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Tag Archives: San Miguel de Allende

It’s Not the Virus That Kills

31 Friday Jul 2020

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

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Tags

Addiction, Alcohol, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Covid, Covid-19, Cure, Doctors, Eternal Life, FDR, God, Health, Joy, Love, Mexico, Panic, Peace, Political, Politics, San Miguel, San Miguel de Allende, Spanish, Spirituality, Stephen King, Truth, Volaris, Western Medicine

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?

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

Love Your Enemy

05 Thursday Dec 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Gospel, Mexico, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, San Miguel de Allende

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Tags

Gospel, Jesus, Joy, Love, Mexico, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetry, San Miguel de Allende, Word

Cross1

There’s talk of gang activity
in San Miguel de Allende
tempting many to fear, worry
or be angry.

Love your enemy.

They set up, they say, as if
evil is organized and linear—
threatening and killing shop
owners here.

Love your enemy.

People are people, somos
igual; gang members, white,
black, red, brown, purple,
policemen…

Love your enemy.

There’s an answer to all
strife, all hands seeking pay
or games with bedeviling drugs,
violence all—

Love your enemy.

San Miguel Del Mundo

15 Friday Nov 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Mexico, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry, San Miguel de Allende

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Tags

God, Guanajuato, Joy, Love, Mexico, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetry, Prayer, San Miguel de Allende

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, 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 sowed 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 neither I nor my descendants
did violently steal.

Earth for Christ?

14 Thursday Nov 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Catholic Church, Conquest, Imperialism, Mexico, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Spain

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Tags

Amends, British, Campesinos, Catholic Church, Conquest, Cultura, Earth, Indios, Inquisition, Joy, Land Theft, Love, Mexico, Native, Native American, Pagan, Peace, Poem, Poesia, Poetry, Polytheism, San Miguel de Allende, Spain, Theft, Tradición, Truth, Usurping Land

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.

Mi Familia Mexicana

10 Sunday Nov 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Bilingual, Español, Family, Mexico, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry, San Miguel de Allende, Spanish

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Family, Joy, Love, Mexico, Native, Peace, Poem, Poema, Poesia, Poetry, San Miguel de Allende, Spanish

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 la 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 años…

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 montañas, 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.

The Perfect Bummer

05 Tuesday Nov 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Anecdote, Humor, Humorous, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Humor, Humorous, Mexico, San Miguel de Allende, Story

Dog Poo1

I had no idea when I boarded
the bus that I had stepped in it.

It was the first day of school, or
so it seemed, myself off on my
first bus to town from my
mountain writer’s paradise in
San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato
Mexico, place of story, desert
and an indigenous way of life
caught in the headlights of Europe’s
historic, often perverse advance.

There I was, not alone, but
with the dueña of my house,
she the mom, overseeing
transfer of her child from home
to bus to school.

We were both eager to see
this bus from rural Jalpa past
our compound toward the Centro,
and sure enough after a while,
the Route 15 bus rumbled along,
but not until a time waiting
and conversing.

In that time I did notice a
tremendously large dog dropping.
Big and steamy, to my left—no
problem, and not a surprise with
all the dogs around that area.

No matter, here’s my bus!  There,
at last, some independence,
to learn the bus system important
living in so remote a place while
I wrote my book about white
people stealing native lands.

“Hola, buenos días!!” smiling was
I, ear to ear, after shaking hands with
the dueña—we had figured out the
bus and I was bound for town!

I gave the driver my twenty
peso bill, and he gave me my
four pesos change, and I smiled
and wished all the passengers
a good day, and all was super-duper
happy and contento…

Then I smelled something, around
the time the driver halted and
peeled off the road at a high rate.

Dog poop had infiltrated the bus,
and I looked down the lane I’d
walked to my seat, saw marks of
horror, looked at my right shoe,
and sure enough—

I had tracked in the poo of
some large dog on my first
exciting bus ride into town,
San Miguel de Allende, 2019,

God help us it was a perfect
bummer.  Looking back, I may
have stepped in it at the very
moment I shook my dueña’s
hand, congratulating myself
on figuring out the bus schedule
at last.

Reminds me of something my
dad would have said:

“If the deck is not clear, do not
bother sailing,” or more succinctly—

“Safety First,” or more to the
point of my story, look where
you are going, check for dog
poop, be humble.

I stepped in it, spread it to
the bus, like Europeans spread
disease, alcoholism, and curse
words to the “New World.”

Oh, and a bible.  And guns—a
mixed bag, while European
graves of our forefathers fall
apart, untended.

We forgot to love the land and
honor our fathers, sailed
across an ocean and stole land.

On it today I walked, and stepped
in poop—these facts unrelated,
unless you’re one to relate

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