Wednesday, March 20, 2019
ᎤᏰᎸᎭ ᎠᎦᏙᎲᏍᏗ 67
ᏴᏫ-ᎠᏰᎸ ᎤᎭᏎ ᎤᏬᏚᏁ ᎠᎴ ᎠᏓᏙᎵᏍᏗᏁ, ᎤᏁᎳᎩ ᎾᏍᎩᎯ ᏧᏩᎫᏔᏅᏒ ᎨᏒᎢᏎ ᎢᏳᏓᎵᎭ ᎤᏁᎩᎸᏗ. ᎤᏩᏌ ᎠᏓᏅᏙ ᏰᎵᏆᏎ ᏗᎪᏏᏐᏗ ᎾᏍᎩᏁ.
Naked Wisdom 66
ᎠᏨᏯᎢ ᏚᎸᏫᏍᏓᎾᏎ ᎤᏰᎸᎭ,
ᎠᏨᏯᎢ ᎠᎴᏂᏙᎠᏎ ᎤᏰᎸᎭ.
ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎥᏝᎪᎱᏍᏗ
ᎯᏁᎩ.
He works naked,
he lives naked.
There is nothing to say.
Text and image © 2019 by Donald C. Traxler.
ᎠᏨᏯᎢ ᎠᎴᏂᏙᎠᏎ ᎤᏰᎸᎭ.
ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎥᏝᎪᎱᏍᏗ
ᎯᏁᎩ.
He works naked,
he lives naked.
There is nothing to say.
Text and image © 2019 by Donald C. Traxler.
Sunday, March 17, 2019
His Path / ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ
His path is the path of beauty,
his path is the path of truth,
his path is the path of mercy,
his path is the path of justice,
his path is the path of peace,
his path is the path of brother and sisterhood,
his path is the path of spirit,
his path is the path of respect,
his path is the path of love.
His hope is to see them realized.
His hope is to see them flourish.
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎤᏬᏚ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᏚᏳᎪᏛ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎠᏓᏙᎵᏍᏗ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᏚᏳᎫᏛ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᏙᎯᏱ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᏗᎾᏓᏅᏞ ᎠᎴ ᎤᎸᏪᏦ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎠᏓᏅᏙ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎪᎯᏳᎯ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏳ.
ᎤᏤᎵ ᎤᏚᎩ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎪᏩᏘ ᎾᏍᎩᏛᏁ ᎠᏙᎴᎰᎯᏍᏗᏔ.
ᎤᏤᎵ ᎤᏚᎩ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎪᏩᏘ ᎾᏍᎩᏛᏁ ᎤᏥᎸᏒ ᎠᎴ ᎠᏛᏒ.
Text and image © 2019 by Donald C. Traxler.
his path is the path of truth,
his path is the path of mercy,
his path is the path of justice,
his path is the path of peace,
his path is the path of brother and sisterhood,
his path is the path of spirit,
his path is the path of respect,
his path is the path of love.
His hope is to see them realized.
His hope is to see them flourish.
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎤᏬᏚ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᏚᏳᎪᏛ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎠᏓᏙᎵᏍᏗ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᏚᏳᎫᏛ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᏙᎯᏱ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᏗᎾᏓᏅᏞ ᎠᎴ ᎤᎸᏪᏦ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎠᏓᏅᏙ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎪᎯᏳᎯ,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏅᏃᎯ ᎨᏳ.
ᎤᏤᎵ ᎤᏚᎩ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎪᏩᏘ ᎾᏍᎩᏛᏁ ᎠᏙᎴᎰᎯᏍᏗᏔ.
ᎤᏤᎵ ᎤᏚᎩ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎪᏩᏘ ᎾᏍᎩᏛᏁ ᎤᏥᎸᏒ ᎠᎴ ᎠᏛᏒ.
Text and image © 2019 by Donald C. Traxler.
Saturday, March 16, 2019
There Is No "White Race"
The other day there were horrendous mass-shootings in two mosques in New Zealand, resulting in the deaths of at least 49 people. Both of the perpetrators said that they looked up to Donald Trump as a "symbol of renewed white identity and common purpose." I believe that such events make it necessary to clear a few things up.
There is no white race, nor is there a yellow race, a red race, or a black race.
The word "race" comes from a Latin word, radix, meaning "root." The racism that we are so plagued with today is a result of a huge misunderstanding of human history and prehistory. It is due to the idea that originally there were separate and distinct "roots" of humanity, eventually becoming mixed and therefore less "pure," when in fact the opposite is the case.
Humanity, as homo sapiens, has a single root, and it is in Africa. DNA studies prove that we are descended, not only from Africans, but from African Pygmies. From that origin we diverged, not into a variety of roots, but into a variety of branches, due to climate-induced mutations. If you are white, and proud of it, what you are saying is that you are proud of a particular mutation. This mutation in no way changes the fact that we are all sisters and brothers.
For most of my life, I considered myself "white." But DNA shows that I am part Native American (Cherokee, in my case), part Jewish, and 0.6 percent (are you ready?) African Pygmy. All humans are my sisters and brothers.
If you want to be a follower of the ignorant Austrian paper-hanger, Schickelgruber, you can do that. If you want to be a follower of the ignorant American conman, Drumpf, you can do that, too. But don't expect me to accept you as an equal, or debate with you as such. I am 100 percent human, and proud of it.
Text and image © 2019 by Donald C. Traxler.
There is no white race, nor is there a yellow race, a red race, or a black race.
