Out of the Darkness
(c) Roberto Isaza
This piece was posted by
RJ Rush in Dreamangels, a writers group that has become more like family to me...
Date: Mon Jul 18, 2005 11:25 am
Subject: The Depths Within the_master_jus

Sometimes when we do Poetry, do we ever think to read it as a whisper;
try this one on as nothing more than just a Whisper, for it will talk to you that way at times.

It is deep,
It lays in wait;
It's time is expected,
And unexpected;
It is deep within,
And from the depths within;
It comes,
Darkness;
No seed need bring It,
It comes as It wants;
It is sadness,
It is sorrow;
It can be your worst nightmare,
It can be your worst enemy;
Yet It resides within,
It is the side;
That is the most feared,
Because It is the side that many hide;
It puts each of us in the wrong moods,
It can cause the worst of problems;
Yet It is still Dark,
And it is always deep;
Sometimes it comes slowly,
Sometimes not;
Yet each of us have this,
And each of us work hard;
It is Our depressions,
That each of us call a different name;
Yet we must live with its side,
No matter what we may do that is right;
It makes us remember Our wrongs,
And makes Us unhappy;
And makes Us blue,
But We also know what is true;
This enemy that comes from the Depths within,
Is One each of Us know well in Ourselves;
For it is Ourselves,
That We must battle;
Yet it is GrandFather who helps each of Us,
Through by the friends that We all have;
Or by merely a bird as it sings in the morning ,
Or by the chirp of the cricket;
What each of Us need,
As I have heard it said;
"The strength not to be greater than Our Brothers,
but to fight Our greatest enemy
~Ourselves~";
So understand that this whisper comes,
From Knowledge that has and still is learning;
about Oneself,
And the Darkness that comes;
And the Wisdom and Understanding,
And the Discernment to help control;
That which comes deeply from,
The Depths Within.

Liberty Through a Child's Eyes
(c) Roberto Isaza

Plato’s Republic, Socrates’ City.
by Roberto Isaza September 16, 1999
Professor Emory Craig

In Plato’s “Republic”, we are told of Socrates arguing about the goodness of Justice and the importance of well-being and happiness. He also clearly demonstrates how the accumulation of wealth serves no one, not even he who accumulates it.

As part of his argument, to look for justice in the individual, Socrates extrapolates the individual to a city. He creates an imaginary city in which citizens are grouped into categories or Castes: Guardians -the Ruler of the city, Advisers and Soldiers (auxiliaries to the Ruler); the craftsmen, farmers and wage earners.

The Ruler would be chosen from among the Guardians, who are the group educated in fine arts and are physically fit. This person must be older than those ruled, the best of them, impeccable. A Philosopher. Strong by nature, gentle in attitude and fierce defender of the City, its citizens, moral values and to uphold the laws and to defend the City from other cities who might envy the well-being of this city. The Guardian should above all preserve the educational system so that there were no changes in the constitution. Therefore there would be no absolute freedom. Though I think that for any group of people to live together in harmony there have to be at least some restrictive parameters so that no one intrudes upon the other’s well being, there has to be some flexibility as to what constitutes reasonable laws.

Socrates defined a well set of rules or laws to ensure that the most of people’s rights would be protected. These included the no accumulation of wealth by the Guardians nor indulgence in banal pleasures. The young guardians would have to be tested and put through many trials to ensure their total dedication to the city and its inhabitants. The upkeep of the guardians would be had by taxation to the citizens.

Socrates proposed to tell the citizens a story of how the god had created them, mixing into the Ruler’s creation gold, because they would be honored the most; mixing silver into those to be the Ruler’s Auxiliaries; and bronze and iron into those to be farmers and workers. I think that he demonstrated how the religions of the world have come to be. Someone makes-up a story to justify how we came to be and how we inherited the world we live in. The generation in which this story is created might frown a little and say, for example: “hmm, the carpenter’s son was a little strange, and it is true he was killed as a thief, on a cross. When the only crime he committed was to negate the Roman empire and be hailed as the King of the Jews. But I never heard of the part of him being the only Son of God.” Generations later, this is the only thing true and very few question the validity of Jesus, Son of God, raising to the heavens on the third day of his burial. People effectively created a new religion.

