I’m taking a break to re-post an old journal entry I wrote two years ago, almost to the day. I attended a Journal Writing workshop that I never felt like attending in the first place, but my friend and erstwhile colleague made such a good case for me to go. It was a worthwhile experience, too bad I did not get to repeat it.
This entry is slightly edited, and it was with a little surprise that I delivered it in public.
"AUBREY"
It was a 1982, 1400cc, red, box-type Mitsubishi Lancer - my friend Robert's car, Aubrey. His story of naming his car goes something like this - when he first acquired the car from its previous owner, he turned on the radio, and coincidentally the song that was playing was Bread's "Aubrey." Or something like that.
Maybe it's less of the car but more of the person who owned "her," but Aubrey was the confessor of our barkada, the ship of our dreams and aspirations, the granary of our frustrations, fears and disappointments. She of course was also the sounding board of our jokes! What we shared inside the car raises a thought - if Aubrey only had a soul - she would write the story of our lives - the journeys we have traveled, the ribbing and the kidding around, the stories that we told and lived through - she would be part of the soul of several years of friendship.
Aubrey was not just a car, she was an old friend that you've been longing to see and would always like to see - she would always be waiting expectantly for me to hop in. When I hear the familiar crunch of her door hinges, when I inhale the sweet-sour smell of her upholstery, when I run my hand on her cracking paint, and even when I struggle to thrive on the hottest days and her aircondtioner wasn't working - I know I am safe and secure, ready to share another adventure with her and our friends. When I am ensconsced in her arms, I believe that I am among friends, friends who accept me for who I am, who accept my idiosyncrasies, reveling in my own gifts and personhood.
Aubrey was the altar of our friendship, a hallowed place that is no less sacred for all the lewdness we have talked about, all the crazy songs we conceived and sang, the dirty looks we gave to passers-by, and generally, the drunkenness of being young and carefree. Aubrey was a fount of acceptance, of belonging, of HOME.
And like Aubrey, her owner Robert is in his own way a fount of kindness and friendship - someone you'd expect would be there if you're in a crunch. It's sad how seldom I got to tell him I appreciate him (what with all the male way of showing appreciation), how have we as friends - sometimes me in particular, forget to tell him we're sorry that we put him into some amount of inconvenience or hurt, or to give some consideration to his feelings. For, like Aubrey, Robert had become an invaluable tool, an indispensable appliance (if those words could be thought of as complimentary when referring to a person), the ubiquitous glue that binds people together. For all this time, I have known that he is one of those angels who walk this earth, giving guidance and comfort wherever he goes.
Aubrey is no longer with us - she gave up the ghost after being involved in an accident on West Avenue some five or so years ago - though Robert had her fixed, it was clear her time had come and he had to let her go. By some twist of fate, it was also around that time his mother passed away - it was as if an era an ended and a new one must be written. For a time, we shared some experiences with his other car, a Kia Pride CD-5 we called "Jenny." We called her "Si Kia" at first and since Gabby Concepcion was married to Jenny Syquia at that time, it was somehow apt to call her just that.
But then, in some cosmic joke or case of serendipity, Robert bought a new car with the money his mother left him - a bigger vehicle that could take in more people (a proverbial school bus) and take us where we want to go. It was a red Mitsubishi Adventure - we called her "Aubrey II."
As with Jenny, life with Aubrey II was not the same with the THE Aubrey. Another of our friends had a Toyota Tamaraw FX called the “Millennium FX” that we also went around in, but for some reason or another, it wasn't the same too. Like an old pair of shoes worn in to the grooves of my foot, the first Aubrey was a comfort that could never be equaled. As time passes and the tapestry of people's lives change, we also follow our own channels, our own paths. Aubrey II was not the same kind of experience, and neither does she evince the same kind of nostalgia as the first one. Perhaps it's because life does tell us that each moment is something we should cherish, and that we should live each moment with value, and to fill these spaces with love. Same for the people we cherish and love.
Now that we spend less time with one another and our friends, I miss Robert, I miss all of them. Some have gotten married, and some have gone away to other places. I miss Aubrey.
But if by chance I see any kind of box-type Lancer, no matter how beat-up or old-looking, I remember Aubrey and am warmed by the thought that somehow, somewhere out there, angels do exist and miracles happen everyday. They're often man-made.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Monday, March 28, 2005
Manila Diary - Celebrating Rebirth
A week had passed and I haven’t gotten myself on Manila bearings yet. I guess it has something to do with the fact that I hardly ever sleep on time, or that I keep on doing things that take me past reasonable bedtime hours for people.
Holy Week used to be the Holy Grail for family time when all of us children were still students. We actually managed to pack eight people in a sedan – my brother driving, me seated on my father’s lap on the front passenger seat, and my three sisters, my mother, and my other brother at the back.
There were the trips to Pangasinan – with side trips to Baguio for some days. There were the company trips and beach-hopping in Cavite and Batangas – and Holy Week was the only time everybody was available.
Time has past and the allure of Holy Week has faded. Holy Week was also the week that added to the mystique that was our father.
I had made plans with my brother to go to Puerto Galera for Holy Week – but we decided too late and everything was so expensive. In the end, we joined my sister and her family to my brother-in-law’s place in Batangas. We were there from Thursday to Saturday.
At the start of the week, I pointedly avoided seeing my former boss when I visited RFM – it was a good thing he was in Jakarta at a meeting following the First Miss ASEAN Pageant. On a side note, our entry and the winner, Jheazarie Javier, looks very personable. An apt winner, and some plus points for a land looking for some.
I brought the cheque donation of SPA to the Cartwheel Foundation. It was a moment of some significance, and I feel good for all the efforts I exerted on getting that cheque safely settled in their hands.
Of course, the transition to Manila life wasn’t easy. When I was younger, I looked askance upon our eldest brother, but since we discovered that we were helpless drunks (and still are, God help us), we have gotten along just fine. My best friend was my other brother – but since that fateful Change so many years back – I have gone through several stages from self-loathing to pity to disdain to indifference. I can’t change who we were – there is so much history for me to ignore that – but the present is such a quandary to resolve.
So it was in a tense atmosphere that we left Manila for Batangas.
In the provinces, the onset of time is far heavier than it is in Manila. Adapting would mean becoming more laidback – or moving out. So, the more things change, the more that they remain the same. What I find so sad is that people leave so much damage in their wake.
Malabrigo Point in Lobo, Batangas is a national historic site - the landmark of that place is a lighthouse built by the Americans to guide ships around the point to Batangas harbor. The only reason for that area's existence is that very lighthouse. My brother-in-law's family moved there to maintain that lighthouse. I envy the kind of history that they have, though sometimes that kind of history has its own unwanted truths spilled out...
It was nice to reconnect with my sister's sons again. I never developed a relationship with her daughter, the youngest, and this was the first time that we were in close quarters for an extended time. Invariably family relationships rise and ebb and her daughter was born when our relationship was strained. There are always high hopes . . . I hope these kids become an improvement over us, their predecessors.
It would have gone pretty uneventfully - the place is far more comfortable than last time I was there more than eight years past - but my brother-in-law chose to be an idiot in picking a fight with my brother. Suffice to say, the superior man subdues his anger without need for fighting; an inferior man looks for a chance to show his pride when there is no need. My brother-in-law could have been the superior man, but he stooped to the lower level. What a shame. And I thought he had grown up. Tsk, tsk.
I am glad, though, to have met one of the friends my sister turned to when her youngest Trixie was born. While I had no chance to unburden myself as I normally would have and listened to the concerns of other people, the sun and the fresh air helped a great deal to rejuvenate my emotional batteries. I got what the doctor ordered - a holiday and a tan. When we got back to Manila, I even had a double chance to unwind since my brother was checked in at the Pen. Hmmm... his Holy Week holiday isn't a bad idea.
