The Time to Be is Now

The Time to Be is Now



When I was a young man I thought I

Had time to burn. It took me years to

Reach awareness and accept the facts

That the time I would get wasn’t even

Imaginable; and, like the answer to a

Riddle, would confound me only for

A while more, before it’d be known,

Not by me, but by a few who loved

Me, and those who didn’t care, too.
_


It got my attention when I realised

That I wasn’t invulnerable to harm.

But it alarmed me more to realise

How swiftly events spiraled away,

Out of control, watched by me in a

Sort of slow-motion, as they played

Out, chillingly, in front of my eyes.
_


I kept quiet about those unsettling

Self-discoveries. Ego needed me to

Keep up the pretense of awareness

Of self I projected outward. But in

The back of my mind, there was an

Itch that couldn’t be scratched.
_


Work helped a lot. I was trained to

Survey and appraise, in professional

Valuation reports, the values of things

Of so-called rarity, or intrinsic beauty.

With validated justifications for the

Current fair market-insurable-value

Replacement costs, and actual cash

Values I offered opinions about.
_


Examining objects that were old or

Even ancient, took me right outside

Thoughts of self and kept me from

Thinking about how little control I

Actually had over the tick-tocking

Seconds, minutes and hours of my

Yet to be existence, day by day, or

Year by year, I had left to spend, as

I peered ahead into murky views.
_


However, it didn’t fail to strike me,

That a year, a month, a week, or even

A day more of my own life, would be

Of more intrinsic value to me than to

Anyone else now still alive on Earth.
_

The Mother of Exiles Now Stands Abject and Defamed

The Mother of Exiles Now Stands Abject and Defamed




I shall here make no effort to defend or decry the

Depths of heartlessness that my country has now

Plumbed, except to say that I and millions of my

American countrymen / women, now stand with

Our Mother Of Exiles, equally Defamed, and too,

Abjectly Shamed, before a world of tempest-tost,

Homeless, poor, tired, huddled masses who yearn

To breathe our free air, and yearn for a reception

Of mercy and compassion here in our storied land

Of the free, that is, above all, a human birthright.
_


They, the wretched refuse from teeming foreign

Shores, find, that after generations of deadly

Interference in their freely elected democratic

Governments by our oxymoronic, American

Intelligence services to overthrow legitimately

Installed governments, in favour of despotic

Regimes, bribed by multinational, corporate,

Resource extraction commercial enterprises.

All in the name of neo-liberal capitalism’s

Stakeholder-domain, shareholder rewards.
_


All while the citizens of those unfortunate

Nations discover that capitalism has left

Their agrarian economies in tatters, with

No jobs to be had and inflation spiraling

Out of control, violent gangs of criminals

Vie for the dregs left by the new overlords

Of commerce, typically just a few land-

Owner families, installed as cruel despots.
_


And so, they flee in their multitudes. With

Hopes in their hearts to sustain them, and

Little else, they flee in search of a place

Where they can work and raise up families

Of their own who can thrive, without fear.
_


Here to be met with hatred and charges of

Illegal trespass, when all they had hoped for

Was asylum’s succor from fear, and hunger.

Children ripped from their breasts, they are

Separated and incarcerated, Nazi-style, in

Filthy concentration camps where sickness,

Sexual assault and daily abuse become a

New norm they could never have dreamt of.
_



We are sorry. It is the doing of our totally

Corrupt American government. Not all

Americans are so hate-filled and angry.

We pray for you every day!
_


“The New Colossus”
by Emma Lazarus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
MOTHER OF EXILES. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
_

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she with silent lips.
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
_

Uncover Your Great Determination

Uncover Your Great Determination


When the great root of faith and the great ball of
doubt are present, great determination will arise.

Great determination is a strong resolve that wells
up from the bottom of our gut and spurs us on.

We already believe that we ourselves are intrinsically
awake; we only need discover what is within us.