In Buddhism it is said that at one point, and after many trials, one will become ONE with all. Unicity is not a created or attained state. One is ONE with everything. The task is to realize we are all ONE. We all have one primal objective here on earth: to live and to learn to love which is the same. So, one does not become one with the universe. One IS the universe.

In Socrates’ city each person would occupy a position according to his/her disposition and temperament. Also, the occupations would not be inherited, so that the children of Farmers could become rulers or have a craft. The purpose of this city would be that the most would have a happy and fulfilling life, each person doing what was his nature’s inclination.

The more I read about Socrates, the less surprised I am that he was sentenced to death. His constant search for the truth, and his proposals of bettering the spirit rather than the search of physical pleasures, had to make him a lot of enemies. If Socrates’ model for a great city had been followed, who knows what our society would be like. There is always the human factor. Everything might be running well, until someone greedy enough to go against the laws will tip the scales.

Still, there were many of his proposals for the city to prosper and run smoothly that I can not agree with. The way I was brought up, a person must have freedom of expression, even if this freedom means to be enraged about one’s circumstances, poverty, hunger, helplessness in decisions that may mean the destruction of thousands, or the path our lives will take. Socrates proposed to censure children’s stories, games, and even the possibility of expressing their feelings in the fine arts. Also censured would be the fine arts themselves, literature, theater, music, paintings and sculptures it is here that I feel a transgression of human values. You can’t make me feel what I should be free to choose what to admire, read, listen to. Present me with ideas and I’ll choose what to do with them.
Anything less than radically free is never enough. To have to settle for less and be slave of fate is a waste of soul and growth. We have done it throughout our history. And we seem to not have learned our lesson yet.

I think that Socrates expressed Socialism before anyone else. This City would be self-sufficient and Justice would rule. The people in it would accumulate wisdom rather than gold. There would be no rich, but also there would be no poor. Education would be available to everyone according to their needs. All people would be respected on their merits in their occupations. They would specialize in their trade and have the happiness and pride of a job well done. No one would have more nor less than needed to lead a comfortable life.

If the children were cared for in a communal state, it is true that the family unit we have today would be different. But it is also true that these children would be responsibility of all, all children being in need of our love and devotion as if they were our own. This would also create a bigger sense of responsibility in them toward one another, and in their adult life carry this responsibility into their trade and regarding their city as a whole.

Socrates found the origin of war in the taking of goods from others to satisfy our own greed. If our city were to take land or goods from another city to satisfy our luxurious needs and acquisition of wealth, then in wronging another people we are wronging our own, bringing upon ourselves the wrath of those wronged. This is the source of evils both public and private.
Socrates defines Justice as harmony that results when each person is actively fulfilling their role and does not meddle with the role of others. Injustice is the opposite. Plato’s Republic, Book IV.- Justice in the individual is defined as an inner state of the soul, with each of its parts fulfilling its own function under the rule of reason which enlists the aid of the spirited part (the feelings) in controlling the appetites. This will inevitably lead to just actions, while injustice is an inner state of discord and rebellion with an inferior part of the soul in command. -
To me, this is a true definition of what Justice is. More people would be happy if they could attain a better balance of their spiritual self. This, within a society such as we live in, is a contradiction. We are shown that the ideal state of being is when we acquire material goods. Therefore our success in life is measured by how successful we are in our occupation, having a car, house, fancy clothing, our social status. White teeth, smelling goooood, keeping thin, red lipstuck all day long, laser’s permanent body hair removal, full head of hair, not a white hair, not a wrinkle. All of this goes against Socrates’ thinking. It also goes against reason. Normally when we eat, and our hunger is satiated we stop eating. This is reasonable. To eat more, insane. So it should be with our life. Socrates says that to have more or less than we need would make useless efficient in developing our true selves.

Yet, we see it every day,
there’s always someone trying to get ahead of the rest,
doing the least work with the most personal benefit. They take much more than they need, accumulating beyond reason while many have just the bare-bones, or maybe a little less.

A very naive way of seeing the world, but it's Liberty through a child's eyes.

Another place another time
(c) Roberto Isaza

Drinking With a Friend

We are uniquely different
as much as we are the same,
same miracle of life
brought us to this town.

Different circumstances
and happenings
along our way.
Our paths are so different
yet they brought us here
together
for some obscure reason
we may never fathom.

