A mythic narrative that describes the arc of my life fairly well is the idea that I am here on a bet. More specifically, the bet was that, as in a previous life, I was a peasant scolding those living in affluent countries as not behaving justly to their fellow humanity. As the story would go, I bet that I could do a much better job of that if I were living in their culture. So…here I am. Of course, my actual biography suggests this as well. I was born in haiti to well-educated Americans serving there temporarily as doctor and nurse. My fate was entirely different than the poor Haitians populating the village I was born in. As in the mythic narrative, I was whisked away to an entirely different culture, affluent and unmindful, and perhaps even actively scornful, of other cultures, particularly poor and black. I describe the biggest tension in my soul as a struggle to make sense and purpose of the chasm between affluent Western culture, ostensibly the “First World,” with economically poor non-Western cultures, the “Two-thirds World.” I still struggle. The bet is still on.
Here on Abet
I got life
Here on abet
Soully that
I will
I a test
Due bettor
My grave conviction
Arising
From a bounding go arounds
Of a thousand peasantries
In efface of each
And every marrow
Of serf and turf
Wars
My behind
Locked
In a whirled
Of vane abundance
My ahead
Swimming
In the deep end
Of the betting pool
Karmicly quipped
Down with ante up
Even knowing
Feeling stranger
god likes the odds
Sow why grouse
As rigged game
Only too have
Found myself
In a broke world
Stuck in the whole
Fore what peers
Like forever
