San Miguel Del Mundo

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Bill in San Miguel

As should be, there are
places and moments that
transcend borders and
seem gems meant for all
to see and enjoy.

We can be lulled to sleep
by fancy, beautiful places,
sky-scraping churches to
praise God, and also to
distract from murder.

Murdering culture, tradition,
polytheistic pagan dreams
of earth gratitude and song.
The dream of new, youth
and eternity,

Dreamed as I did when
I prayed for poetry to come
to me.  I was in San Miguel
de Allende in 1995, twenty-
three years old, writing
travel stories…

“God, give me poetry,”
I prayed by the bed on
my knees, as I used to do,
a recovering Catholic in the
home of my practicing
Mexican family.

They ran a pensión then,
and I paid my pesos, ate
the nice meals at Comida
time, met a photographer
from Colorado who taught
me about light.

Two or so weeks passed,
and no poetry arrived.  I
had been to the bullfights,
saw Cristina Sanchez defy the
odds in a man’s world
and shine; I ran with the
little bulls

of the Pamplonada, the
grand Independence Day
fiesta, and a little bull hit
me and I fell down, typical of
tourists taking pictures
not precautions.

But after a day in Dolores,
called Hidalgo after the
Mexican hero, I was awakened
by lines of poetry out of
my dreams in Spanish and
in English,

Every other line.

I sewed prayer and reaped
poetry in San Miguel, a
Spanish name for a place that
I’m sure used to have an
Indigenous name, Chichimeca
the internet tells me… By any
other name

places either smell sweet
or not.  It needs cleaning
and care like any baby or
town; it could use help
with stray dogs, and is
not perfect, but there is
magic there.

Here, I should say—there
is magic here, for I have
finally moved here to explore
more poetry and write
a book about white people
from Europe stealing

native land from natural
inhabitants whose spirituality
is glorious and not in books.

There’ll be a place someday
that truly rises up as an
example to the world, and
it could be here in San Miguel.

Then again, I may not know,
for I am bound for Wales
after a while in search of
land I nor my descendants
did not steal.

Polytheistic

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Virgen1

I was brought up to think
polytheism and paganism the
devil, and something to avoid
like the plague.

I here announce my polytheism,
finding both the bible and
Earth concept helpful to
arrive at good spirituality
and decision making.

The two work together well,
ask Juan Diego and the Virgin
of Guadalupe.

Mixing is okay, take what you
like and leave the rest;

the highest power in my life,
when put into words is the
Native American Great Spirit.

I pray without books, conjuring
the Earth and sky above it,
attempt to find harmony
between it all, and ask guidance
that my action find and enhance
the harmony.

The word of God through his
son Jesus Christ is food; I
eat it daily next to my breakfast
and lunch.

I do not eat dinner anymore
because two drug overdoses
injured my brain and diaphragm
so I cannot digest food and sleep
at the same time.

I took drugs and drank flammable
alcohol before I considered
the Great Spirit and happy,
balanced, content

Polytheism.

Earth for Christ?

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Guanajuato Flores

Christ in books, the gospel
doth speake, the message of
peace and love, of what
could we peasants on Earth
argue?

Must we abandon the Earth,
customs of thousands of
years, to follow Spain into
perfect quest for perfect
biblical perfection?

What sort of inquisition is
this?  Must we abandon our
gods for yours?  Couldn’t
we each of us live and let
live?

Spain came to Mexico and threw
it down, but the mix converted
some Spanish to the spirit
you see in ballet folklórico
and Mariachi music.

The hills teem with peasant life
that gives the smile of purity
to the modern Spanish streets
of San Miguel.

The mix works, and Mexico is
of such…

In the North, the English drove
a hard, secular line between
them and religion, then brought
that set of lines to Europe’s
“New World,” usurping Christ
when convenient, dividing,
removing and killing brown
people with different customs
called diabolical and heathen
to garner justification.

Sins committed four hundred
years ago are still sins, and if
un-amended it’s never too
late to apologize and restore
love and sanity, give land
back where stolen.

Borderless

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Borderless1

The spirit of God, wisdom
and truth cascading down, wordless
and real.  Life, Creation, in a baby’s
eyes upon waking—

What are borders?

“Good fences make good neighbors,”
saith Frost, and Jesus?

Only God is good.  I’m a polytheist,
a student of the Bible but, more
recently, taken with foot on soil,
appealing to nature,

I’m into the Native American
Great Spirit.

No borders, no words, we appeal
in dance, song, movement,
see answers in light, comfort,
warmth, and our daily bread.

The infant cares not about
borders, nor I.  A bit of boundary
between them and I is good,
as long as we’re willing to tear
it down in need.

Kindness is universal, morality
within us all to know.

