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Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

Category Archives: Blogs

Religion, Logic and Covid Response

19 Sunday Apr 2020

Posted by Bill Watkins in Blog, Blogs, Christian, Christian Science, Health, Poetic Blog, Religion

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

AA, Christian Science, Covid, Covid-19, Eric Garcetti, Garcetti, Health, Healthy Living, Higher Power, Love, Mary Baker Eddy, Mayor of LA, Panic, Religion, Spirituality, Truth, USA

Covid-Insanity1

To preface this piece, I am a United States citizen who does not believe in the validity of the U.S. government, nor do I believe that Western medicine is health.  Makes a visit home to Los Angeles from Mexico last week a tough one, facing the rules of a government that never got consent to rule over Native Americans here, one that claims free speech and to be a protector of everyone’s right to worship the religion of his or her choice.  That is unless there is a virus panic, I guess…

***

A while back I called Nancy Pelosi’s Washington D.C. office to ask her people a question.  Then I called Bernie Sanders’ folks, also trying the Democratic National Committee headquarters in Washington.  My question was: “What is your definition of health?”  I thought it a very important and obvious concept to nail down since everybody in the U.S. Government seems so interested in passing laws about it…  I got nothing from those offices, came back to Senator Dianne Feinstein, Senator Kamala Harris and Congressman Jimmy Gomez, who represented me locally.  Nothing.

The obscurity of “health” and government is playing out more than ever with what I call the virus panic of 2020.  Western medicine has been co-opted by our government in a silent deal made I don’t know when.  This piece will attempt to address the religious, spiritual and logical consequences of turning our wills and lives over to “medical experts” through our political representatives, who call themselves healthcare champions without defining health.

My definition of health is a peace of mind I get by doing what I feel is God’s will for me, one day at a time.  Very “AA” of me, but in my life, I find it all goes better when the spiritual leads the emotional and physical.  Spirit, spirit, spirit!  It’s powerful stuff, that and faith, and I’ll declare now proudly that if I had one type of healthcare to name it would be Christian Science, a religion founded by Mary Baker Eddy which applied the bible (especially its gospels) to our day to day health.  An elderly woman I drove around as a service back in the 1990’s related this religious view of health to me, and I like it.  It works for me and it has a great price tag: it’s free.

Let’s put that aside as one person’s view of health in a large country.  There are over 300 million people in the U.S. and hence over 300 million views, which I imagine range from totally unlike mine to slightly different.  We all have different beliefs on many topics, the U.S. Government through its First Amendment to the Constitution purporting to allow for that, explicitly in the area of religion and in the press. My version of health has a very strong, in fact dominant religious and spiritual component to it.  Am I the only one? I sincerely doubt that, as the population of Christian Scientists alone would clearly testify, a number over a couple hundred thousand to be sure.

If health has a religious connection to more than just me, why is Government so adamant that it should be involved with it?  Let’s look at that famous Amendment:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

The U.S. Government needs a clear definition of terms before it can be a valid legislator on health; perhaps one that would cross a religious line, so render it the wrong institution to in fact legislate on the topic.

I visited Los Angeles last week from my home in Mexico to note that its mayor is making citizens wear masks in any public place.  This is one of many instances over the years of Government taking sides with Western medicine, calling their “experts” health.  A silent arrangement, but an unproven link lingers, as I know I don’t see or feel health in an over-air-conditioned, over-priced doctor’s office.  I have the Christian Science, yes, but even the Native American Great Spirit—the natural, earth-based approach to health—fills me with peace of mind more than Western offices, concrete, asphalt, pills and surgeries.  It’s okay for someone reading that to be upset and claim a different point of view!  Perhaps you get great peace of mind from Western medicine, which is fine, so wear your mask without making me wear one please.

We should all be free to decide our own health path in the United States or anywhere else.  This is a hard article to write, as I don’t actually believe in the United States as a valid government, for it was founded in armed theft and violence against the native people here.  In fact, at no time has the United States Government received consent of the native peoples to govern here that was not forced at gunpoint—and by John Locke’s definition of government, that it validates itself by the “consent of the governed…” we have a failure.  That being said, one has to live by even invalid constructs, and in the case of the U.S. there is a law that’s supposed to give us free speech, and it also claims so proudly to be a democracy.

But during a panic, over a new flu less powerful than the old one, the Government feels it has an excuse to squash free speech, mandate quarantines and masks—lending to the problem in logic I have with such a response.   If one is living a healthy life, making positive choices and walking a path with conviction and belief—why would that person change such a path because of an over-hyped virus?  The U.S. and other governments aligned with Western medicine ask and demand that we be afraid of people, keep distances.  This is against Christian practice, asks that I believe the lie that my brother or sister human being out on the road is more likely to curse me than bless me.  I’ll never believe that, nor will I ever believe in a government that doesn’t allow me to believe what I want to believe.

