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."
"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