That’s why when it comes time
to make amends for harms in
our past by us or our ancestors,
I say don’t hesitate but Go…

Missy

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Missy

The soul calls us to love.
Missy and Charlie were nameless
dogs on the street when I found them,
and I picked them up, put them in
the car, took them home, bathed them
with my friend, cut their mattes out,
took them to the vet, assessed their
age, checked for microchips, named
them, spayed and neutered them.

I wanted to give them up after
all that because we already had two
dogs at home, but my friend, whose
house I lived in, said I could leave
anytime I wanted—

but the dogs were staying.
Min-schnauzers, Missy and Charlie,
brother and sister, lovers, friends,
co-survivors of homelessness in
dirty “Los Angeles.”

How else can a land be that was
sacked by Spain, Mexico, then
the British USA?  We put roads,
concrete, asphalt and European
civilization over a paradise
natives called Otsungna, the
place of the roses.

Too stressful a place, in the end,
for Missy—who was high-strung anyway.
She lived to lick, run and play, had a
strong appetite until she got struck
with epilepsy.

I see her running in circles around
us walking, boundless energy
and love from God.

I used to tell her and her
brother, “The LORD made you,
you know that?” I saw in their
eyes the light of God, Creation
itself, innocence and honesty.

We are all brothers and sisters
from the same seed.

Missy lives where she always lived:
in the heart of Spirit, love,
licking life up to two hundred times
a day!

Give all you got to life, and you
never need to mourn the loss
of a friend that did the same.

Piracy Under the Cross

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Crusade1

It’s never too late to make amends.
To make a change, to recognize
the humanity of native peoples…

The British and Spanish, among others,
came to a land across the sea,
sized it up, coveted and stole.

Piracy under the Cross.

“Fine people on both sides”
tout the greatest democracy
on earth while Native Americans
remain locked up on land
we cast them to so we could
rape and reap the benefit
of their inheritance.

How many white people in
North America live on and
benefit from stolen land?
Armed theft in 1607 is an
at-large crime with victims
today.

Genocide and removal are
the ways of the “greatest
democracy in the world.”

Add to that slavery, promising
to pay the slaves after a war,
not paying the slaves after
the war as promised.

Visit Skid Row in Southern
California’s Lost Angeles,
a place I call Otsungna, the
native name… the place of
the roses until the Spanish
came with bibles and guns
to conquer, convert and kill.
There you see in black and
white, mostly black—the neglect
and invalidity of the USA,
a government founded in racism,
religionism, slavery, violence
and lies.  African Americans
brought in cages and chains,
released from bondage in 1865
without land, entitlement,
ownership, but “you are free
so enjoy your nearest slum…”

These sins and crimes still
fester; they are not less sins
and crimes because they were
long ago.

Health depends on honesty
and clean living;

For that reason, I have removed
myself from the supposed
“United States of America,”
a British experiment gone wrong.

The Greatest Democracy in the World

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USA Rotting3

They pitched me a lie in school
and on screen that we were
a great country based on our
president, government and
election-based “democracy.”

That was before I started
actually studying facts.  Native
Americans were not a part
of the 1776 British experiment,
and usurping colonists usurped.

There is a great country the
farcical, violent, usurping USA
doth claim, beautiful lands,
all free to roam until
the Europeans came to conquer.

People-rule is always silly,
I mean who of us rules during
a hurricane, forest fire or
earthquake?  No government
is valid if based on just humans!

Geocracy would serve better,
God, Earth and People-rule—
call it a merging of cultures
and ideas.  The U.S. Constitution
is a dry, secular mess for the rich.

The Iroquois Confederacy finally
found paper and ink after years
of oral records, and the great
difference between it and the
British rebel one is Great Spirit—

or, if you will, Higher Power
recognition.  Their meetings
asked for blessings from the
Nature and Earth—from the Great
Creator called Great Spirit.

Humility is good, a slow-moving
fact above Mexico and below
Canada.  Vikings and English
conquerors, inspired by Roman
lust for foreign land, plague us.

That hotbed of invasion for thousands
of years in Europe created quite
a scary arsenal of horrible, loud,
destructive weapons and forces
to kill other human beings.

As Lao Tzu pointed out, we
cannot change the world, but
in telling the truth about it,
we make the good Dickensian,
Mrs. Chickian effort.

Imagine if Wyatt Earp let the
gangs run towns, or if a sober
writer let the descendants
of violent land theft call the USA
the greatest democracy in the world.

It is not, nor should it be.
There is a Higher Power in charge,
and that is still knowledge for
the wide path to grab while
the narrow hopes for heaven.

Talgarth Graves

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I went home over the Summer
to Talgarth, Wales in the mountains
of Breconshire.

There I walked land no one stole.
There I felt a connection to the land
and people, the name Watkins,
along with Davis, Thomas, Hughes
and Evans dotting graves at the
churchyard of St. Gwendoline’s…

Some graves need work, and I shall
return to work them, remember
our fathers and mothers so forgotten
when a slew of Talgarth’s sons and
daughters fled to an old world
we called new because white people
hadn’t before Columbus, Raleigh
and Smith seen it.

