Tag Archives: Political

It’s Not the Virus That Kills

31 Friday Jul 2020

Posted by in Alcohol, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, God, Government, Health, Poetic Blog, Political, Politics, Spirituality

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Virus1

-by Bill Watkins 7/31/2020

Death stats are reported by folks who believe deeply in death.  Physical death.  That’s it, we’re done, the physical is all…  But isn’t there another way to live and see life, death and health?  The spiritual way, one under-represented right now in governments world-wide?

Yesterday I was denied access to a flight from Mexico City to Otsungna (“Los Angeles” to the land thieves) because I refused to wear a mask.  I can’t breathe through them due to a diaphragm injury I suffered in 1999, overdosing on Western medicine’s favorite cure: drugs.  I had checked with the airline, Volaris, in May, then again two days ago before the scheduled flight, and their customer service tweeted me that one could be exempt from their mask regulations, if under two years old or suffering from breathing issues.

It’s got me thinking a little more about the Western Medicine Panic of 2020, and that instead of lying around on the beaches of Otsungna for six days, I’m going to turn up the heat on my anti-panic campaign from right here at home.  This article’s part of it, then I’m planning a video documentary of people’s opinions of the panic and health itself.  I’ll write and produce a rap song in Spanish, I hope, and I’m also considering buying ad-space on a billboard here in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.

The billboard will read in Spanish, “God is the cure” (Dios es la cura), promoting a different idea than the one co-opted governments are spewing, claiming “health” without defining the term.  I repeat, they talk about “health,” even make laws around it, spend public money on it…. without defining what exactly health is.  That’s because health is extremely personal, like religious beliefs, and everybody I know has a different definition of it.

Back when I still believed in the invalid United States of America, I wrote an article entitled “What is Health?” which included Twitter poll results from users, who shared their definitions:

1. Bill Watkins:  “Health is a Peace of Mind, Knowing I did the best I could to be the best person I was capable of becoming in all my affairs.”

2. “Duck,” Anti-Circumcision Activist:  “Health is discovering yourself and feeding your truth.”

3. Online T-shirt Salesman:  “Health means your state of being and ability to function naturally.”

4. Aaron V. from Lake Tahoe:  “Health is natural whole foods, clean water, clean air, a nature soundscape with wildlife, good social relationships, the freedom to explore and then see self-improvement or progress, and having a shelter or sanctuary where one can retreat to and be certain to have all of those things despite what else is going on in the world.”

5 Sonya on Twitter:  “I believe saying ‘I am healthy’ is relative to your own circumstances. For me, I feel health is a state of physical wellness as well as mental wellness. I believe it’s hard to say I am healthy if either one is compromised to a degree where we are not enjoying living our lives. If we are feeling the best we can for our age and capacity – in that everything is functioning as well as can be expected – and we are getting through each and every day with quality of life in tact, even if it has to be aided by medication, then to me that is healthy. If body and mind are still functioning well enough for me to enjoy life, then I am healthy.”

6. College Newspaper Staff:  “I’d say health is a state of being. I think it’s a perceived value of physical, emotional, and mental stability and regularity for each individual person. The achievement of ‘healthy’ will differ from person to person based on lifestyle, availability of nourishment and space, and personality.”

7. Dan R., Twitter:  “Being good in mind body and soul.”

8. Yvonne on Twitter:  “Health is a balance of spiritual, mental and physical well-being”

9. Anastacia on Twitter:  “Health to me means that I’m happy, I am not sick, I can laugh with out being in pain.”

10. Poetry Group on Twitter:  “Health is the harmony of our body.”

11. Carlos M. on Twitter:  “Wellness is a holistic approach to life that includes diet and exercise first with traditional medical care second. ”

12. Ariel B. on Twitter:  “Health is Peace of Mind.”

13. Marion W. on Twitter:  “Time set aside in solitude and/or quietness to grow, reflect, write and decompress.”

And… how about Google?

14. Google:  “Health is the state of being free from illness or injury.”

***

A lot of different perspectives, so why do governments think they can represent us all on this issue?  They stay away from mixing the state with religion, but aren’t they coming across many of our personal, even religious beliefs by putting their hands into such a controversial bowl of heaven keys?

“Peace of mind” is a short version of my definition for health, as it was for one of my Twitter poll participants—something that has little to do with Western medicine’s extracting blood, focusing on the physical, administering drugs.  Core to the Western medical business is core to religion: giving folks peace of mind, that they will heal from hardship.  Religion goes on to speak of heaven, doctors stop at peace…  Maybe those two words and concepts are in some ways interchangeable.

But in neither heaven nor earth will it ever be right to decide someone else’s health path, if that someone is an adult of sound mind.  Who should decide mental soundness?  I’d say, based on my Twitter poll and personal conviction, more people should be involved in health decisions, from different fields of study, and different beliefs.  There is more to heaven, earth, and health than is cooked up in Western medicine’s cake, and it’s time governments recognize that, call out doctors for the fallible people they are.  They have fancy degrees, I concede the hard work that goes into them, but who can say something divine or perfect grants them?

To me health is a peace of mind, knowing I did my best to be the best person I’m capable of becoming—a spiritual concept, borrowed shamelessly from the late, great John Wooden.  “Death” to this humble citizen of Mexico, the invalid United States and someday England: doesn’t exist, if with faith in God you lived a good life.  “No good thing ever dies,” mused Stephen King once upon a time, and I agree.  So why all the talk of “Covid deaths?”  Did those souls not live?  Why not talk about their life?  Where is the gratitude for the air we breathe, for the lives we get to live, for our amazing immune systems?  If this was our last day to live on earth, what would you do with it?  Panic?  Complain about death?  Whine about a virus?

