Updated: Jul 3
America is known as the “Great Experiment.”
More like the Great Excrement, a giant pile
Of White Man’s fecal matter manuring
The sacred ground of its “indigenous peoples”
With the brow sweat of the brow beaten
Brown folk we shipped in from Africa
To toil the field of the Jefferson’s
(Thomas not George), who were busy
Writing high-falutin’ prose as a pose
To exploit others, not to treat them as brothers,
Unless their skin was as white as the driven snow.
If America were truly an experiment—
Meaning the “Scientific Method” was applied
To the miserable results of close to 250 years,
Where the sole race that lived in the land
Was reduced to a percentage next to nothing,
Where the soul race from Africa was enslaved
By men brazen enough to call this country
The land of the free and home of the brave,
Both races lost to lives not worth living due to
White Supremacy’s systemic pall that contaminates
The thinking waters of any and all
Whose pigment is not a darker shade of pale—
If America were truly an experiment,
We would have fired all the Scientists,
Converted its laboratory into a lavatory,
Think, dear white folk, about your youth,
How, where and why you were raised.
I doubt that this “nation of integration”
Was reflected in your parents’ daily drive
To segregate as much as they could
So you could grow up in a “good neighborhood”
Where the only color you saw was red
Enflagged with some white and blue
Standing for what? For freedom? For who?
What is going on with “Covid-19” pales
With the effects of “Racism-20”and its infection rate
Where all its patients are dying, unable to breathe,
The soul surgeon severely wounded,
Trying to heal the world through invasive means
Without proper personal protective equipment,
Without proper testing for hate’s virus
Without proper prospects of it ever stopping.
Instead we patients should heal ourselves,
Tenderly cultivating what is already there
By ploughing then irrigating
The precious soil of our souls,
God Gardeners. weeding our small plots
From hatred, tearing it up by its roots,
With a diligence bespeaking discrimination,
Not of the kind that afflicts
Those of a different shade of white,
But of those who have come to the realization
That this nation has made into a lie
God’s decree that all men are created equal.
Isn't it befitting that the current (p)resident of the aptly named
White House serves up daily non-truths obscuring the reality
Of his gross incompetence and lack of humanity
That then morphs into our daily dystopia
Wherein what really unites us—division—
Into groups, into political parties, into colors,
Is writ large through his little tweets on the world-wide web?
If we were ever to find a common language
That could make us feel the heal
Rather than the heel of another,
Of experiencing the peace that passseth
Understanding, then maybe we'd start
To understand that we are the same
In our desire to lead meaningful lives,
In our desire to live in peace,
In our desire to provide material security,
In our desire to move beyond desire
And it's usually unfulfilling fulfillment
To a place called many names—-
Asgard, Shambala, Valhalla, Heaven, Home—
A place that exists in our heart’s core,
A paradise more lost than found,
A land irredeemable, irretrievable, irreparable, yet irrefutably
As real as the dew on a blade of grass,
Glistening its whisper in the morning sun.
This desire for a land of no desire,
For a land of and for the truly free—
From tyranny, from hate, from lies, from exploitation—
Drives us madly to the streets,
To the exit polls where there isn't
Any exit from “THE SYSTEM”,
From the puerile ideas that we allow
To defile the pure baptismal waters
That can slake our thirst
For justice, for truth, for reparation
For all our collective individual
Wrongs perpetrated on each other
In the name of God, A.K.A.
The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
We gave up the Father’s Son with Spirit
Centuries ago so now He has to Come Again
Because we botched the job of Job
By cursing the Creator’s’ creation
When it does not yield the fruit
We think is our just dessert
For simply existing.
But since we can only reap what we sow,
The pain and suffering we afflict
And are afflicted by
Is our cross to bear
But we need one another
To lessen the burden.
But the weight of the wait
On the collective individual
To awaken from centuries of stony sleep
Is too much to bear.
Our center no longer holds.
The falcon can not hear the falconer
And the blood dimmed tide
Obscures our vision
Of a land of the truly free.
So what are we to do?
Follow the daily Dalai
And work on our internal worlds
While the external is reduced to smoke and ash?
Keep looting to provoke more shooting
So the chaos engulfs us all?
How do we engage?
How do we stop the sadness
Caused by the madness of hate?
As my favorite philosopher of swing
Preambled prior to ambling
Into his “Wondrful World“:
“Love baby, Love. That’s what I’m talking about.
If lots more of us would love each other,
We'd solve lots more problems
And the world would be a better…”
To love, to put another’s needs
Ahead of our own,
To practice the simple instructions
Of our Spiritual Elders, Prophets and Healers
As religiously as we judge people
Who don’t look, act or think like we do,
To realize that when we harm another,
Intentionally or otherwise,
We harm our self,
Just as when we heal another
We heal our self.
In sum, we are one.
In division we are
Since man is inherently selfish,
We need to see the matter
Of matter rightly and realize
That people were created to be loved
And things to be used.
Chaos exists because we inverted
The equation and love things
And use people to get them.
Maybe in this time of disease
We will Will the Self to self
Vaccinate the virus of hate
For our children’s children’s children sake,
To stop Samsura’s spinning wheel
Of endless pain and suffering,
Alter the altar of our worship
Upon which we sacrifice each other
For possessions of the material world
Which enslave us all
Holding us in thrall
Blinding us from the sight
Of our Divine Birth Right:
Being one with each other.