Truth in American Policing

11 Saturday May 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Blog, Blogs, Poetic Blog, Police, Political

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

God, Great Spirit, Love, Native, Peace, Police, Truth

Police Aviation -- 1934 image1

—by Bill Watkins
Los Angeles, 5/11/2019

Native Americans had quite a message for us, so far unheeded or followed very much.

They lived at one with nature, took and used what they needed, in harmony and without loud intrusions like guns.

Europeans brought guns with their bibles, an arms race close quarters and over-populating seemed to bring in the Old World.  A good life to a European person was different from the good life a Native person found in America.  Book reading, elaborate clothing, and aforementioned guns—loud and nature-defying—were seen as marks of a better society than found when Columbus and other explorers began to conquer this land.

The British and Spanish cited lack of Christianity as a justification to kill, enslave and remove native people here, in a long war to replace their culture and presence with ours.  Now, guns are commonplace, noise meeting little resistance, police forces an extension of those first European thoughts that the un-Christian should be dominated and controlled.

A militant start has yielded militancy, and I have seen first-hand the violence at the heart of modern American governing.  Violence.  Judgment of others.  Justifications for noise and war.  Scapegoating people to separate us, from “gangs” to “terrorists”—groups we create with political corruption, greed and un-checked imperialization and colonization.

Guns do not make a culture better, but louder.  More violent.

Helicopters the same.

When will we stop, listen to the native Great Spirit?  When will we hear God in peace?  When will we stop taking so much money in leadership, while communities suffer and seek to protect themselves in what judgmental circles call those darned “gangs?”

We made the gangs with our neglect.  Now go punish them with our guns?  Now go invade privacy and disturb the peace with helicopters and sirens day and night?

The greatest enemy to peace in the city of Los Angeles is the greed at City Hall combined with a violent paramilitary force protecting the status quo of neglectful suits claiming to serve under-served neighborhoods.  Those under-served communities suffer, while councilmen make $178,000/year, the mayor about $232,000 and the Chief of Police around 300K.

I’m writing to plead with the real criminals of Los Angeles to change our ways, take less, and finally start serving communities we turned into problems years ago by kicking peace out to make way for our war.  Our war on nature.  Our war on people without bibles.  Our war on people who peacefully lived in a spot we coveted.  We displace and displace, neglect and neglect, drive around in our suits and bloated salaries.  Join me and end this criminal cycle!

When it Rains

08 Friday Jun 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Blog, Blogs, God, Law, Love, Nature, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Political, Politics

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Crime, God, Joy, Law, Love, Mueller, Nature, Peace, Political, Seasons, Trump, Wild

It matters not the darkness
before dawn, the two at one
needing each other to be
a proper show.

It’s dry and hot, which could
never excite a soul until
the storm clouds roll in
to change forever the state

if forever is a moment, nothing
is—and truth alluding poets
but seeking always we put our
cup out to the sun, wait.

There it is, the first drop
dropping calmly, lightly with a
ting, then another, more here
and there and the humming bird

buzzes by like firefighters not
away from the event but toward
it, they fire, they rain, the bird
wants a bath so sits with the drops

closes its eyes in ecstasy, shudders,
shakes its feathers to complete
the bath before finding a branch under
cover to avoid a drenching.

Boom the thunder hits from a
far-off bolt, but this was not an
electric storm—more of a cleansing
wave, like the law man who finds

the perp burping in the sunshine,
smoking cigars, private jets, pinching
stewardess butts with a smile you’d
think only wine or money makes.

God, the view is good from up here
is a final thought as the plane goes
down, 10-20 years for money laundering
or some other hidden gem.

Wishing no harm on anyone,
unless the point of view of banks is
seen; then if you go there, you
know the people hurt when they

are robbed.  Dishonest is its own
crime, look at the board of ten
brought from God through Moses
upon the Jews, they’re good.

Cleansing is the rain; the storm
picking up, hitting the soil with what
it needs, the apple sprouting the bud
of weeds cramping gardener’s style,

so he gets online to buy more mulch,
poof, on its way, roses budding a creamy
winter of snow on the way against
this rare summer break!

Indictments are sure to come, just
as the mulch arrives, the weeds
relentless until we act, restore a level
of security and sanity to the hill.

