I turned 61 on the 13th of May. Yesterday, I was a teenager in high school. The following day, I was Naval seaman on a joint naval/army base in the heart of the Mekong Delta region of the Republic of South Vietnam, in the middle of Salvador Dali's Surrealistic Toreador, trying to figure out what color of the rainbow to dance on: bright red, dull brown, shiny black, lush green, reddish crimson, and and a wet metallic gray.
Creative people feel more than the average bear. And because we feeeeeeeeeeel, we see and sculpt in our minds, paths made of neurons, exploring realms many would call MAD. Kerouac, Ginsberg, William Blake, Robin Williams, Frida Kahlo, Matisse, Picasso, Dali, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Coltrane, Ezra Pound, one of your relatives or neighbors . . . the pathfinders, those declared insane decades and centuries past . . . Don Quixotes unafraid of mirrors and dark dungeons, those who stretch boundaries, like Vikings and Easter Island inhabitants drifting across foggy, unpredictable oceans on small wooden boats before Columbus was weaned from breast feeding, and Sutter lied to his drinking buddies about discovering a rare yellow metal in Northern California that Native Americans, Mexicans, and Chileanos had already discovered years earlier.
Come on, now
luring the Traveler
Curious, into its dark womb
The graves grinning
Indians of night
The eyes of night
into the brothel, into the blood bath
into the Dream
The dark Dream of conquest
into night, Westward into Night
"Take me for a trip upon . . .your magic sailing ship, my senses have been stripped . . ."
and I'm laying across my bed typing like a crazy man that makes William Blake and Freddy Mercury look like cub scouts on chocolate milk, it's almost 4 in the morning, PTSD has a way of doing that to a Vietnam Vet . . . imagine being rocketed and mortared for three weeks in a row seven to 8 times a night? I'm at my best at night and in the early morning . . . my place of zen, a nipa nut of madness . . . I can think what I want, silence is golden, hyper alert at all times, and I don't take a shit sometimes fr two or three days . . . and before you laugh and called me crazy or worse, remember it was the U.S. government that sent us to the battlefield of psychedlic genocide . . . "my senses have been stripped . . ." and at any moment, Jim Morrison would have been right, if one of our names was on the tip of a bullet, mortar, rocket, mine,or a sharp knife . . . "this is the end my friend . . ."
And have you noticed, how many of the corrupt politicians and the rich who pay for their campaigns and use the politicians like marionette puppets, holy Howdy Doody, send their sons and daughters to war? It's the poor and the middle class who get their guts splattered, heads decapitated, their legs and other body parts scattered in rice paddies and clumps of elephant grass, and later scooped up like horse shit during a parade and placed in body bags and shipped home to mothers and fathers , brothers and sisters, who will never be the same after seeing their family member, if they've one lucky enough to be identified, unzipped from the bag and given to a mortician to prepare for burial . . the mortician hurriedly trying to put together the jig saw puzzle of jig saw puzzles, knowing he doesn't have all the pieces, and even if he did, the body would never look like a body. "Go to war, boys and girls", preached Nixon and Johnson and the two Bushes, their relatives and family eating food prepared at home by world class chefs, their sons and daughters rushing to the mall in the $100,000 porsches to buy the latest designer sunglasses and $2000 pairs of denim jeans . . we are the champions . . . of the world!"
the moon and
i stare through each other
like idols . . .
no votive candles
or plates of fruit
robert d. wilson
I'm asked by a lot of girl/women here in the Philippines questions that tell me one thing:
they want me to make their dreams come true and don't see it happening here in a corrupt country where most are extremely poor, men make little income, and television stirs their desires. I am 61, and not the hunk I was when I was in my teens. Today, why would a young girl/woman in her teens to late twenties desire someone who's a lot older than her? It gives the unenlightened the idea that they are quapo (handsome) and appreciated for who they are instead of for what they have. I have a tendency, or for me perhaps it's a desire, to be gullible and suckered into the wiles of a false dream that can hurt
my wife and others. It's easy to be selfish. Too easy. The easy road is often the wrong course.
"As you think, so shall you become."
fading moon . . .
eating unripe mangoes
robert d. wilson
Being that are self images are illusions we paint within our minds, and if not us, who paints them, it
is our's alone to paint. I say this to you and to myself, because, like you, I am far from evolved and
not an actualized person hanging on a medallion around a surfer's neck.