Easter should be the most important Christian holiday but I have a theory why it's not as popular as Christmas - it's because the Easter date changes every year and the sense of anticipation is not the same.
Finally, I am so pleased that this week and the Easter holiday have validated the changes in my own life. Not all of the changes are good, and it would be foolish for me to expect that, but I'm glad all the same.
Holy Week used to be the Holy Grail for family time when all of us children were still students. We actually managed to pack eight people in a sedan – my brother driving, me seated on my father’s lap on the front passenger seat, and my three sisters, my mother, and my other brother at the back.
There were the trips to Pangasinan – with side trips to Baguio for some days. There were the company trips and beach-hopping in Cavite and Batangas – and Holy Week was the only time everybody was available.
Time has past and the allure of Holy Week has faded. Holy Week was also the week that added to the mystique that was our father.
I had made plans with my brother to go to Puerto Galera for Holy Week – but we decided too late and everything was so expensive. In the end, we joined my sister and her family to my brother-in-law’s place in Batangas. We were there from Thursday to Saturday.
At the start of the week, I pointedly avoided seeing my former boss when I visited RFM – it was a good thing he was in Jakarta at a meeting following the First Miss ASEAN Pageant. On a side note, our entry and the winner, Jheazarie Javier, looks very personable. An apt winner, and some plus points for a land looking for some.
I brought the cheque donation of SPA to the Cartwheel Foundation. It was a moment of some significance, and I feel good for all the efforts I exerted on getting that cheque safely settled in their hands.
Of course, the transition to Manila life wasn’t easy. When I was younger, I looked askance upon our eldest brother, but since we discovered that we were helpless drunks (and still are, God help us), we have gotten along just fine. My best friend was my other brother – but since that fateful Change so many years back – I have gone through several stages from self-loathing to pity to disdain to indifference. I can’t change who we were – there is so much history for me to ignore that – but the present is such a quandary to resolve.
So it was in a tense atmosphere that we left Manila for Batangas.
In the provinces, the onset of time is far heavier than it is in Manila. Adapting would mean becoming more laidback – or moving out. So, the more things change, the more that they remain the same. What I find so sad is that people leave so much damage in their wake.
Malabrigo Point in Lobo, Batangas is a national historic site - the landmark of that place is a lighthouse built by the Americans to guide ships around the point to Batangas harbor. The only reason for that area's existence is that very lighthouse. My brother-in-law's family moved there to maintain that lighthouse. I envy the kind of history that they have, though sometimes that kind of history has its own unwanted truths spilled out...
It was nice to reconnect with my sister's sons again. I never developed a relationship with her daughter, the youngest, and this was the first time that we were in close quarters for an extended time. Invariably family relationships rise and ebb and her daughter was born when our relationship was strained. There are always high hopes . . . I hope these kids become an improvement over us, their predecessors.
It would have gone pretty uneventfully - the place is far more comfortable than last time I was there more than eight years past - but my brother-in-law chose to be an idiot in picking a fight with my brother. Suffice to say, the superior man subdues his anger without need for fighting; an inferior man looks for a chance to show his pride when there is no need. My brother-in-law could have been the superior man, but he stooped to the lower level. What a shame. And I thought he had grown up. Tsk, tsk.
I am glad, though, to have met one of the friends my sister turned to when her youngest Trixie was born. While I had no chance to unburden myself as I normally would have and listened to the concerns of other people, the sun and the fresh air helped a great deal to rejuvenate my emotional batteries. I got what the doctor ordered - a holiday and a tan. When we got back to Manila, I even had a double chance to unwind since my brother was checked in at the Pen. Hmmm... his Holy Week holiday isn't a bad idea.
Easter should be the most important Christian holiday but I have a theory why it's not as popular as Christmas - it's because the Easter date changes every year and the sense of anticipation is not the same.
