February 27, 2010

Robert D. Wilson's

The Wonderland Amusement Park

"Where nothing is as it seems . . ."

look, the stars

laugh at our sadness . . .

morning chill

robert d. wilson

©2010

"Like the physical, the

psychical is not

necessarily in reality

what it appears to us

to be."

Sigmund Freud

"Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for,

forgotten by everybody, I think that is

a much greater hunger, a much

greater poverty than the person who

has nothing to eat."

Mother Theresa

I was at a desperate point in my life, contemplating the worth of my life and wishing I had the guts to do so. When I get that way, I go for a walk, where I can think clearly, and if I have the need , to find someone who cares enough to listen without judgement or sage-like advice. Once in a while, you run into such a person, the Bible calls it "an angel unaware." I saw her at a restaurant I often go to and she saw (sensed) that something was really wrong. It's as if she'd entered my spirit and simply knew.

Wrote Aldous Huxley:

"When one's ill or unhappy, one needs something outside oneself to hold one up. It is a good thing, I think, when one has been knocked out of balance."

There was a hearth in her eyes . . . a warmness that assured me she really cared wanted to listen; not to be my friend, not to get something from me, just one of those rare human beings who symbiotically felt what I felt as I later learned, her husband cheats on her, is never home, and treats her like crap. A typical Filipino man cheats on his wife and loves to drink with the guys. I don't drink to get drunk as that's a waste of time nor do I get high anymore, though for years I was a drug addict. I have and still have a habit of stuffing my feelings and elude people via the computer, creative writing, art, music, etc. And when I do think, it's usually after everyone's asleep. I also take periodic walks, though my wife doesn't like my taking walks alone, or going anywhere alone, for that matter. But that's okay, my wife and I are best friends.

We don't text each other as our mates would get jealous. I hate violence, arguments, meanness, sarcasm, and backstabbing. Fighting solves nothing unless the other is a bully, and bullies only pick on those who let them; like my new friend's husband. When two people get in a heated argument they are butting heads and nobody listens to the other. Marcus Aurelius said it well when he stated: "Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one."

Meanness comes from those who have been hurt a lot, or traumatically, and from people not understanding them. It's also is learned from primary adult male and female role models, who model for their children their behavior, the good and the bad. Man is a mirror. What you see in that mirror is you. What irks you in the same mirror is what irks you about yourself.

a curse,

this kindness we both

want and give . . .

our hearts pressed between

guilt and desire

robert d. wilson

©2010

She talked to me for over an hour and I could see she was talking about something she's going through herself. Eyes are a mirror to one's soul. I could feel her pain, her hope, and despair, the Spanish army aiming mirrors at Don Quixote, to wake him up from achieving a dream, however irrelevant it was to the Spanish Throne. Dreams are ours. They can't be controlled only stifled and when stifled, the dreamer dies inside. We must be willing to follow our dreams, let nothing stop them, or us from some day, seeing them blossom. Fear is our worst enemy, along with self doubt, and listening to those who are afraid to dream.

"When we walk to the edge

of the light we have and

take the step into the

darkness of the unknown,

we must believe that one of

two things will happen.

There will be something

solid for us to stand on or

we will be taught to fly."

Frank Outlaw

We shared and listened, nodding, wet eyed, and feeling what we hate to feel, a moment meant to be.

your eyes

define the silence

i feel . . .

our words, flat stones

skipping across a stream

robert d. wilson

©2010

We never see each other. She's married to jealous husband who, though he cheats on her and possibly controls her every movement,wouldn't tolerate his wife having a platonic male friend. Most Pilipinos are like that: possessive, jealous, and heavy drinkers. I'm married to a Pilipina who, too, is jealous and possessive, wanting me to go nowhere without her. And like a good asawa (husband), which is rather un-Pilipino-like, I stay home in a self imposed exile, not wanting to upset her, as I'm almost 61, and I don't want turmoil in my remaining years. I moved to Southeast Asia to get away from the madness in America: the be in a hurry and go nowhere, try to out do one's neighbor ethos indigenous to Western countries, especially those with wealth and power; those who use television newscasts to be their prophets and teachers.

The Philippines is unlike Vietnam. They are not Buddhists and pursue a lifestyle much like they did when the Spanish ruled over them for centuries: the "OPO" ethos, where 5% of the people have most of the wealth, speak English in their homes give their children 12 years of education, and do whatever it takes, ala Belo (the makeover, facial surgery salon of the Stars), to look like a white person, changing the shape of their eyes and noses, and whitening their skin. Like Mexico, another country ruled by the Spanish for centuries, the darker your skin is, the less you are liked. Most are corrupt, almost anything can be bought or bribed, and poverty here is like anything you'll see in India, rural China, Vietnam, Haiti, Mexico, and other impoverished nation including those in Africa. Opposing a political kingpin here is like handing yourself a death warrant. Ask Nino Aquino and Jose Rizal's spirits.

"Do not run away;

let go. Do not seek

for it will come

when least expected."

Bruce Lee, Tao of Jeet Kune Do

My get away? It's more peaceful here, though Kanos (anglos from North America) is looked upon as rich, pretty young girls throw themselves at them hoping to get away from the poverty of this country, the males despise them for obvious reasons, and most will befriend a Kano to look influential or to get something from them. I live here as a loner, a role I've played most of my life.

the clouds

the clouds, the coolness

of base dreams . . .

robert d. wilson

©2010

Life (Buhay) is a series of ups and downs and I can't let the biochemical, synaptic malfunctions within my psyche interfere. i must accept the fact that I am different, never compare myself with others, and know that if nobody ever talks about me, I'm not making a difference in this world .... a world of mirrors that didn't stop Don Quixote, nor will it stop myself from achieving the impossible. I am who I am and the product of my genes, biospheric living spaces, parenting (good and bad), education, a creative mind that knows no limits. I make a lousy mirror.