—Koun Yamada, “Great Faith, Great Doubt, Great Determination”

Change is the Future

Change is the Future



As the armchair philosopher that I am,

Crusty, but often, on good days, gracious,

Let me share a thought or two with you.
_



Like many others, I have looked fearfully

Upon the cold face of unsought change as it

Heaved and wrought itself in my life from

The old thens, that I knew well, to the new

Nows that I was, as yet, unsure of knowing.
_



Some of the changes seemed, as they began,

Innocent enough. Events and people led me

Down paths I took to with anticipation of the

Wonders that lay ahead, if I could find them.
_


At other times, the changes made me feel as

Though I had been taken up in a vortex, and

All that was familiar had begun to wash out,

As though being taken up had turned all my

Life’s solid textures to liquid quicksilver.
_


Being of quiet, reflective mien, I’ve little to

Share with those who’d ask, “how did those

Changes finally come to fruition?” Without

Any misleading intentions, the coy, muted

Tones of my answers would only lead one

To an empty suchness of remote meanings.
_


Change now feels inevitable to me, and yet

It holds neither dread of another vortex nor

The lure of unknown wonders not yet found.
_


But I will say this, whatever else change has

In store for me, it will introduce the future,

Whether I appreciate all else it brings, or not.
_

The Power of Small Transformations

The Power of Small Transformations


We are constantly being transformed when we travel on the path. While we may be the same individual on one level, on another level we are different. There is always continuity, and yet at each major turning point on the journey we have become transformed because certain habits have dropped away.


—Traleg Kyabgon Rinpoche, “Letting Go of Spiritual Experience”

Want, Need, Lust and Greed

Want, Need, Lust and Greed



For aeons of generations, the toxic desires of ‘want,

Need, lust and greed’ have been taught to us as being

Necessary to our new species’ wellbeing and survival.



Those who seek absolutions for ‘inequalities’ cruelty

To innocents have tried their best to make it seem true.

I could even name names but what good would that do?



Faux-context history lauds examples of the hoarders

Whose wants, needs, lusts and greeds have awarded

A warped sense of ‘worthiness,’ and not hesitated to

Denigrate their poor, distant, worth-less cousins, and

Shame and blame them for their blind, moral failings.



Grifters of accretion bestow ‘worthiness’ upon selfish,

Cruel takers. But those lower orders, don’t you know?

Have a ways to go, before their gene pools twist away

From the ‘commonness’ of loving kindness and the

Ease of giving that mark generosity’s true compassion.



The story reaches a penultimate summit as threats of

Climate depredations, sea-level rise, and new-normals

Of destruction wrought upon us all by mega-weather

Events, create multitudes with no place to go. And no

Where to be. And nuclear death is constantly looming.



Now, planet-wide, sick, hungry hordes vie to escape.

But to where, they’ll ask? When want, need, lust and

Greed own it all, safely behind their high, gated walls.

Or so they fool themselves into believing, for no class

Of privilege can impede and prevail against rabid mobs.



The inequitable, partisan, ethos of want, need, lust and

Greed see only an existential threat whose longings will

Diminish what’s left for them to hoard unto themselves.

And won’t see, that for anyone left alive, love, is the only

Thing left to us all. And that it is infinitely fungible, and

Must be freely shared amongst all, to ensure survival.



We all need to change and become more giving soon.

Subsume want, need, lust and greed into generosity.

Instead of worrying about keeping some insatiable

Desires satisfied, why not help another, giving freely?



I believe that by us all joining together in a singular

Purpose of survival, it will define and enable a new

Renaissance of a pure human spirit that will help us

All regain hope and help us find good solutions to

Defeat the foul inequalities of want, need, lust and

Greed, and enable us all to have security and thrive.

Our Enduring Buddha Nature

Our Enduring Buddha Nature


We are still in the ocean of samsara; we have not yet gotten our heads fully out of the water. We have roamed about in one confused state of experience after the other, endlessly. At the same time, we haven’t lost our buddha nature.


—Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche, “Taking Your Future Into Your Own Hands”

A Dreamer Who Forgot What He Used To Dream

A Dreamer Who Forgot What He Used To Dream



Try to imagine a dreamer of dreams par-excellance.

It was to him that the dreamless came for counsel,

To glean shreds of hope for the miracle of a dream.



And then.



He awoke, confused. He surveyed himself and found

That some parts were familiar, but that many others

Were wholly new, of unknown origin and function.