Enjoy my presence
as much as I enjoy yours.
Share what you can,
take what you want.

As long as there is life
there is chance for solutions,
opportunity to learn,
and space to grow.

Next time we meet,
don’t turn your face away.
A simple nod of recognition,
a word of kindness,
acceptance of argument,
solidifies even more
the sense of being alive.

Come let’s have a drink together
even if it’s water,
it tastes even better
when drinking with a friend.
© Roberto Isaza
July 16, 2005

Thanks Henry

My home
(c) Roberto Isaza

I can almost feel
the grains of sand
rub against, between
my toes.

I can almost smell
the brackish tang
of Caribbean
waft in the breeze.

I could almost abandon myself
in the enveloping, liquid embrace
of the warm sea.

I would have never
wanted to leave,
I knew I’d found my place
among existence
where I could belong.

Where I could be one
with the ocean,
where I could commune
with the breeze,
where my thoughts
were those of nature,
where my hopes
were more than a sneeze.

I would have never left
but I did.
To a place that is all
but nature.
Where the haves
and have nots compete,
to sustain the rock
that is not so.

Where most people
are neighbors
only because they live
right next door.
Not really interested
in what goes on the floor.
Only if you are in their circle
will their interest in you proclaim,
otherwise you are nobody
interesting only in your use.

I left my dad
never to see him again...
I lost a lot
but also gained a lot.

If I hadn’t left
I wouldn’t have found
the soul I searched for,
so the leaving was good
yet the calling so strong
now I yearn for more.
More of the island
now that I found
who to share it with.

More of the moonlit-night-walks
more of the lull of the surf,
more of this feeling of belonging
with someone to belong.
More of Sundays at
Playa de San Luis,
buying typical food,
from my aunts and gran’mas
along the way.

Give me the rush
of turquoise waters
of seven colors,
let me swim
to Johnny Cay,
let me lie naked
in the waters
of the Aquario,
and climb into the old ship
in rocky cay.
I want to ride my bike
through the moonless nights
and watch the stars
feeling I might fall off,
a shooting one
caught my eye,
and wished
for you to come.

I’ve got Island water
flowing through my veins
got the sun in my heart
and the people I love
got the wind in my soul
and a song to sing
I’ve got
a Caribbean love.

© Roberto Isaza
July 7, 2005

Captured by all around
(c) Roberto Isaza

A huge thank you to Pamelj,
who coached this out of me.

Captured by the Song
(Forever and a Day)

The soft whisper
of the Caribbean in your ear
waves gently playing
a warm symphony
as they caressingly
brush your feet.

The whispering swooshhh
of water
curiously probing
every single seashell,
pebble, and toe,
reverberates in your ears.

As gentle the breeze
feathers your skin,
loving caress
of your maker
telling you
“Sure!,
There IS a God.”

The waves are small and quiet
for a ring of coral
laid by Divine hand
protects the island
from vengeful Poseidon.

The warm breeze
plays a rhythm
through the palm leaves
and sand it carries
over driftwood
a little ways.

Mottled clouds
in a pool
of light-blue sky
adorn the stage
of this symphony
of life.

The smell of the Caribbean
of brine and flowers,
life giving waters
wafts in the breeze
tickling your senses,
permeates you to the core,
welcomes you home.

As you walk on the beach
the sand sings your passage
massaging your soles
with a quiet crunch
that if your heart
is ready to listen,
sounds like life
calling you to rejoice.

Then you want to see why
the sand greets you
and sighs.
You bend to get closer,
grab a handful of it
and realize
that you’re walking on shells,
tiny grains
of perfect symmetry
replicas of their bigger
visible selves.

The surf is calling you
to fall in its embrace
and in warmth
you return to the womb.
You are safe and comfortable,
there is no pain or worry
alive in the liquid sound
there is no past nor future
but an ever present
in peace and quiet,
only now.

Lying on the beach
sand sticking to your skin,
the afternoon god
lovingly drying you,
the breeze and place
suckling of your essence,
you recognize you could be
stuck in an office
from 9 to 5
doing what you are doing now,
living.

The sky explodes
in a fireball of reds, ochers,
and oranges
as the evening god settles
into the sea.
You feel you want to share this
with another soul,
that your heart beats as one
with the universe.