We vainly usurped the land before
Spain or other usurpers could,
committed armed theft over the
course of hundreds of years,

now call the British colonists’
experiment in government of
the 18th century the “greatest
democracy in the world.”

Not so for Native Americans,
or the slaves we brought to work
stolen land, promised to pay
them after the Civil War,
only to renege and continue
to preach about the Greatest
Democracy in the World.

Great on the surface for people
escaping responsibilities and
lives in Europe, such as my
ancestors, who obviously left
Dad and Grandpa’s graves to
the wind in Talgarth, Wales, so
we could go across an ocean
and steal.

The first Thanksgiving Proclamation
of 1676 was a prayer of
thanks to God for killing
off Native Americans so efficiently
with disease and in-fighting.

The natives had a message of
gratitude for the land, wisdom
and peace—

Something our bible and gun-
toting ancestors cared nothing
for, unfortunately.

Global Warming arrived in 1492,
solidified in 1607 with John
Smith and other English people
calling native Wingandacoa
Virginia, its first successful
robbery being “Jamestown”
named after a Scottish king
who unified Britain and tore
apart Native America without
a care, because those naked,
brown, content people were
not “Christian.”

Where did Jesus say it’s good
to leave your fathers’ graves,
sail across an ocean and steal
other human beings’ land?

Jesus said truth, Gospel, glory
to all that’s High for his teaching,
but his message would be
better served if we treated foreign
people with love, respect—
totally free of judgment.

The United States is a farce
built on stolen land, violence
and lies.

The land, though, thrives, and
I dream to return to it after
fixing the graves of Talgarth.

God forgive us our sins, help
us to amend mistakes and errors
to truly pave the way not
just for a biblical second coming,

but for a more full, complete
spirituality enhanced by the experience
of Native people, whose Great Spirit
is love and peace,

Glorious creation, the Waterfall
their bible,

Something they taught on deaf ears
until a day I hope soon, when
white people from Europe open
them up to hear.

All Guns Are Wrong

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Many split hairs about
murder and killing, call
a loud canon firing lethal
bullets in the air at other
human beings “self-defense.”

Some appeal to the supposed
authority of a flawed U.S.
government and constitution,
covering every manner of sin
with their rights to be wrong.

All guns are wrong.

Gun powder from Asia
they say, so many years ago,
Europeans jammed up in
space and competition, Romans
taking over a while, the British
and Spanish learning the bible
alongside their firearms,

off to conquer the non-
Christian world, as if some
good and Christ-supported right…

All guns are wrong.

They are loud, and proper
martial artists of self-defense
abhor them.

They are wrong.

The animals in nature cringe
against them.

They are wrong, and are
displeasing to the Great
Creator, who I am sure loves
peace for the maximum number
of people as is possible.

They are wrong, are for cowards,
for people afraid of life,
so much so they become
bedeviled into taking it
away from others.

All guns are wrong—

The obnoxious, fearful coward’s
way of life to blow things up
and edge out God.

Mi Familia Mexicana

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Me and Mexico1

When you rise in the morning,
think yourself in the hills,
a Spanish rancho set in
Guanajuato, Mexico—

San Miguel de Allende
a place of magic, as time
suspends… Cobblestone
streets and the colors of
Dream’s wild dance in
February or May, it doesn’t
much matter—

This is… Mi familia Mexicana.

Jesus said “Family are those
who do the will of God,”

La voluntad de Dios, pero,
te pregunto ahora:

¿Que es el nombre de tu Dios
personal?

Lo mío cambia, y soy sin duda
un politeísta… Que tengo mi
biblia, y lo estudio mucho,

Pero, mis amigos y familia,
¿Que del mundo indígena?

No teníamos para mucho tiempo,
libros, palabras escritos ni impresas,

y había un Dios en esa época
y ahora.  Sin palabras, sin saber
ni una sencilla, solitaria cosa:

un Dios está, tal vez El Gran
Espíritu, como se llama en
El Norte, esa tierra nombrado
por Ingleses y Españoles
algo Europeo—pero ¿cual es correcto,
el nombre para tierra y dioses
de la gente de la región natural con
historia de miles de anos…

O los nombres que usaron Europeos
con armas y biblias, nombres de
una tierra robada?

Mi familia Mexicana sabe la respuesta;
no hay naciones, fronteras en
el corazón de cariño y amor.

Haciendo la voluntad del dios de
su propio comprensión… Libertad…

Amor sin condición, bailando con
mariachis en el Jardín de San Miguel,
gente de las montanas, caballos
y burros de Dios nos sirviendo humilde
y sencillo, la sonrisa de todos niños
de cualquier color o “raza…”

Es, señores, y señoras…

Mi familia Mexicana.