Enlightenment: A Collection of Poetry and Essays

By Robert Lindsay Wells

This collection of poetry and essays explores the enlightenment experience both before and after. The poetry takes us on a journey through the breadth of our human condition. There is beauty, and there is ugliness. But through it all, there are those special moments when we glimpse a higher reality. The images and metaphors are meant to inspire us to see beyond the illusion of the world and understand the universal way.

The essays look directly at enlightenment using plain language, not poetic imagery. We discuss what it takes to live as enlightened beings, the mistakes that can trap us, and the good choices that allow us to advance within ourselves and make a difference in the world. Living our enlightenment is the secret to staying on the path and helping others find their own enlightenment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984536686

Robert Lindsay Wells

The author was born in Sydney, Australia in 1949. He was the only child of Bob and Connie Wells. In 1961 the family moved to Montreal, Canada. In 1963 they immigrated to Beloit, Wisconsin. He graduated from the University of Wisconsin-Madison with a Bachelor of Arts degree in English, and a second major in Philosophy, in 1972. He worked part-time as a draftsman during the summers. In 1975 he completed a Secondary School Teaching Certificate in English at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater, but he continued to work as a draftsman, and then as a designer. In 1980 he followed his parents to their retirement home in Clearwater, Florida where he continued to work as a contract mechanical designer until 1983 when he entered engineering school at the University of South Florida in Tampa. In 1985 he graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in Mechanical Engineering. He continued working as a contract engineer until he entered graduate school at the University of Florida in Gainesville in 1987. He graduated with a Master of Science degree (mechanical engineering) in 1988, and a Doctor of Philosophy degree (mechanical engineering) in 1991. He served on the faculty of the University of Southwestern Louisiana in Lafayette from 1992 to1995, at which time he returned to Clearwater to take of his aged parents. In 1999 he joined the faculty of the University of Texas at Tyler. He retired in 2008, and returned to Florida where he continues to pursue his interests in Literature, Engineering and Philosophy.

Book preview

The Path to Enlightenment

* THE MARINER

                    I pray that I may be a mariner:

                    A man who dares to sound the ageless sea;

                    A man who masters tides and latitudes;

                    Who measures minutes from the dawning stars,

                    And climbs the mast to eye the distant storm;

                    A man who voyages beyond the rim;

                    Who knows not for long years the solid hearth,

                    But vast, uncharted, rolling depths beneath

                    A modest cabin—full of instruments,

                    And all that searches for the farthest mark

                    To make the infinite horizon known.

                    So too this mariner must leave the shore,

                    And seek the Indies westward, and explore

                    Those distances that seem to promise home.

RED DAWN

           Out from the bistro with laughter it swayed,

           The rhythm of music the honky-tonk played.

           A lonely old ragtime just pulled at my feet,

           So I paid my half dollar and left the wet street.

           The cellar was smoky and hot with the sweat

           Of five-dollar women and tropical flesh.

           I pushed to a barstool and felt my mind sway,

           It was dope they were smoking—they passed some my way.

           The lights changed to crimson, the music went loud,

           A curtain was opened, a cheer stirred the crowd,

           And there on a stairway in bangles and lace

           Was the woman I’d longed for; the drum changed its pace.

           From a slow, sleepy ragtime it fell to a beat

           That pushed itself hard to a feverish heat.

           Then stopped to let the musicians proclaim

           That a singer named Nita would entertain.

           Above the beat of clapping hands,

           Above the writhings of the band,

           Above the dirty drunken shouts,

           Above the clutching oafs and louts,

           She spun into a Spanish dance,

           And throwing me a laughing glance,

           She sang a song of love and chance,

           And caught me in her savage trance.

           Her name was Maria Juanita I’m told.

           Her touch was so tender, her heart was so cold.

           She sang for the loveless and danced for the dead,

           And could make you a hero each night in her bed.

           And I was a loveless and lonely young man,

           Just following highways and feeling the land;

           And she was the woman I’d dreamed of at night

           In the sweat of some fever before the gray light.

           Maria Juanita—I had to learn more,

           I spoke to her uncle, the man at the door.

           I begged for a moment, five minutes alone,

           To persuade my Juanita to share my free home.

           I paid fifteen dollars and went to her room.

           I heard her sing love songs and honky-tonk tunes.

           She gave me the finest of fruit from her tree,

           And her kisses were soft as a sad melody.

           But women are faithless to men they don’t love,

           And my sweet Maria put no man above

           Her musical magic each night at the bar,

           When the drunkards and heroes would crown her their star.

           That evening I waited outside for my love,

           But laughter and singing fell down from above;

           Another young hero had found his brief dream.

           I remembered the music and felt my soul scream.

           I turned up my collar and followed the street.

           My brain was on fire, my stomach was weak.

           I walked through the drizzle and drank the cool air

           And saw nothing but Nita’s soft skin and fine hair.

           I fell on my mattress and took a long drink,

           But even cheap whiskey won’t help a man think

           When music and women have stolen his soul,

           Just to bury it deep in an empty black hole.

           Juanita, I mumbled and reached for my knife,

           She shattered my dreams and must pay with her life;

           But as I lay weeping, I found the dream gone—

           And awoke to her sweet touch beneath a red dawn.

I SING

I sing for Marian—my much beloved.

I choose for words the songs her touch can play;

I make my music soft, as is her way,

And take no smaller theme than our deep Love.

I sing for Marian—and sing above

The clamor of the fools who win the day

And follow all their trophies into clay;

They never know the victory of Love.

I sing for Marian—and though the time

Of our brief dance should end, and age consume

Our flesh, or break the music of my song,

There is a magic stronger than this rhyme,

More perfect than the passing maiden