Mueller uses not gas-powered crap
but hand to hand combat; God
is proud of earnest, humble work,
punishes the brash, but not before

they win some battles, look at the
South for five years keeping slaves
trapped, little skirmishes won and
lost, guerrilla fighting the tough

life of the rebel.  “We cannot change
the world, it cannot be done” echoes
on an Asian valley butterfly, flying
through the passage of time,

Wondering if mankind, women too,
could all get together, realize we’re
from the same general stuff, rain
water and sun, blood of Earth, the

swim of that stewardess, like a
caterpillar, becoming Flight Attendant
with a lawyer, smart on the game
so she could win, and the butt

pincher faces twenty to life now
for lying to the FBI about killing
Democracy.  The court almost laughed—
not down here, but on the planet

far off that runs us.  “Democracy!” they
laughed and almost fell off the
cliff of the universe, where they stand
and spy.  “People-rule!” gets them

busting up full, and they float down
to Earth through a black hole eating
underwear under there, causing
a great earthquake, followed by

a tsunami, the rains piling up,
a flood rising until Man once
again finds its wisest stance and
repeated mantra through captivity

toward eternal freedom from care:

“We are powerless,” smiled the
orange criminal.

And a lone flower burns on the
hillside of summer untouched,

Making ash for even democracy
to change, become wine from water
and confuse us back to powerlessness
over and over until Samuel gets

out of his cage-like grave, walks
up that dang hill, and makes an
unseen God king again; He’ll
have to do it tomorrow, too if

we wake, my friend—for whatever
progress we made today, it
will rain, and we will wonder if
before it does we laid down enough

seed, to feel the peace of mind
that turns words around, turns
our efforts on themselves, returning
us all to Tao Te Ching-like calm,

the uncarved block, the dawn,
our own birth.  Wordless

and Perfect.

Man Hate

30 Wednesday May 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Blog, Blogs, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Relationships, Resentment, Sex, Sexism, Women

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Health, Joy, Love, Men, Men's Health, Online, Peace, Relationships, Sex, Women

I didn’t hurt you, it wasn’t me.

Somehow, it’s lost on the resentful
the current circumstance, all a dance
of holding on or letting go.

We cannot let go until we admit
the problem, accept it, and take
an appropriate action based on
whatever code of morality or
ethics that tickles you peaceful.

***

I did not hurt you, specifically, I tell
her online.

I hurt me and about 15 girls growing
up because I failed to tell them
I loved them.

Too scared.  Too proud, I hurt them
and me at the same time—

it was an alcoholic thing.

Freud said drunks can’t express love,
and, well—I’m a drunk.

But it wasn’t me, I wasn’t the one
who made you specifically mad,
and yet I feel like I did—my point of
view, my quoting the bible,
which you call misogynistic.

Yikes, I have a lot to learn, you
know there’s always another side
of something—

But it wasn’t me, I mean—even if
I used the offending bible phrase,
my intention was good, not bad.

My stuff hangs down, makes sperm,
it’s a wild show of swirl and girls
in the head, trying to manage sex
with mutilated genital parts from
an operation I did not consent to
called “circumcision.”

Abused at birth, then growing up
with no talks on love, but plenty
of alcohol drinking and sports.

But I do not blame you for this;
you are a woman online, we hardly
know each other, but I’m sure if
patient, we would find we were
both fallible human beings, trying
to get along on this side of the dirt
before the stars and God conspire
with age to take us away, bodies
useless as our spirit soars forever.

Messing with Mom

30 Wednesday May 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Blog, Blogs, God, Honor, Misogyny, Mom, Morality, Mother, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Sex, Sexism

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Immigration, Ivanka, Joy, Love, Mom, Morality, Mother, Mothers, Peace, Political, Race, Racism, Trump, Truth

Men with stiff upper lips gather
in dark rooms, light cigars, drink
Scotch whiskey and avoid their feelings.

White people.

White men, holding hard to their
dreams of control and privilege—

the false narrative that “America” is
white, European, and manifest in
supreme destiny to be clean of the
riff-raff of anything not them.

Native peoples here were one with the
land, slaves brought in to tend it,
too.

And the men gather, not white-skinned
always, more like pink, red, sometimes
tanned against the sun, necks burned
to coin a derogatory phrase—
and shouldn’t we with conscience choose
not to use those?

Heaven knows the white, dark, brown,
whatever colored person is as good or
bad as the next;

We’re all prone to mistake.  To moments
of joy, perfect and true.

The smile universal, the love Ivanka
knows about even if Dad spits “Fuck you.”