Not me.  The above set of questions reminds me of my old life, one in which I was spiritually dead, playing sports and drinking alcohol instead of loving my parents, life, a woman, and being an honest, honorable person.  There are worse things than physical death…  Among them, a life in fear, and as such out of love—if you adhere to St. Paul’s ideal.  So love life!  Live today!!  Say thanks to what you say thanks to, because tomorrow is a big question mark, salvation for me in peace of mind, something I’ll never get wearing a mask or fearing my fellow man for any reason whatsoever.

Fear is the killer, folks, FDR echoed here…  Fear is the virus.  Inoculate yourself against it by living great days in faith, in love and free of alcohol or drugs…  Thanks for your attention, an open mind following truth as a key to serenity, willingness putting us on the road, proper relations with our fellows and the earth a guarantee for eternal life.  Never death

All Blood is Red

09 Thursday Aug 2018

Posted by in Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Political

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We hurt, we sing, we fight,
we pray, a human race here,
another there they said…

But all blood is red.

You have poked a snake, called
the same different, played the
game of hide and tweak—

with the Devil you sought peace
instead of the forgiveness
taught in Bible’s peak,

You have to love and listen
before your speak, the song
sung on podium’s dead…

All human blood is red.

Donald Trump, the hooting
and hollering of hatred from fear
of losing or anger of never having,

we blame a neighbor, our wives
instead of the calm look at our
own tweaked lives, this and

more, settling on your door,
like the stench of rain on your
dog’s coat, the sound of silence

broken by the caged parrot
breaking free in the empty blue
of pet store revelry, the God of

love is the only found so seek,
A long rest awaiting peace of
mind near heaven, blessed are

the meek.  The poor.  The
downtrodden will rise, the songs
words supplied, I’m talking of

the post-barfly path of the
abstinent walker of trails, could
be you, could be mine, the drift

of our lives toward peace and
childhood all the time.  The angry
and vengeful fall into their own

sulky trap of not seeing and
being the little boys and girls
grown up they can be, a deep

breath awaiting change, but until
then, take up your bed, walk with me,
and sing the song of what could be.

I’m hopeful not expecting the racist
to be well, to look up when called
away from their privately made hell.

Look around, see you in me, in them,
May God bless you to use your head.

See at last the truth before too late:
you are not that great…

We are all the same deep down,

All our blood is red.

Xenophobe

09 Saturday Jun 2018

Posted by in Immigration, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Political Satire, Race, Racism, Satire, Xenophobia

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Let’s stick together, fend off
the other.

We used to be an “other” long ago,
but not me that was my
progenitor, not me—let’s go!

I’d rather be dead than caught
in the web; liberal diversity’s not
for me, I’m a Christian, just
the type who’s white, ticked
and armed, so back off.

Someone once challenged my
right to kill.  They were invading
my house, so I had to defend, but
in the army learned that shooting
for the torso of a human was
defending so killed him.

One must defend one’s family—
which is everything.  Blood relations,
keeping America white.

They say this was native American
before it was white European but I
kinda’ think that’s Fake News.

I ignore God when I want to
and cheer at Liberals’ defeat,
this is a war and I wanna win so
let’s kill as much as we need to
let’s win.

Stop ‘em at the border, kill
‘em if we must, build a wall,
Jews will not replace us.  Divide
and conquer’s not the devil’s
line—Believe Me!!

Let’s go to the rally!  Are you going?

So much winning; I love it
how we won all those wars.

Vietnam was fake news, we won
that too!

Kennedy had it coming, I love
CIA movies and their covert ops,
I wish I could take one now,
see all those babies separated from
their mothers at the border,
I’m Christian but the kind that
likes White Jesus, and sick
of the politically correct brown
one they cook up downtown
in what will become a sanctuary
city if we don’t spread Trump
fever fast and build that damn
wall!

When it Rains

08 Friday Jun 2018

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

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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.

Messing with Mom

30 Wednesday May 2018

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

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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

Geocracy

28 Monday May 2018

Posted by in Earth, God, Nature, Plog, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Political

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I’ve never seen a person rule
during an earthquake.

Where is democracy, “people-rule”
during a hurricane?

Democracy is a fallacy, a beyond bold
toward egocentric self-will run riot,
as the alcoholics say.

We have some power, human
beings can lift, exercise, work—
do some things, but the limits—
our limits blare at times, enough
so that we’d be wise in politics to

leave space for what we cannot do.

The effort to keep God out of
American politics, calling Concept
Religion.

We have been confused, led onto
the wide path of war and deception,
covert acts and destruction by an
entity some call Satan, others “evil,”

me?  It doesn’t really matter.

***

God, Earth, People rule might be
more reflective of truth and interesting;

God, Earth and People rule, call it
Geocracy with a capital G.

To reflect the things we can do,
that which we cannot; to recognize
higher and greater powers than us, at
times, to tell the truth.

***

Humility is knowing one’s place,
nine out of ten of us outside our
lines, scrambling to turn a Christmas
list into a nursery rhyme, nothing
fully fitting with the next, until we fall
and scrape our chin bad enough to
change.

You must want it.

***

The war hawks frown; the atheists stir,
and semantics has the angry adult down
and out while the child looks on, not
as full with words but without them True.

People can rule sometimes, give it to us
one out of three.

We will be a healthier world and nation
the moment we officially recognize the
other great powers that govern us.

Write it down, right the frown, turned
to the upside—

Do less, and things get done;

Lao Tzu and the spiritual masters knew
how little we could control.

And God made the heavens and the
Earth; and it was good.

The stories, the words, they run out of steam;
things just are, let them be.

Place the Earth and Higher Power
somewhere at the political discussion
table; leave space, watch the glory
of all we didn’t do,

and all that because we held back
could be.