233. OPEN BORDERS
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.
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