Thursday, November 10, 2016


I had never heard of anyone,
when I was a youngster, 
traveling to Europe or any
overseas or foreign trip.
Truly. And I mean Canada 
too. Today's Toronto was
unheard of, up there, and 
the closest anyone got 
to that anyway was 
maybe Niagara Falls, 
and Montreal. We lived
all our lives in the tiniest
little 'Avenel' cocoon, 
and were happy with it.
Nowadays  -  and especially
after Princeton  -  I see 
people going to Paris, 
London, France, for 
toast and no more. Like 
a shuttle trip, for a few 
hours frolic. We, as a
family, never had money 
for that type thing  -  maybe
if one has the money one 
then gets the global 
consciousness idea 
too that better goes
with such travel. We 
never had that either, 
in my family, even 
extended family. I 
used to see the thin, 
airmail-envelop light-blue 
'par avion' ('by air', I think), 
in my aunt's house, from 
Italy, and they'd be 
hand-written real ink 
letters in Italian. From 
faraway, and so exotic. 
Seemingly, anyway. 
I know that in my 
house, even if we'd 
traveled to London or 
Tokyo or wherever, 
it would have caused 
nothing but trouble 
anyway, some vast
argument over the 
way those 'bastard Japs 
looked at us' or something 
of that nature in my 
father's deep and
inimitable head. 
Always trouble  -  God 
forbid such trouble in 
a foreign land. Later 
in his life, with my
mother, my father 
did finally, in the 
early 80's fly around 
a bit, domestically  
-  the usual dumb 
places, California, 
Las Vegas, Arizona. 
One time they rented 
a car and, from Tijuana, 
ventured by car into
Mexico  -  of course 
against the rental 
stipulations, no 
insurance for crossing 
into and driving in 
Mexico, but he didn't 
care. Some Mexican 
cops pulled them over, 
demanded paperwork, 
got none, and then 
demanded a bribe to 
let it go. Of course, my 
father went nutso on 
the guys, they took 
my parents in, my 
mother was wailing, 
and my father was 
still going crazy to
 the Police Chief 
about these guys 
demanding money. 
It didn't matter that 
he'd been caught 
where he shouldn't 
be and driving where 
he shouldn't too. They 
locked them up for 
a bit, until eventually, 
monies got paid, and 
they put my parents 
back in the car and 
told them to break 
for the border, vamoose 
and scram too. That's 
just an inkling of the
sort of things that 
could go on around 
my father. My mother
always said 'I thought
we were going to die 
in  that jail, or they'd 
be shooting your stupid
father for his mouth.'
You know you father, 
with that damned
temper of his.'
I always thought of 'borders'
quite differently anyway.
Not about countries at all,
In my mind, a borderland 
was somewhere one's mind 
went, to carry one to another
place. Kind of like a half-
location in time and being.
Much like my father (apple
falling not far from the 
tree, in a way), I often 
found myself 'traveling' 
to other places, locations
I really had not the right
paperwork or direction for.
I went everywhere, man,
all over the place. never got
caught, nor pulled over, and
certainly not asked for a bribe,
and was probably very often
underage too for the places 
I went.  But I viewed all that
as my travel right. I was
boundless and held no
papers nor passport, 
because in my world 
they didn't exist.
The mind is an 
open border.
In a way, getting 
involved structurally 
with the 'church' as I 
did, was against all
my grain  -  in that 
it was a complete 
surrender, or would 
certainly have been,
to any cerebral ideas 
of Freedom and mental 
travel and Creativity
I'd come up with. Even 
today, just thinking abut 
it, I know my mind soared
past all that right from 
the start, and, really, 
very glad I started young
so as to still be young 
and get out early and 
with fleet grace, before 
I was truly damned. 
Now there's a real 
paradox : traveling 
willingly to the land 
of chains and torment,
from the land of free 
grace and bliss.

No comments: