Where are you now, what drew you to read my poetic diary, The Wonderland Amusement Park? Is
it for the first time? Have you been reading each new addition as they appear on line? Are we part
of a gestalt experiment coupled with Jungian fantasies, letting our spirits loose to wander down paths
we've been told not to travel on? Is this a place to entertain hatred, harbor a grudge, dig some dirt to sling at me or perhaps yourself? Are we practicing "the art of emptying others and filling . . . " ourselves, as Sun Tau mentions in his book, The Art of War? A strange thing, the mind. It's ours alone to use but we are influenced by others each pulling you, if you allow them to, into a world of mirrors
they too have carved with their mind. The psychiatrist, Carl Jung (Swiss psychologist (1875 - 1961) in his book, Memories, Dreams, Reflections, said: "As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being." He also posited, "Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to a better understanding of ourselves." In this diary I do something few have done, if any, and that's to express and bare my soul via tanka, haiku, and haiga. I am not a degenerate and more than you are. Admit it, you have fantasies, vile thoughts, anger expressed in a multitude of ways. We laugh, we cry, we dream dreams, awake and asleep . . . Dreams compose who we are, as much as genetic predisposition and environment.
"We are what we think. All that we are arises With our thoughts. With our thoughts, We make our world."
You think, I think, or we react to something without thinking. One's environment affects our thinking, and when combined with genetic predisposition; your results form a unique you. After coming back from Nam, the war had changed me. I went deeper into my self; did everything I could to bury my thoughts: drugs, sex, alcohol, and much more. I went this way and that way like a half back running in a zig sag pattern towards the goal line, only for me, there was no goal. I was stuck in the belly of the dragon, in a war zone. A tug-of-war? I was losing sight of who I am, stuck in the equivalent of an
LSD trip that refused to end. I'd built the Wonderland Amusement Park, a place where nothing is as it is, the Park's themes always changing, without a white rabbit worrying about being late to a tea party nobody gives a damn about. Enter at your own risk.