Suddenly you realize
the celestial scene
has had you holding your breath,
and you dig your hands
in the sand
not wanting to fall off the Earth.
The stars come out
with a vengeance,
making you understand
how insignificantly great we are.

Then a shooting star
to make your wish
come true.
You wish
not to ever forget
who you are
why you are here,
and by what grace
you are allowed to see
so much beauty.

You want to stay
forever and a day.

© Roberto Isaza
February 11, 2005

Ok, kiddies, the story. One night I’m chatting with a writer friend (Pamel J) and she asked me to describe the Caribbean in my experience. So here it is. R

Rocky Cay
(c) Roberto Isaza

Rocky Cay
Major theft

Nestled in the gentle
Caribbean waves
1/3 of a mile
away from the beach
lies Rocky Cay.

A fifteen square foot
piece of coral reef
surrounded by
shallow, warm water
waiting for you.

You start your trek
with little trepidation,
will it get too deep?
Sea urchins, crabs,
strong currents?

But Rocky Cay calls
with a warm breezed
voice,
its breath
a mild brackish smell
of ocean,
of life.
You can’t deny.

You find yourself
under a foot
of blood-warm water
walking a golden sandbar
made by two
opposing currents
to form a bridge
to find yourself.
At the Cay
sunbathing, picnicking,
swimming, loving,
thinking
of times past,
of times yet to come.

Many a time
You swam around it
by it
a mile to home,
with a diving mask
alongside
the golden bridge
deep enough
to swim in.

Life swarming
around and through me
in a warm amniotic
fluid,
liquid moonshine
flowing through my veins.

You go with friends,
family, lovers.
Yourself.
You and your mind,
your hopes and misgivings,
joys and sorrows.

You also go there
at night
when no one’s around
bathed in moonlight,
sparkled stars
disturbed by your passage.
Naked you dive in waters
floating in the gentle breeze
knowing there IS a God
guiding the stars,
life, light, and you.

On the cay
and drying,
you smoke a drink or two
gaining sudden
insight perspective
of life, God,
and the universe.

You’ve been given
a precious gift,
a life to experience
in a state of being
that no other state
could give you.

One full moonlit night
you go to the Cay
with Mateo,
loyal German Shepherd
who’s shared life with you
for the past year.
Your friend, companion
Dog.

Arriving at the end
of the beach
from the darkness
of the coconut grove
you hear
the dry tchk-tchk
of a rifle being prepped
maybe to kill you
from the new military post

just a few feet away.

You walk the bridge
toward the Cay,
your back tingling
in the sights
of that invisible rifle.
Mateo’s growling
makes you fear
that the kid
holding the rifle
be trigger happy,
or fear that the dog
is a threat.

You arrive at the Cay
but it’s not the same
carefree place
you used to go
moonlit nights before.

It can NEVER be the same
stolen whole
by man’s ambition
to control.
A thousand times
be damned !
This is a sorrow
that will live
until you die.

© Roberto Isaza
May 19, 2005

A litle blurry family thing.
(c) Roberto Isaza

Shadows of the day
(c) Roberto Isaza

Weird sky
(c) Roberto Isaza

Golgotha
(c) Roberto Isaza

Today (sat, july 2) I was stopped by a team of undercover cops ... I was taking pics of pigeon nests, shadows, and light posts at the New Dorp train station in Staten Is. Of course the terrorism thing (after 911 anything/everything goes as a reason to stop and harass you). They asked me what I was taking pics of, and I said, of course, shadows, light posts and pigeons ... they asked me for id and showed them my driver's lic (expired in 2002), asked me for more since it's expired ... I said 'aint got none, but I'm still the same and since it's not a driving violation. Anyway, they made a report, hey, the law against taking pics on the train is gone. They know, but expect you don't. That's why they didn't give me a sumons. While his partner was going for the pad, the cop who stayed asked to see the pics, then seeing my Golgotha pic he said, I never would have thought to look at it that way. ‘Course, bub. That’s an artist’s job, to show you what you can’t imagine or what you walk by disregarding the beauty around you. There are the 3 crosses, what else to say? Are ya' gonna crucify me?

Ana Ruiz Castillo
(c) Roberto Isaza

Ana's exceptional art gives volume to the intangible. This piece is part of an exhibit in Queen's Town Hall. I called it Ana conda, you might diasagree.