The truth of the dream more than the
border of “seems,” something there is
that doesn’t love a wall and wants it
down.

I thought at first sound of a wall to
the south, “Okay, interesting, we all have
an option to wall our homes off from
the world, why not a country?”

Then I figured out that the term “wall,”
and “Build the Wall” next to “Lock Her Up”
at campaign rallies was a clear dog
whistle to the racist fear-mongering
masses, a racist explosion of “keep
them out,” they’re “criminals!”

They’re “animals!!!”

And Donald, sir:

So are you.  That you do not know
that is why you admire Andrew Jackson
and his Trail of Tears.

You have left the human race, you who
hold onto your racism and xenophobic
fear of others.

You are not animals at play in God’s
field with other animals—you who cast
out “different” as “worse.”

I love you.

We must love the oppressed and the
oppressor, for who at day’s end is more
close to death than life as the character
assassinator, the genocider, the angry,
stiff-lipped cigar sucker,

back rooms lit with the devil’s glare,
hoping against hope to turn your four-
year old heart into four years of
wrecking ball politics, hate, fear
and dismantling more than even CIA
managed in Cold War?

Carnage?

Oh, to be a fly on the wall when Daddy
brought that home.

Mine did every once in a while,
but I forgive him, love him, and
honor the God racist misogynist GOP
sellouts claim to worship by staying
small under Him or Her.

By listening.

By accepting that Mom brought us here
and deserves our respect!

Not a border full of Cops taking
their children away as a deterrent
to make up for your lack of gratifying
sex.

Go back to the wives of your youth,
Trump and criminal sympathizing supporters,
honor your father and mother, but first:

Repent.

Admit we stole this land.

Not for you, dummy, as I smile to tuck
in your shirt, little guy.

We admit truth to make the world
better

Diapers and Dementia

30 Wednesday May 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Blog, Blogs, Health, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Aging, Health, Joy, Love, Peace

The Hebrew patriarch used to live 900
years, call it a day, was “gathered to
his people,” and passed away in peace.

We live shorter lives with more on the
planet now, and there are at least two
distinct camps:

The deists and the atheists use different
words to describe the same things,
which is fine—and in the end, words
are fictions, as Borges wrote.

We want to feel a part of something,
feel good, loved, connected during our
lives, and when it is time for our bodies

to expire?

A panic ensues for some who did not
prepare for the moment, keep loved
ones close, families between this or
that belief, just knowing it’s easier to
let a “doctor” decide.

We turn our will and lives over to
White Coats, to cold offices with
test tubes and vials, experiments
going the extra mile

to hope and fight and extend our
physical lives.

But at what cost?

Should we extend physical lives deep
into dementia?  Should we keep loved ones
in hospitals to end lives, while we keep
busy “doing me?”

What if we took a timeout and gathered
to our loved ones, prepared ourselves
for the transition, from physical life
to spirit?

We could do without the diapers.
The pain. The cost—both financial
and emotional!

We could be free the moment we let
go of this fear of the body expiring!

I almost died last night, because years
ago I overdosed twice, messed up my
insides.

Now, if I don’t get eating right, I go to
bed and risk not sleeping through until
the light.

I fight hard, and some fear of death is
natural and good!

But, if we pray and connect with Mother
Nature or God well enough, we’re sure
to get some peace, allow and accept the
beautiful transfer of our aging lives and
spirit to all that we loved and has loved
us.

Accepting my Balls

29 Tuesday May 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Acceptance, Anatomy, Blog, Blogs, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Acceptance, Aging, Atheism, Balls, Birches, God, Joy, Love, Nature, Peace, Power, powerless, Robert Frost, Spirituality, Truth

As I see and feel balls sagging
from right to left, left to right,
I like to think someone’s been
swinging them.

But swinging them doesn’t bend
them down to stay.   Nature does
that.  Time, age: you wake up, and
your rocks dropped.

***

This can be a sad event, and was
for me, especially when I felt
nothing much happened in my
youth, no great wear and tear

that would leave an item or thing
stretched out or overused,
necessitating the sag, precipitating
a change, a drop, the swing—

Sad!!

I turned thirty years old, and
they dropped.

It was not at the brink of death,
closing in on very old age but
thirty years in, thirty times around
the sun, and they sagged!!!

I wrote several books, a screenplay,
thought of all different ways not
to think of my sagging rocks;

wrote about kids, a Kids World,
figured I was done so give the world
over to the tight-balled and perky
youths, think of myself less and less,
that’s it the ticket is to be more and
more Selfless!

***

That didn’t work, and I stayed depressed,
did the twelve steps on the problem
at last, and it went away for a time, the
depression about sagging—but then it
came back with a vengeance!