Space is without end. Many Occidental scholars deal with finite formulas and calculations. This is one of the major differences between Asian and Occidental thinking. One thinks outside the box, the other inside the box, with too many rules, based on education gifted to occupants of the box by those limited to the finite; thus the disappearance of a spiritual realm that includes the miracles and gifts, once practiced and believed in until most scholars inside the box sought to be their own gods and/or claimed to be able to understand God's frame of mind, which when you think about it is preposterous and illusionary.
Most toddlers and babies believe in miracles. They're sensitive, often psychic like canines, able to distinguish between good and evil people. They haven't been poisoned yet by the limitations of an education based upon primitive thinking heralded as state of the art science; a science that continually changes its mind . . . with many theories, based on mental masturbation and man's desire too blame Eve for everything that goes wrong and Eve's desire to do the same to Adam, and no, she didn't meet him on the internet. He did it, she did it, the Devil made me do it ... a crock of horse shit. We need to return to the child inside of us and to let our inner child out too play. It paid off for Miro, Matisse, and Picasso, though a lot of educated scholars during their time, mocked them, and called them lunatics. Shame on those who think outside the box. . . bad people! They bring about change, pioneering new ways of viewing the world. The norm opposing change, thinking women love wearing panty hose and high heels.
"To the mind that is
still, the whole
at it again,
tin plates on the tops
of coconut trees!
robert d. wilson
nearing noon . . . in the waiting room to give sperm
a shadow puppet, he transforms dusk into a three ring circus peppered with fog
if only the soldier's gunsights . . . were mirrors
don't feel embarrassed by my writing . . . the moon, a ventriloquist entertaining stars
each of us a gnat, practice diving
his grace a hard teacher if i ignore his lessons . . . sharpened pungi sticks
nearing noon . . . her body still covered with sand
a day that's more than a day or a dream . . . wilting flowers; an unsteady sky
late noon . . . talking hammer too hammer
don't worry, time flies through dark rain clouds . . . holding each other close on an empty beach
your body, like a jasmine petal . . . folding
now or later, jiminey cricket will wish upon a star . . . dreams upended
no one can
from the dreams
we've felt at night . . .
each star a wish
waiting to hatch
under a moon
any moon . . .
when blossoms sing
we let out
to play on swings
night and day
night and day
day and night
if you were
only a dream,
i'd wake up . . .
to the same nightmare
and fall asleep
when the stars were
into a deep sleep,
i tip toed
into the petals
of a small
and thought about
you . . .
waiting for me
to kiss you
both of us
across rice fields
throws a yoyo
it to return!
how sad . . . the wilting of leaves in summer
why do you
dance with women
you don't know?
a horse chewing
robert d. wilson
I'm a Christian who follows the teaching of Buddha and Lao Tzu , neither of whom I see as gods, and yes, though it's unpopular to say Jesus Christ is God, I believe He is. Jesus and the two sages, one from India, the other from China, saw many things in a similar light.
Egos are for egotists(the insecure), greed is for the rich and the wannabees who worship power,want a license to do as they please, and see wealth as the source of all joy, but if you haven't noticed, they're never satisfied, and always wanting more. The rural throughout southeast Asia are mostly humble, honest, and family oriented compared with egotists and the rich.
It's hard for me to please people and I grew up wanting to please people, to be like everyone else, but it turned out I will always stand out, not to be equated with popularity. In the U.S, my telephone only rang when my fiance texted me or a friend or family member wanted my advice or help. I advised politicians, wrote grants, won awards, organized a kitchen for several years to feed people during Christmas, founded the young parent program in my county serving single mothers aged 13 through 21, and championed students none of my fellow co-teachers wanted to teach, I could go on and on like some poets do with the bios that accompany their poetry in journals, but what does that prove? Tastes in people are subjective. I must empty myself of self and seek love and peace for those I come across, whether or not they like or admire me. I'm just another pea in the pod; a crummy leader, lousy at helping myself, but damn, don't tell me something is impossible or a young person is worthless. I have magical powers in that arena, and, like Don Quixote, unstoppable. I put my entire self into what I make happen and nothing else exists, and I do this not for recognition, believe me, others will rob you of recognition every chance they get. I do it because I love helping others and and championing the underdog. Some of you think you know me, but you will never know me and I will never know you, We each are unique with our own cultural memories, experiences, genetic coding, and sensitivities. In Japan if you stare into a mirror holding a candle there are those who believe a ghost or demon will appear. Perhaps it's the magic mirror with worn out batteries.