A UTOPIAN WORLD

Everyone has some kind of a vision about a utopian world. We often think of new as unique, beyond, something yet to be. What if there really is nothing new under the sun? Every vision, regardless how futuristic and unfamiliar it may seem, is always conditioned by the past. This whole process is really more about rebuilding, or re-creating rather than creating by itself. So here in my “vision” about Utopia, I will begin in part one an overview. In part two, I will focus on how to use the current conditions, and the teachings or lessons from the past in suggesting how to re-build what it is I truely envision.....what is a real, rather than a mere imagination of utopian possibilities.

I am an Oldman
But I still have visions.
No Polyannas, no devisive derisions
Shall retain the on-going chorus of change
Built into my own refrain.

I see trees of green, too
Red roses, children laughing, et all and wise,
All those things without the bang, bang
Louis Armstrong sang about
Just prior to his demise.

In my song, all desert lands flower
All rivers run free.
All swamps remain unaltered
Unrestrained, no one dumping into or on them
No one trying to drain them away, either.

You see, in My Utopia
Only people of good intention shall live.
No greed or grabbing of someone else’s
Piece of Pie
Will be allowed.

No one will want to
Because each shall have their need fulfilled
There is a price attached to all this
But there is no bill, deceit, or any receipts thereof included in these transactions
On the condition you simply love the one who gave you the goods in the first place.
There’s nothing wrong with my swamp.
One shall not stomp on My Ground either,
For in My Gardens, My Mountains and My Valleys
Only soft loam covers the land
Only slow walking, slow dancing will make the grand entrance abound.
You must keep pace with melodious sounds
You see, in My Utopia someone else’s No one
Will ever want to give to each other
Equal portions of their useless remains.
Seeds of newness will be built into the remains before they are even aware of it.
They’ll recycle themselves: Abundant ones

PART TWO: How to Rebuild From The Now.

Now The Now has several components:
The current, the undercurrent and the surface,
The Now, The Past and The Future.
None of them last very long,
But they must be understood.

Now who would you think they are?
Hah! I caught you! Notice I said Who
Instead of What. Its the who part we must begin with
If we are going to rebuild anything long-lasting.
And just who are these components, who are their counterparts?

Well, there’s Buddha and Jesus, Isis and Orpheus,
Abraham and Moses. There’s Ceridwen and Nora
Brigid and Bel. There’s Venus and Euridice, Aristotle and Plato,
There’s even all those Satans and Lucifers,
The Bushes and Carlyles, Harriman’s and Browns

By their momentous grand erroneous madness
We can find some useful tools
To back them up into a corner
Round ‘em up and watch them wrestle with each other in their own circus ring
While the Utopian Rebuilding goes on and on.

Now, I hired the best architects among them all
Those who submitted the best blueprints.
I found Jesus and Buddha had made the most secret, the easiest,
And the most effective methods of construction come to light with ease.
(Neither of them, by the way, charged me a single penny, though the rest charge you way too much!)

Jesus reveled his secrets to The Woman of Samaria
She was a whore. The madams and pimps from the village,
Their clients and other wimps,
Though they say they had all the answers
They weren’t the ones who built the levies.

The ones who said they’d keep the shores intact did not have the answers I was looking for.
Neither did the agents and the agencies that make the rules and forms
Dealing with the business of love they claim they have the right to maintain order for
Contain little evidence or substance remaining that allows for the reconstruction,
Sustanance and materials gathered be part of the refrain.

They only sing the choruses full of noise no one wants to hear repeated anymore.
All their ideas enacted have fallen apart.
It ‘twas in the hidden part of the woman's heart
The meanings of love remained.
He also revealed himself to fishermen and carpenters.

He lived among the low-brow.
Not that the wealthy don’t have any answers, they do!
Lots of them, but their blueprints
Contain so much poo-poo and dodo
I had no use for them.

I also hired Gautama Buddha, Hoti and Krishna
Because their affirmation, “Be careful what you ask for,
‘Cause you’re gonna get it whether you like it or not”,
Sold me on The Idea
That made the most common sence of all.

As to the rest of the nonsence combined
Now that I had the right blueprints in line, I went to work.

It was love and compassion that brought on the rain.
Flowers and grasses in the desert sprouted up everywhere.
It was dedication and whistle while you work
That allowed the dams to be dismantled
And the rivers were left to run free.

It was replacing the asphalt and concrete
With dust from a memory of the good life!
That smoothed out the paths to the mounains and valleys of pride
Lined with rails and fences of humility others call failure
That neutralised the trails of indifference and greed.

My utopian theology says take the nukes, the bombs, and the land mines, Remove the pins and the signaling carefully, melt them down
Build monuments of remembering them as fragments of the Now
Leave them on an island one goes to visit now and then
As works of useless art, no further living instructions about using them again.

The deserts will be in bloom,
The rivers running free,
The mountains proudly circling fluffened cloud
The valleys singing loud and clear
The swamps and the oceans proud to provide.

Fishermen with fishes, oceans wide
Prostitutes, lovers,whores, wives,
Misters and mistresses none to derride
Cats and Dogs without scratchy needling whiskers
Dishes and doors, so many
To use, pass by or through as they do choose
Fullfilling Creator’s wishes wherewithal.
Condoms of love, no need to wear gloves
All staying in survival mode,
Allowing love to flourish across the land.
In rooms, on walls, ceilings and floors
In whatever form they take, sit or stand.
Pictures inacted like sculptures
Artists have always longed for.
Things that would wake us up
To an Oldman’s Utopical candor and horn.

As The Sea Captain sits on his rocker
Watching ships enter his harbor
Bringing goods natives desparately needed
For his Utopia to release
The contents of The Cornicopia of Love.......

Spilling out into the cleansing oceanic depths
Of his new found feelings.
Of renewal and resolve.
So there! That’s how he rebuilt his hovel and made his planet
The Home where
Real Love and Brotherhood was reborn.
Utopian became hollow bone filled with light and
Suddenly he reigned Divine.

I twirled my sails unfurled left on the deck long ago yet I stretched it across my youth anyway
And went a-prowling on the bow of an old ship at sea, or was it at bay?.