How can this be, he asked himself? I used to know

Myself as the sum of all my parts, but now I’m not

Sure if that comfortable old rule still applies to me.



I still see and hear and taste and smell, but now the

Odours and flavours and sounds and views don’t

Give the same impressions to me, as once they had.



He tried to recall the dreams that had brought him

To himself through fearful, painted visions of loves

And its fabricated losses. They were out of reach.



Are the new functions I find, designed to quell all

Hopes and despair, in confusion, he asked himself?

The answer was an echo of a finally learned thought:



“No, The new functions have brought you freedom

From desperate memories of pain-ravaged minds;

They came at equanimity’s behest,” was his answer.



And then he knew: those old, laconic memories had

Now become essence; and as such, they were nothing

More than just learning to be, and that was never easy.

What Is Self-Liberation?

What Is Self-Liberation?


The liberation of Buddhism is liberation from self, not liberation of self.


—Dharmavidya David Brazier, “Performing the Ritual of Life”

If You Could

If You Could



If I could, here at rest, see my whole life before me,

And had the ability to do so, would I change anything?

Because of the memories of my life’s events, I view

That super-hypothetical question from vantages that

Were disadvantageous, and, too, from some distinctly

Negative hindrances that became, through life’s shifts

Away from them, distinctly, super-advantageous.



They say that even small changes in the infancy of a

Child can echo forward and become an adult attitude

Which can, in some ways, manifest as actions that

Play out and become part of one’s unique destiny.



It’s a conundrum to be sure. In everyone’s life there’s

A lot that could be improved by a do-over, but would

The hopeful do-over, hide painful regrets within itself?



Being swept away in regret doesn’t recommend itself,

Does it? But what of the potential for bliss, you ask?

Just a small tweak here and there, and part the clouds

To reveal, what? I don’t know. I could only hope for

A good, fair outcome. If you could, would you?

The Two Sides of Hope and Fear

The Two Sides of Hope and Fear


The Buddha’s teaching says that hope is just the flip side of fear, and fear the flip side of hope. The best thing is just to stay awake and watch it, watch yourself, and feel everything as it is right now.


—Kaz Suzuki, “A Caregiver’s Story: Kaz Suzuki”

The Dark Behind My Eyes

The Dark Behind My Eyes



I lie still, eyes closed, and breathe deeply.

Blindly, I grope around without touching

Anything in my mind that feels familiar.



A weightless sense of panic hovers above

As thoughts, all jumbled together, vie for

Attention in a dimmed awareness of self.



Slowly, I lose the sense of the breaths I was

Following. Without that meter, time, always

A companion of the me I know, drifts away.



The slip of an errant thought. Oh! Let it go.

The dark behind my eyes begins to weave

Itself into a wisp of dim, flickering silence.



My self, for awhile, quietly vacates my self.

Meditation’s non-goal is to be less of a self,

Freeing my compassion for others to ripen.

Life, Time, Death and Forgiveness

Life, Time, Death and Forgiveness



From these four major arcana there is no

Escape. Pleadings for immunity will not be

Heard, nor granted. They arrive unbidden

And reveal themselves too soon. But it’s the

Last of these fateful arcanum that offers us

Both a ready choice and a restorative fix.



Take, for example, Life. A flicker can morph

Into a dark, unwholesome ennui; or a mere

Glimmer can flare up and become bright with

Beneficial light; or, it can project one’s Life

Onto another and be reflected back, measure

For measure. Lives lived together are much

More than the sum of their nutritive parts.



Time operates outside human ken or, at least,

We think it does. We also think it means all

There will be, to me, to you, and to everyone

Else. But tick and tock are only a mock say

The clocks. Isn’t that just a welch on a wind?

Now will never be the same as then. Ha Ha,

Not, at least, until Time, itself, stands still.



Shiver me timbers and roll the bones to see

If my old number’s come up cold. Death offers

Us another spastic, sarcastic roll of the plurality

Of die, which have just expired. Confident that

You’ll not refuse, she waits, suppressing fits of

Giggles. Here we go then, straight down that

Long, smooth, baize table, the dice fly… and.



We’ll all be touched by Death, Time and Life,

But when, oh when, is the touch of Forgiveness,

You may ask. And I’ll say, that’s not for me to say.