"Nothing is softer or

more flexible than

water, yet nothing can

resist it."

Lao Tzu

"The higher we soar, the smaller we appear to those who cannot fly."

Nietzsche

even the

fan can't help me . . .

our spring!

old friend . . .

do i spend too much

time with you . . .

the shadows dancing

in two feet of water?

smother the

man, and feed him

ugly toads!

i wanted what

she wanted because

of fear . . .

i stared at the ceiling

like an old friend

maybes

caressing rainbows . . .

day moon

today she

whispers a prayer

before dawn . . .

while her husband

dreams of younger girls

what summer?

allowing for others

to eat us?

today she

wished she didn't

talk to me . . .

living in a hell

washed with purity

swim with me

in a rose petal . . .

jack fruit moon!

angry moon!

refusing the sun's pleas

to rise . . .

cherry peppers in

an empty garden

humid night . . .

he avoids looking

in mirrors

as always,

worrying what he does

to you . . .

when his toys tire

of unwashed hands

today, she'd

have turned sixty . . .

cherry peppers

your eyes

define the silence

i feel . . .

our words, flat stones

skipping across a stream

a dream?

clouds pass by her

hurriedly

she can't say

after three days on

a volcano,

there's no bond

between them

her tears . . .

who's roots to water

at dawn?

that first step

devoured by what ifs

and fear . . .

leaping into an abyss

darkened with self hatred

no rain . . .

and a million

what ifs

if only

i could take you to

the castle we

sculpted a few weeks ago

without windmills

nightmares . . .

the guilty don't want

me picking weeds

a curse,

this kindness we both

want and give . . .

our hearts pressed

between guilt

re-enter

me, child, summer

has come!

how many

times has your keeper

beaten you?

the ogre clothed

in a priest's robe?

seeds

strangled by lies . . .

empty clouds

be still,

the universe listens

to our hearts . . .

and breathes answers

with tufts of light

clear skies . . .

the hope for new
rice, lessens

antsy, an

oddness caked

with portends . . .

the mute song of roosters

seeping through key holes

her suitor,

the video, kissed

the wind

we hope she's

buntis with my sperm . . .

the other

idea, a circus clown

caught with his pants down

seeding clouds . . .

she won't let me out

of her sight!

she wants

me at her side

to convince

her, dreams come true . . .

a talisman

i said no . . .

not a petal

from this tree!

she took a

home pregnancy test

twice this week . . .

anxious to see

what she wants to

she watches

every petal fall . . .

shaving ice

antsy,

she can't sit still . . .

a still life

waiting in a

long line of maybes

cloud color . . .

he didn't like his lies

uncovered!

i can't

help but wonder if

i was . . .

a pawn in your dog's

game of checkers

he pets his

dog with great vigor . . .

circus clown

yes i was

drunk, and it felt

good . . .

yesterday you crushed

my desire to live

dry leaf . . .

will spring will keep you

from swimming?

a good man . . .
giving her two

different
e-mail addresses
behind my back?

two hours?

and what about me . . .

watching waves?

her son's toy

lacked two wheels,

as if i

could replace them

with my smile

the scent

of new blossoms . . .

ferdinand!

i hope my

torment didn't

become hers . . .

exiled to a hell

one can't escape

circus clown . . .

are you still living

in mirrors?

my ifs,

pipe dreams exported

from a past

sculpted with a

serpent's tail

will summer

bring you closer . . .

day moon!

you think i

don't know who you are . . .

the echo

in your brain bouncing

like a yoyo?

that young boy

on a pogo stick . . .

chasing leafs!

taking the

home pregnancy test

twice this week . . .

wanting to see

a shooting star?

full moon . . .

the twinkling of

misplaced words

a friend, my

ass, your talk of

dry leafs!

you'd skip stones across

the pond in seconds!


spring . . .
the scent of ulam
on her jeans

*ulam is a filipino term for street food

when she left

the room, i tried to stop

the movie . . .

it disappeared in

to the dragon's mouth


new day . . .
where'll turtle go when
his shell wears out?

the bastard

had the nerve to ask

my love to

spend time alone with her . . .

and she accepted


dank air . . .
in heart, a bird of
paradise

he demanded

two hours alone with

my love . . .

an actor playing a role

for what it's worth!


behind me?
the river's laughter . . .
and tears

confused?

she could have played

her hand . . .

either i am

or i am not


in my
loins, a bee looking
for pollen

actually,

he seemed relieved he

left quickly . . .

the rain cleansing

polluted air


cloudless . . .
rice paddies lacking
wet dreams

possessive

once more, she tightens

her legs . . .

carrying my child

up a steep mountain

she's buntis!
we lay in the manger
and wait

*buntis: tagalog word for pregnant!

lies i'll

never know; shadows

you've kept

under trees etched

with too many names


high noon . . .
finally seed
that blossomed!

slick, the way

she brings up my

past sins . . .

after taking them

off the laptop


fresh sushi . . .
i wrap myself with
bamboo leafs

she'll

swim through the clouds

into a

dream that may or

may not work out?

robert d. wilson

©2010