The word "race" comes from a Latin word, radix, meaning "root." The racism that we are so plagued with today is a result of a huge misunderstanding of human history and prehistory. It is due to the idea that originally there were separate and distinct "roots" of humanity, eventually becoming mixed and therefore less "pure," when in fact the opposite is the case.
Humanity, as homo sapiens, has a single root, and it is in Africa. DNA studies prove that we are descended, not only from Africans, but from African Pygmies. From that origin we diverged, not into a variety of roots, but into a variety of branches, due to climate-induced mutations. If you are white, and proud of it, what you are saying is that you are proud of a particular mutation. This mutation in no way changes the fact that we are all sisters and brothers.
For most of my life, I considered myself "white." But DNA shows that I am part Native American (Cherokee, in my case), part Jewish, and 0.6 percent (are you ready?) African Pygmy. All humans are my sisters and brothers.
If you want to be a follower of the ignorant Austrian paper-hanger, Schickelgruber, you can do that. If you want to be a follower of the ignorant American conman, Drumpf, you can do that, too. But don't expect me to accept you as an equal, or debate with you as such. I am 100 percent human, and proud of it.
Text and image © 2019 by Donald C. Traxler.
Friday, March 15, 2019
He Sits in the Light of Morning Sun
He sits in the light of morning sun,
and looks out on a new day.
He knows that life is only light
and shadows ever at play.
Text and image © 2019 by Donald C. Traxler.
and looks out on a new day.
He knows that life is only light
and shadows ever at play.
Text and image © 2019 by Donald C. Traxler.
Thursday, March 14, 2019
Fifty-Seven Thousand Visits, Real Life
I'm happy to announce that this poetry blog has now passed the milestone of 57,000 visits. It happened a couple of days ago, but I was not able to comment on it, due to events in what some like to call "Real Life."
Last Monday, my wife and I sold our house in the small city of Atlántida, Uruguay, after having lived there for the last six years. This was wrenching enough, but we then spent a really awful night in the mostly-disused casita of some friends, fighting off mosquito attacks from an infestation that they hadn't been aware of. The next day, we had to drive the 220 or so kilometers to Aguas Dulces on virtually no sleep, arriving in a drenching downpour, in which I nevertheless had to begin unloading our jam-packed car.When I had done all I could, I looked and felt like a drowned rat. A neighbor, who is a good friend, stopped and offered to help, but I told him I was going to continue the job after the rain stopped. He said, "good luck!"
Well, to make a long story a bit shorter, I did have good luck. By the time I got the dripping clothes off, the rain had stopped. Now in dry clothes, I answered the door and it was a couple, also good friends, who insisted I let them finish unloading the car. I was too exhausted to argue. Sandy was in even worse shape than I was.
That was Tuesday. The next day, things looked a lot better, and we began to recover. We were ensconced in our beach house, the last little piece of Uruguay that is ours, with the Atlantic Ocean as our front yard. Having breakfast on the deck lifted our spirits. I saw a couple of dolphins in the water, which I always take as a good omen. A neighbor brought us some freshly-cooked "chucho," which is a kind of seafood, but I couldn't tell you what kind. Anyway, it was delicious. That night, the friend who had offered to help during the downpour dropped in. As I opened the door, I said, "Your timing is excellent: we're pouring Coto de Imaz Rioja." Sandy and I had decided we needed to celebrate. The wine was, of course, absolutely delicious. We went to bed that night feeling welcomed and taken care of in this magical little place.
It is unfortunate that we have to sell this beach house, but it isn't practical for us to keep it. The price, if you're interested, is US $60,000. Believe me, that is cheap.
Thanks to all of you for reading this blog. Wadó. ꮹꮩ.
Last Monday, my wife and I sold our house in the small city of Atlántida, Uruguay, after having lived there for the last six years. This was wrenching enough, but we then spent a really awful night in the mostly-disused casita of some friends, fighting off mosquito attacks from an infestation that they hadn't been aware of. The next day, we had to drive the 220 or so kilometers to Aguas Dulces on virtually no sleep, arriving in a drenching downpour, in which I nevertheless had to begin unloading our jam-packed car.When I had done all I could, I looked and felt like a drowned rat. A neighbor, who is a good friend, stopped and offered to help, but I told him I was going to continue the job after the rain stopped. He said, "good luck!"
Well, to make a long story a bit shorter, I did have good luck. By the time I got the dripping clothes off, the rain had stopped. Now in dry clothes, I answered the door and it was a couple, also good friends, who insisted I let them finish unloading the car. I was too exhausted to argue. Sandy was in even worse shape than I was.
That was Tuesday. The next day, things looked a lot better, and we began to recover. We were ensconced in our beach house, the last little piece of Uruguay that is ours, with the Atlantic Ocean as our front yard. Having breakfast on the deck lifted our spirits. I saw a couple of dolphins in the water, which I always take as a good omen. A neighbor brought us some freshly-cooked "chucho," which is a kind of seafood, but I couldn't tell you what kind. Anyway, it was delicious. That night, the friend who had offered to help during the downpour dropped in. As I opened the door, I said, "Your timing is excellent: we're pouring Coto de Imaz Rioja." Sandy and I had decided we needed to celebrate. The wine was, of course, absolutely delicious. We went to bed that night feeling welcomed and taken care of in this magical little place.
It is unfortunate that we have to sell this beach house, but it isn't practical for us to keep it. The price, if you're interested, is US $60,000. Believe me, that is cheap.
Thanks to all of you for reading this blog. Wadó. ꮹꮩ.
Sunrise in Aguas Dulces, Uruguay, March 14 2019
Text and image © 2019 by Donald C. Traxler.