass of water,
Fresh window:
Sit on the floor
Until little kits have been financed.
What comes out of the waterfall?
The image of God ordered in a new man.

Give it a document.
Publish for his career:
A different American,
A brilliant hold between East side and West side.
Preview the spiritual American program.
Forget it;
It doesn’t want to read.
Then what am I doing relaying it?
In order to stand in as many places as possible
And use the copyright laws
The freedom on speech.
But you have another wonder.
Is this Supermind?
Linda Macfarlane grassroots introduction.
Can we pull out all the stops?
Oh no, what does the bandwagon say?
I am certain
It would ignore me.
You look on paper
Business is rich.
The academic
Community first.
Take care of ‘em.
Where are you goin’?
In the corner.
They don’t like it look
Regular Johnson,
Join the union.

Overhead you’re happy –
I’m telling you
It’s real.
Liverpool Massachusetts,
That’s where the Albrights escaped from prison.
I can show you my tattoos.
She’s not gonna wanna look behind the song.
The all-numbering head off,
How that would be convenient.
I’m telling you
I’m dead, done.
Telling everybody they wanna evolve.
Lookin’ forward everybody.
When do we hear it from Mars?
SF department.
That one owes you money.
Bleak horizon stop.
When do we change the New Year?
Can we shut the girl up?
Check list.
Old Mother Hubbard,
Who cares?
I do;
I was paying attention.
You’re not gonna see that same face
Because you’re lost on the future,
Your end.
Pull out every detail.
What about market?
Stock market, town rich,
Uh oh,
What time is it?
Let’s say investment is down.
I put it on a red camera
On his bed
In red lines.
Everybody will be a fool getting back to you.
And you are the One.
And she was playing the trump card Nature gave to her,
But it approaches his civil rights –
In the soul room of his hat:
Look I need you
To give me some rights.
That’s the soul Nature’s gardening
Doing over there
What we came here to do.
Don’t bother you fool;
It’s not the president’s call.
I found a purpose
That revolves about that happy.
Gettin’ useful at it.
Don’t burn it.
Don’t give up.
Stay on it.

Would you like to sit with me?
Buy one:
It’s your own
I guess it doesn’t matter
Whose ambulance service you use
That go return.
Entrance, however, was some leap to the truth by the intuitive,
Not it came from a book.
Get out of here.
That without any wall.
Do you know what this is?
Good mornin’.
Was that your brother?
Oh no,
It was my enemy.
It was progress.
No team leader has held ‘im high,
Raised an election day.
The president to do with that.
He will know though
You came by:
Spiritual warrior.
Your job
After the medical supplies.
What medical supplies?
From your soul
And some God lifted you.
We all can use a hand.
And your hand took other people,
Took as one,
Like the creative of a tall Unseen in the steps of the Alone.
That creative’s happy,
A godhead and daring come back to all that we are.
In conclusion
I’d say
She dares another Infinite.

[1] Savitri by Sri Aurobindo, Book II, Canto VIII (Sri Aurobindo Ashram Trust 1950, 1993).
[2] The Eagle’s Gift (Simon and Schuster, 1981) and The Fire From Within (Washington Square
Press, 01-Jan-1991) by Carlos Castaneda
[3] Far Jouneys by Robert Monroe (Souvenir, 1985).
[4] The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis (HarperOne, February 6, 2001).
[5] Working With the Dreaming Body by Arnold Mindell (Lao Tse Press, May 1, 2001).
[6] Communion by Whitley Strieber (Avon; Revised edition, February 1, 1988).
[7] Transformation: the Breakthrough by Whitley Strieber (Avon Books, January 1997)
[8] The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind by Julian Jaynes (Houghton
Mifflin/Mariner Books, 1976, 2000).
[9] The Function of the Orgasm (Discovery of the Orgone 1) by Whilhelm Reich (Farrar, Straus &
Giroux 1986. translated by Vincent R. Carfagno.  First published 1942).
[10] A Book of Dreams by Peter Reich (Harper & Row, 1973).
[11] Gravity’s Rainbow by Tomas Pynchon (Penguin Classics, June 1, 1995).
[12] A short story from We the Underpeople by Cordwainer Smith, penname for Paul Myron
Anthony Linebarger, (Simon & Schuster December 2006).
[13] Savitri by Sri Aurobindo, Book II Canto VII&VIII (Sri Aurobindo Ashram Trust 1950, 1993).[14] Far Jouneys by Robert Monroe (Souvenir, 1985)
[15] Memories, Dreams, and Reflections by Carl Jung. Translated by Clara and Richard Winston (Vintage; Revised Edition edition (April 23, 1989).
[16] Savitri by Sri Aurobindo, Book II Canto VII (Sri Aurobindo Ashram Trust 1950, 1993).
[17] Gillard, Arthur (2006 October). An Interview with Robert Augustus Masters.  (An Excerpt
from The Lucid Dream Exchange, Lucy Gillis, Editor.) Electric Dreams 13(10).
The website of Robert Augustus Masters. Dreaming and the Body (essay):
[18] – an archive for dream research, 1982-2012:
[19] Savitri by Sri Aurobindo, Book II, Canto X (Sri Aurobindo Ashram Trust 1950, 1993).
[20] From the short story by Cordwainer Smith entitled Scanners Live in Vain  (The
Rediscovery of Man, NESFA Press; 1st edition, June 1, 1993)
[21] Title of the complete short science fiction of Cordwainer Smith. Ibid.
[22] Title of a short story from The Rediscovery of Man.  Ibid.

Donny Duke
India, September 2012

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