Our Island of the Sun

Our Island of the Sun

by Winston Riley

Legend

A king whose ship was lost at sea pleaded a course of sanity.

Dependent on each other, the crew on deck should have sought esprit.

To such a ship came King O'bom.

Instead the crew, intent on blame ruled by anger, they sought to shame each other

on this land, whose name

was Island of the Sun

Two sides were formed, the red and blue. Which sword of these, they knew not whose

was tempered best. For strength be true, the test was hope for all--not few.

All eyes were focused on O'bom.

From far enough above, the ball seemed motionless and could not fall if tribes connected,

one for all on Island of the Sun.

What was the goal, they should have asked. For things designed to toss, not last?

To find the games which pleased them best? Would such an end provide them rest?

This voyage would define O'bom.

No easy job for any man. Invisible, they say, the hand which moves the trading of the land

on tiny Island of the Sun.

So much bloodshed traced back to oil with cousin coal their sky did boil.

Their rivers stunk and species failed, as with their values lost, their soil.

For these crimes they blamed O'bom.

Sixteen thousand kids died each day from hunger, instead of laughed or played. (I pray that your child, like mine, may

flourish on Island of the Sun).

Much of the pain, they believed by scriptures read could be relieved

and would comfort them in their grief. Would God guide Commander in Chief

to save a hungry child, O'bom?

"My Lord is best," one side would say. Others claimed theirs would save the day.

For tint of skin and love of faith, they waged a war

under the sun.

On what few things could they agree? What sacred views could both they see?

From pain all children should be free and healthy land on which to be

Petitioned thus to King O'bom:

Books and shoes, enough to eat. Not mines but grass under their feet. Unspoiled air

to breath and meet

on Island of the Sun!

Now

On these two battles we depend. A safe haven for all children and toxic free

systems have always been the guiding rule of nature's blend.

All eyes are focused on O'bom.

Perhaps it's us--our blue and red. Can we these two colors shed? So that all children

can be fed on Island of the Sun?

What's the difference between us two? So many bad habits to lose. If some of mine are lost,

will you? Purple is made by red and blue. Do not mistake the hue

O'bom!

Preservation of life requires that we take lessons from the fire, the care of which we should never tire

is Our Island of the Sun

A Quantum Christmas

As I layed in bed this morning, I thought about this blog. Originally this was started to make comments about the connection between physics and mysticism and it has morphed (dwarfed?) to/into prose, the reflections of a midlife rambler. Then when I came to facebook today, I learned my niece Deirdre, who I haven't seen since she was a little girl, 20 years ago (has it really been that long?), had been reading my blog. For sure she read some of the poems from Every Man's Life. I'm uncertain if she's been here, but guessing so because I had posted the link to the story about Darby's scary night here.

When I wrote the entry, I said Dear Diary, kind of tongue in cheek, meaning "no one reads this." Naturally, thanks to Facebook-- a writer, even with as little talent as mine, can cobble together a few readers.

But the reflection for me in that waking state was about the meaning of life. I really wasn't "working on" anything. I was working THRU stuff. The philosophy of anti-matter and quantum physics continues to pull on me. And yet, with about one week before Christmas, the nature of being, as we find ourself in the circumstance of life, seems to be so much more of the real thing. And there is the catch.

Buddha pegged it for sure. Illusion. The trappings of life, such as possessions, such as position, such as all the emotions, both negative and even joyful--are all tied to our skin. Would I trade being in my skin for all the enlightenment of Lao, Jesus, or Jerry Maguire? Nah. But will this little exercise lead back to matter divided by energy equals magic--in the words of whoever coined the phrase--Go For It!

It just occurred to me that I saw a quote yesterday by Arthur C. Clarke, who said, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." I want to postulate that magic is the real thing and that technology is what we name it later. This mystic, (moi), honestly believes that the more we advance as a species, the more we need to disguise the magic. In the same way that SPIRIT only moves in one direction (it always expands and never goes backwards), humans as a culture, evolve further and further away from reality. So much so that our skin actually gets thicker, allowing less and less of the real stuff inside us, to escape.

Last night I knocked on our neighbor's door to find out if she had the baby yet. Sure enough, her one week old daughter had just finised nursing and the grandparents were there, who seemed to be visiting the manger. My enthusiasm was muffled somewhat, but still, I must have seemed like a fireball bombing their household, compared to the gentle cloud which pervaded the inside of their house before my arrival.

When returning home, or I should say later in the evening, the memory of our first week or two with Darby reminded me of my realization. Babies come to us from the side of God. They enter this world with full knowledge of the unknown. All they have is magic. None of the inherited weakness of our confusion. They're new in their skin and with each passing day start to identify with the wrapping, but being in the presence of the sacred child, you know you're linked to the infinite. You understand that all the space around you and that fills the whole household is magical and mysterious.

You're reading this now and our connection can never be reversed. We're inexplicably linked. We own everything. Nothing is missing. Nothing could be any different than it is.