For Forgiveness operates only at need and even

Then, it’s often too late. The lesson is clear: don’t

Wait until it’s too late to offer up your forgiveness.

Stand Against a Wall and Cry

Stand Against a Wall and Cry



Perfect walls stand perpendicular to perfectly

Level surfaces. I find it to be an incautiously

Hopeful sign that those spirit-level structures,

In their mean perfection of vertical separation,

Have, nonetheless, been designed and built by

Such a flawed, imperfect, race of beings as us.



But when I compare the success of our many

And varied, historical wall-building endeavors

To some of the more heartbreaking uses we put

Them to, I want to stand against a wall and cry.



We use walls to separate ourselves from others.

Shutting others out and walling ourselves in, to

Perceived security and safety paradigms, based

On our fears of what those others may do to our

Hard-won, protected, good, everlasting societies,

Loved ones, land, shelter, jobs, food, and right to

Exist, in a place where our freedoms to exercise

Dominance over others will never be challenged.



The reasons for our walls are ageless, we are

Allowed entry into the protected spaces, while

The dreaded others, those who we feel are not

Entitled to enter into our sovereign space, and

To whom we assign the least degree of human

Rights, the select rights we have always been

Accorded as our birthright due to the fortunate

Accident of our birth inside these walls we so

Diligently build and repair to defend our lives.



But everyone knows that walls will always fall.

That no structure, human-built, upon our Earth,

Will ever endure. That all things both made and

Natural will, by their nature as mere substance

Of matter, degrade, become corrupted, and pass

Away into loose rubble, and finally, mere dust.



Now, dear gentle reader, I’ll ask you to cast your

Imagination forward in time to the year 2100, a

Mere eighty years, a generous lifetime for a child

Born today. Try to imagine one tenth of the ten

Billion people we expect to be living here then.

Now try to imagine those one billion humans as

Being hungry, thirsty, and unmoored to a place

That they can be safe in, and that they can call

Home. I know, you can’t imagine it because it

Seems impossible. It seems inconceivable to our

Minds of today, but it will, nonetheless, have

Become our world’s new, unwelcome reality.



They’ll be, in their hungry, sick, needy hordes,

Refugees. And they’ll be everywhere on Earth.

Worldwide sea-level rise will wipe out most of

Our world’s most densely populated shoreline

Areas, and force all who manage to survive, to

Move inland, to where water can be found, and

Food can be grown. There, they’ll be met with

Two survival challenges, violence, and walls.



But then, It won’t be me who’ll compare the

Success of our many wall-building endeavors.

And it won’t be me who’ll need to endure the

Heartbreaking uses we’ll then put our walls to.

And it won’t be me who’ll stand against those

Impenetrable walls, and cry, and cry, and cry.

An Enduring Love

An Enduring Love


In this world where everyone dies, where every song ends, where every achievement is undone, where every treasure is lost, all of us are left behind. All of us leave. But everywhere and always there is the hum of continuing. Though always incomplete, always there is the sound of love, forever and at the core unfinished.


—Douglas Penick, “On the Departure of a Beloved Brother”

Silences

Silences



I walk to the open window and stand very still.

My ears wait for sounds, paused. Leaves rustle,

Swayed by touches of a warm breeze. It sounds

Like untamed foam crashing on sands that give

Way, moving incrementally as they gently rush,

From shore back to sea, ever and again, again.



As reward for my patience, the quiet susurrus

Is disrupted by the long, piteous lament of a

Tomcat’s howls and screeches of lust. It’s like

Hearing a weeping dirge for the loss of a love,

Or a lost treasure’s inestimable value, gone.



Sleek jetliners rasp overhead as they pierce the

Heavy, hushed clouds far above, twin contrails

Leaving here to get wherever they want to be,

As though its flighty noises make it important.



But it’s never mind, to me, that I’m left behind to

Hear so many quiet little silences knit themselves

Together, into a light, unassuming garment that’ll

Be so easily worn, enrobing me in peacefulness.

Requiem for a Bully

Requiem for a Bully



It’s a common, hoped-for theme: a person who

Rules a situation and torments others at liberty,

Maybe even earning cruel applause from other,

Like-minded, merciless dunces will, someday,

Get that payback-in-kind that’s coming to them,

Served large and frosty cold, as due retaliation.