***

Then one day, it went away.  I accept
my sagging balls because they’re here
to stay.

What’s more, I’m powerless over them,
my age, and this rock spinning through space,
giving me cool ideas to write as long as
I walk on her and thank.

The best way out of a good depression
is to do nothing, wait for it to pass,
accept all things and Thank.

Redemption

28 Monday May 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Amends, Blog, Blogs, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Redemption

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Amends, Love, Peace, Recovery, Restitution, Retribution, Slavery, Truth

A song of chains precedes any
of freedom.

We must state our cause, stake
our place in goal and dream

before the winds of change make
us more than we seem,

the perfect beings that for days
and weeks of life cannot

be supported—even the strongest
beams, gone are the memories

of the true line, until instead of
the flammable drink,

we humbly on paper or screens
opine!

God give us a soul, a season, a path
under foliage and civilization’s
litter on the head of first peoples and
nations we in Europe so arrogantly
bestowed.

Could it be that we escaped a way of
life over there, in our old world, only
to force that way on this American land?

I sound mad, but am only trying to report
the problems with the sound

above our homes, the helicopter hell
and siren fort—

1607 the British in armor seeking fame,
riches and glory.

We may have gotten them; but at what
cost?  And is there any going back to
make amends, to balance things,

to redeem our forefathers who often
forgot to slow down, breathe, and thank
God for our land before stealing more?

There must be, if the slave song
can make us free.

Racism

27 Sunday May 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Blogs, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Racism

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace, Racism, Trump

Judgment of others from fear,
we are concerned with not having
enough, being enough, so point
over there to them.

It’s the calm before the storm,
to coast along racist and okay with it.

We cannot be where we are not,
are wise to accept some things
until that day when we ourselves get
hurt.

Now it’s time to change, a sensitivity
develops we did not know existed.

We used to call out difference or
perceived difference as a way to not
only point out difference but a
Trumped up superiority.

Truth is, and will always be, no
matter what we as people with our
words do or see!

“God” might just be…

Good
Orderly
Direction,

a morning defection from a country
or land of persecution or abuse.

The progressive welcomes the traveler,
while the nationalist, the racist:

Afraid of change and difference or
perceived difference…

Keeps the difference or perceived
difference “out.” A “purity” is striven
for, a racial cleansing no matter the
history of a land, the one race will
lay claim to it all.

Look at my skin and its color!

It is better than others because I
said so, “And I’m very smart,

Believe me!”

Racism is just another way to hell,
the wide path to it staying wide
the narrow to enlightenment, care
and heaven just there, as well!

Nothing ever changes.

Then… behold.

A great change on the horizon!!

A human race under higher
powers!

Something only has power when
given that power, so racism without
reaction is just a lie, a piece of bait
on the line.

Don’t bite.

Pray for the souls that suffer so
much they lash at others, find
a safe place to prosper, and never
give up being the perfect you
against the storm that is the
Devil’s confusion, judgment, a lie
that fellow products of man and
woman’s love are somehow better
or worse by looks or some loud,
insecure bully’s voice.

The Noise of a Helicopter

27 Sunday May 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Blogs, God, Native, Nature, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace, Quiet

Did we pause to ask?

Before we reached for the sky, turned
on the motors, did we ask?

Peace.

Peace of mind… fighting the winds
of change and some’s progress
while the birds hang on and chirp,
the deer and coyote hiding.

What is truly good for us?  Is “no”
a complete response sufficient to
stuff the ask?

The disease of more, the frantic pace,
the never-satisfied on the move race
of running fast, burning fuel and
unsettling the score.

God forgives us when we ask, but
cannot help you at 10,000 feet
and 300 miles per hour.

Heaven is a peace of mind, knowing
you did your best to be the best
person you were capable of becoming.

John Wooden and I invented that after
he had won 10 national championships
without focusing on winning.

Each and every skill defined and perfected,
the game and our lives broken down into
their parts.

Find it in your heart to stop.

***

The rotors must stop for us to hear
the LORD, Great Spirit, Mother
Nature, the Lady of the Lake yearning
for our quiet so the deer can
return to inspire us.

God is not in the weeds but in their
pulling, the mulch of strength covering
the growth of evil as the dragon
breathes death on the disrespectful
and reverent alike.

Shhhh.

Be quiet.  Stop doing.

Turn over all will to good, then decide
whether the speed is worth the loss.

The being on hyperspace, whizzing
by the lights, making noise—

How did it help us sleep?

Shhhh.

God is talking

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