Merry Christmas.

The Boogy Man

Dear Diary. Darby still sleeps after a scary night. Her mom lays next to her and even though it is already 8 am, they're both asleep. A sign that they (at least Anne) was awake in much of the night.

Darby came home from school feeling terrible. She had a slight fever and complained that her throat hurt really, really bad. She was fine when she left for school that morning. As the evening progressed, she got worse and eventually was crying because her throat hurt so bad. The scary part though became reports about her neck which hurt. I say scary because Anne is a whiz at beating the doctors to the prognosis by going to the computer. She diagnosed meningitis, and together with the story she heard a few days ago about a young girl, friend of a friend, who got sick and died in 24 hours from meningitis, had us contemplating the emergency room.

So there were calls to the urgent care doctor on call, with instructions of pills and watching for symptoms. There was debate between us and conversation about Darby's tendency to "soak up" sympathy.

I crawled away to her bed upstairs to sleep. This morning, the two of them rest peacefully, like a picture, in our bed. When I look at them, as an incognito spy, and also knowing they don't know I'm watching, the serenity of the scene, from soft cotton sheets and kitty cats at the foot, bump in the blankets where our Yorky is warm and cozy under them, it is hard to imagine that more drama will ensue, when the light finally violates their lush comfort.

Alas, we're engaged already. The doctor's office doesn't open until 12:45 on Wednesday! The alternative is traditional hospital medicine, with our limited health care insurance and our high deductible, and the ridiculous routine of tests and prodding related to liability and corporations.

Naturally, we'll do whatever, because we won't risk any true danger, but why oh why can't we stay in that peaceful Currier and Ives collection, all cozy and safe, blissfully resting in perfect beauty?

Women are from Venus, Men are Pigs

Yesterday on my Facebook page, I posted an ad from Peta with a naked model. Her nipples and pubic area were covered by a large, sword like cross. At her feet were a bunch of puppies and the message was don't buy dogs, always adopt. The model was voluptuous, and I'll venture to suggest that all fully functioning men couldn't help but notice she is attractive.

Reasonably and understandably, two female friends didn't appreciate the ad and were outspoken and several guy friends joked back and forth with me about the cute puppies and petting them and holding them, etc, alluding to some of the attractive parts of the model.

The discussion seemed to continue to divide the two groups and I saw the tendency which usually happens, that women don't appreciate being objectified and men continuing to be the crude pigs which we often admit to. The women are right to object and the men are wrong to laugh in the face of their discomfort. One of the girls pointed out that it is rare for a man to be a feminist. She was also right about this. I need to adopt a more appropriate attitude. I have a strong feminine side actually. Or I should say am in touch with a voice which is the voice of MOTHER. The Mother God voice, Earth, which is all about nurturing. But what I want to discuss in this post is something else--about polarity.

To go back to what I said earlier about the guys noticing the woman was attractive. This is instinct. I propose it has to do with a drive of reproduction. As I consider it now, I notice the sensation in my lower abdomen, above my testicles, near the base of my penis. As crude and rude as this may seem, I'm trying to discuss something which needs to be explored. Usually at this point, any girl friends in the conversation may say, "OK, I'm out of here." I really don't understand why we can't get to the bottom of these issues.

For instance, the women let us know that it is rude for the category of womanhood to be reduced to sexual objects, and they are quite correct. And men should respect that. If we want to laugh and be silly in private, merely laughing at ourselves really, that we have these tendencies, I think it is harmless. But we shouldn't rub salt in the wound and do it in front of girls, especially if we love them.

But as an intellectual pursuit, to try to understand the basis for men's behavior, when will we become that civilized? In another hundred years?

I agree that it takes an evolved and fully mature man to embrace feminist philosophy, but I'm really curious about this strong drive, which I insist is at the basis of much of our culture and also very harmful. I think beyond the extreme degradation to women and even violence against women that the behavior has lead to, it is responsible for our exploitation of the planet. I think this masculine drive is what leads to all wars, to all corporate crimes, to imperialism, and even to the basis of a MAN god centric religion. In fact, I think this MAN god centric religious culture of the world is what is keeping us from evolving to the next, more appropriate stage of human development.

So you see, I'm interested in getting to the bottom of my own frailty and weakness, caused by this polarity which is real and is inside me, but more importantly I think as a culture we should be open to exploring it, as research, as science. When we understand it, we'll better know how to deal with it.

And there is a counter pole at play. I don't have as direct access to it, but I can witness it. There is a voice which has been calling me, strongly over these last few years. I think the voice is the counter pole. If the male pole leads to reproduction and the counter pole leads to nourishing and care of offspring--I think I just got my own answer.

The feminine should be the leadership because the male pole leads to violence and crimes. If the feminine were the ruling body, it could be in a better position to manage the male pole. This doesn't have to physically be women in charge, although it should be in many cases. What I'm suggesting is about the polarity and management.

This is enough for now. Ciao.