A view of decrepitude where once was vitality;

Total insolvency, where once, extremes of vanity

Played out by sheer net worth and buying power.

Social pariah-stature, where once, they had been

Entreated by those who thought power important.



I say, that to hope for the downfall of another,

Regardless of how mean, toxic and dangerous

They are, is, but to view the faults of others in

A mirror tainted by its own reflective cracks.



But what’s to be done about the bullying, you

Should ask? I say, defend all who are weaker

Than you, preyed upon by the harsh cruelties,

And petty meanness of others, but resist urges

To blame and hate of your own accord. Better,

Always, that the love of a fellow human being

(that which motivates concern for their welfare)

Remain untarnished by the baseness of hatred.

Life in, Life out

Life in, Life out



This isn’t going to be a polemical screed about
How little we, as end-stage, latter-day humans,
Who have learned to commodify the countable,
Discrete events of each person’s life, value life.



But it is, I hope, going to be about how much
More we could all do to celebrate and treasure
The gifts of life we have, for as long as they
Remain to us before our bodies wear out from
Age or accident or illness and, inevitably, the
Grains of sand in our opaque hourglass run out.



Being so caught up in celebrating the countable
Events of life: birth, school, career, marriage,
Childbirth, retirement, and death, we sometimes,
To use metaphors, lose sight of the forest (a life),
While our vision is focused on the singularities
Of the trees (the events of our lives, and those
To whom we are bonded by love, or hate), which
Make up an entirety of the metaphorical forests
Of our whole, enumerated, celebratory lifetimes.



As examples, try to remember the first time a
Parent advised us about right and wrong; or
Taught us the right way to dress ourselves and
Tie our shoes; or helped us with a homework
Assignment; or taught us to play sports; or sat
Proudly when we received a diploma; or told
Us how proud they were of our efforts to help
Around the house. All these moments can be
Remembered with even greater clarity than the
Signal events of our later, adult lives of duty.



Remembrances of positive early life-events
Guide us to a deeper appreciation for all the
Moments that comprise our human life. And,
Will help us in our struggles to forgive people
Who, in our ever-fresh memories of youthful
Fear and pain, caused us grievous harm. Such
Forgiveness, it has been said, can unburden a
Person’s heart to the degree that love can be
Renewed, freeing us to celebrate all the, ‘yet
To be’ moments that lie ahead of us in life.

Transforming Suffering into Wisdom

Transforming Suffering into Wisdom


Buddhism is a method of transforming the deep misunderstanding of the world that causes unhappiness into a wisdom that recognizes the impermanent, changing nature of everything we grasp—most significantly our selves.


—David Patt, “Who’s Zoomin’ Who? The Commodification of Buddhism in the American Marketplace”

Fade Away

Fade Away



It’s mid-morning here. The sun is shining brightly.

I have the sense of an imminent ending that will

Usher in promises of a new beginning. It’s strange

Isn’t it, to think such thoughts while the day is still

So new? So much for atmosphere. When the mind

Seeks shadows, they will surely appear, bidden to

Emerge by its memories of secret, hidden hopes.



There are no queries to ask, for no answers have

Ever evolved to match such entreaties, even if

They could be cogently parsed as words. It’s a

Safe bet, anyway, that they’d have no meaning.



Neither you nor I can see what lies beyond. We

Only know it from hearsay and suppositions of

The erstwhile wise, who do ramble on so. If it’ll

Be sudden, or if it’ll be long and drawn out past

Its prime, we’ll think only one phrase to describe

Its long overdue, hesitant passing: fade away.



And now it seems that waiting is the only thing

For us to do, gracefully so, if we can manage it.

We haven’t a timetable to peruse as we wait, but

We can observe as the flesh on our bones raddles,

As one surprising loss of function follows another.



But it isn’t as sad a spectacle as many think. As

Forgiveness and love replace need within our hearts,

Is born hope and a yearning for goodness, itself, to

Manifest for those whom we love, and bless their

Hearts. Only the faint sounds of our ticks resonate

Into the even more faint sounds of our tocks, as we

Fade away, for good, making room for what’s next.



Not yet, you’ll say? There’s more to make and do

That I remain as blind to, as you are to yours, you

Say. You say wait. But I’m tired. The angers that

Were, for so long fed by ignorance and fear, are

Dim now, pointless and futile. And more than a

Little trite, even dull, as they slumber above old

Meanings that have lost their ability to rouse me

To take action, as once they did, long ago with

The flame and fury of righteousness and youth.



Dukkha still clings, inescapable, but now there

Are quiet compensations for an awareness of such

Things, wrought in me by the truths of Dharma and

The love of cherished ones both here now, and long,

Long since, lost to view. That is to say, in all but

Wry memories that often bring smiles to these eyes

That think they’ve seen it all. But that too is but the

Hubris of a young soul, as it struggles against the

Sentimental bonds of an old age, as it, fades away.

Vehicles for Spiritual Journeys

Vehicles for Spiritual Journeys



I like to think of spiritual quests as journeys.
So isn’t it natural to think of the broad array
Of spiritually-engaged Eastern philosophies,
As being more than a bit like the distinctive
Types of vehicles we use to get from where
We think we are, spiritually, to where we’d
Deem the need to be, or where we’d guess,
Or just imagine, lies a better state of being?



We use rocket power to leave Earth and go
Into the vacuum of space; jets to bring us to
Stratospheric heights; propellers to take us
Across vast seas; and combustible gas and
Electric batteries to hasten down highways.



Sometimes, it seems as though the one thing
Humans want more than anything is to go on
Long journeys and return from them enriched.
That same idea seems to also hold true for their
Spiritual journeys, where untold treasures often
Lie in the words of a sermon, or the momentary
Grasp of a deep, meditative clarity that can open
Heart and mind to reveal eminent, hidden truths.



Tibetan monks will say that Vajrayana Buddhist
Meditation practice is like boarding a powerful,
Interstellar rocket to reach the coolness of full
Enlightenment, opening one’s mind to the huge,
Vacuum of emptiness that is non-self realization.



Whereas, the older meditation practices of the
Mahayana and Theravada schools of Buddhism,
Are like taking a supersonic jet, or a very fast
Race car to enlightenment. Both being no less
Certain of reaching the destination, just more
Slowly, requiring a meditation practice over a
Longer span of rebirths before one’s eventual
Arrival at a state of non-self accomplishment.



Others say that spiritual journeys are, in fact,
Mind trips, where we make every possible effort
To find and hold onto selves we think we are in
Danger of losing, after the death of the bodies we
Now wear. Through that arduous process, we are
Told, it is difficult, but possible, to create a veneer
Of peace in some measure. And, that it may only
Be achieved through a fusion of belief and faith.



And, yet others say that embracing ideas that
Purport to be fulfillment of a spiritual journey
Will, by virtue of one’s desire to accomplish
It, create an immovable block to progress we
Might be capable of, as far as arriving at any
Spiritual destination we thought of as doable.



My own ideas about completion of spiritual
Journeys within a short human lifetime betray a
Mixture of emotion, intellect and knowledge.



My emotions have always badly wanted me
To search for ways to find repose while still
Maintaining an identity as part of, not apart
From, the human race. Intellectually, I’m
Both solidly intrigued, and yet thoroughly
Mystified by some of the core conventions
We humans have managed to invent for the
Spiritual philosophies I have studied to a
Degree of confidence in my knowledge of
The historical development of precepts that
We frail humans can apply to our lives to
Create inner peace and find fulfillment.

Gone Dark For A Long While

Gone Dark For A Long While



We’ve always been much less exceptional than we
Thought we were, but at least we could still say we
Believed in the tales of the lights of our liberties.



From Paul Revere’s silver wicked-lamps shown in
A church steeple, to Lady Liberty’s torch held high,
Memories glimmered and sustained us in our ways.



We needed to hold those memories close then, as we
Morphed into a force that no longer heeded fear nor
Apology, power had made us righteous, we thought.



Now we know where the road to supremacy leads us.
Our great hubris reveals the twisted, faux-light signs
We invented to shadow our dark, forever war’s costs.



We’ll finally see the truth when the skies bleed acid
Tears that will, finally, obscure the lamps of hope lit
Long-ago, that used to be called, the right to a future.



There is only one simple question in answer to all the
Questions ever put forth, as the lights of liberty were
Snuffed, those teachings of ugly times past do tell us.



It’s a question that frames only a simple, dull answer
That shall, and always has remained, who owns you,
And who or what the hell gave them a right to do so?



… as J. M. Keynes used to put it, ‘ [capitalism is]
the astonishing belief that the nastiest motives of
the nastiest men somehow or other work for the
best results [for all the people] in the best of all worlds’
… [loosely edited].



Americans are either willfully ignorant or stupidly
Indifferent to what our country has become. Our
Weapons of war and murder are actively sold, and
Traded, and stolen everywhere on Earth. Our killers
Are now garrisoned at most of the Earth’s nations.



Our prisons, bursting with more than two million,
Mostly non-violent, mostly dark-skinned captives,
Are even lauded for their poor food and medical
Care, as points of pride (by those lacking mercy).



Our population of humans are matched by a count
Of deadly firearms, with no meaningful oversight.
At least 100 firearm deaths (killings and suicides)
Happen every day in America. No person is ever
Truly safe, at any time, or at any place in America,
From murder and life-altering injury from gunfire.
But thoughts and prayers flow freely for the dead.



The vast majority of American citizens do not have
Financial means to cope with a $1,000 emergency.
Our country consistently scores below many other,
So-called, first-world nations in educational, life-
Expectancy, mental health, and wellbeing indices.



The American people, and many Europeans as well,
Have now become an angry bunch of finger-pointers,
Always ready to blame and shame others for a status
Of poverty, homelessness, or as a stateless refugee,
Now all perceived through a self-righteous lens of
Moral superiority, while falsely claiming for them-
Selves the delusion of industrious exceptionalism.



We Americans are now producing a spiritually bereft
Generation of biblically, pseudo-historically educated
People devoid of real empathy and compassion, and
Are encouraging our youth to cultivate savage hatreds
Of non-white immigrants and native-born citizens.



Shamefully, we elected to shutter free mental-health
Treatment facilities and services, opting, instead, for
The immoral attitude that what is hidden away (in our
Prisons) doesn't really exist. And we continue to enact
Harsh laws against family planning, women’s health,
And legal abortion, to appease Christian ideologies
That favor fetuses, but care little for poor, hungry, or
Homeless children that already number more than two
Million recorded cases of actual, daily, at-risk youth.



Antinomianism:

In Christianity, an antinomian is one who takes the
Principle of salvation by faith and divine grace to a
Logical endpoint, asserting that the "saved," thereby,
Aren’t beholden to any precepts in the Laws of Moses.



Antinomians believe that obedience to moral laws is
Solely motivated by an internal principle flowing from
The divine grace of their beliefs (in whatever variety of
Christian dogma they follow), rather than from any real
Compulsion to obey age-old dictums predicated upon
Axioms of, ‘doing unto others as we would have them
Do unto us,’ or, in other words, to an Antinomian
Christian believer, selfishness is best because beliefs
In their versions of God, Jesus, Holy Spirit Dogma,
Releases them from the very real responsibility of
A true member of the human race; beings who, have
Always, depended upon one another for survival.

And Yet, We Still Suffer

And Yet, We Still Suffer



Lao Tzu came and then he did blame.

Siddhartha came and then he became.

Abraham from Egypt’s hot sands came.

Moses made tablets and down he came.

Jesus, virgin-born, died, and then became.

Mohammed from Medina, p.b.u.h. name.



Who will come next, you might enquire.

Shall it a man, or a woman prophet be,

That arrives to redeem the needs so dire?



Now Trump and his rich lackeys of god,

Preach the adoration of money and power,

Until ‘end times’ bring resurrection to all,

Who believe that belief is enough to earn,

A ticket to ride beams of light to heaven’s

Wide gates, and there to meet and greet, he,

Who made it all happen, but only for those

Who did believe in a well-told myth, and a

Legend or two, upon such to rest one’s soul.



I’ll take a long view and see what I shall see.

For in lives yet to be, still, it’ll be seemly to say,



“And Yet, We Still Suffer.”