Finally, I am so pleased that this week and the Easter holiday have validated the changes in my own life. Not all of the changes are good, and it would be foolish for me to expect that, but I'm glad all the same.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Manila Diary - Falling Down
Just a warning --- the bulk of the entries in this diary are actually written in hindsight. But it seems unfair NOT to write anything down as they happen.
I had a recurring dream that I would be left by my plane on the way back to KSA. That would be disastrous – aside from whatever penalties I will pick up from the no-show, I would be heavily penalized by the Company. Loss of face actually would mean much more than the loss of money.
I had no idea it would turn out otherwise.
My life would most likely be more profitable have I no need of this form of catharsis. I take a lot of pride in being able to put words to describe my life; I take none in time at times I find that life wanting in meaning.
It's just like falling down - the power of the g-force swooshing against one's cheeks, the adrenaline kicking in and the promise of fear all but gone as exhilaration takes over the short-circuited nerves. It's all so exciting - until the brunt of the impact deadens the whole body. The thrill - and the emptiness - that's how the search of life must be those for those who have leisure at their fingertips.
Now if all those broken bones wouldn't serve up a reminder…
Thirty-five days I was away from my life in KSA, and my exile was put in hiatus. Thirty five whole days! How I wish they could be so easily forgotten. The prize of all this toil - a mere respite for all the 300 or so more days I have to wait for again - is a chance to be in touch with who and what I was BEFORE I left for the Middle East.
Funny, after one whole year, it seemed that it didn’t add up to a whole lot, but when I had to return, it was a whole lot more.
Day 1 – Actually, night one.
My mother’s 70th birthday was the 19th of March, so by all means fair and foul, I had to make to it to Manila by that date. Complication was, my sister was in Dubai and I had to go there too to see her.
So it was I booked myself on Emirates instead of Gulf and suffered a seven-hour lay-over. It didn’t feel like that way, but I did get stressed from all that waiting. The flight was full – families making their way back for the school holidays. In other words, I twiddled my thumbs since I couldn’t get on the earliest flight out. I did get some practice with Arabic by listening to the airport PA system.
Finally, when I got on the plane, some intemperate kabayans drank too much red wine on the trip from Dubai to Manila. Aforementioned kabayans started feeling the effects of their drinking, and proceeded to make a beeline for the toilets. Since I couldn’t do my thing in the plane, I had an extreme case of number two on the way out at Immigration. Coupled with the numerous frantic phone calls of my folks wanting me to arrive in time for my mother’s birthday, it was a real pressure cooker.
My folks arranged for airport pick-up – my arrival was meant to be a surprise – so I really had to get on the car service ASAP. There was traffic on Tramo, there was heavy traffic at Edsa Guadalupe, there was traffic at Pioneer. My kind driver drove me to a Chowking and fortunately I made it before my sphincter gave way… (hahahahaha!). I had a great entrance at the party. It was a blast. Nothing beats going home.
I was not surprised that I ended up that night at one of my old haunts along Edsa. It was as if I had never gotten away – there was the smell of spilled beer and cigarettes, the slight zest of the fragrance the bar gave to their girls, and as always, the videoke machine. Bless the videoke machine. Without it life wouldn’t have been as bearable.
Day 2 – The bright lights have given way to the start of the Manila heat. The notable of this day was that the SHARE people got together courtesy of our buddy Robert who called a reunion on my behalf.
Quezon City is still the same. The buildings of Eastwood rise against the smog-filled sky. Traffic clogs the streets.
The hits of the day: Beer and pork – goes without saying. Meeting with the SHARE folks!
This past year saw some friends and family depart – some very close to my heart and others just simply part of the periphery that makes up the space of OTEP. There were also new friends – friends out of the necessity of sharing the same workspace, but more importantly, friends I have chosen to take into my heart because they enrich the space where I live, think, and feel.
But the SHARE people – they are irreplaceable.
Misses of the day: I never missed Manila traffic, and I got a first-hand lesson in Manila humidity. The service at that Gerry’s Grill was abysmal.
Treat of the day: I bought an HP iPAQ 6365. It has some disappointments, but I couldn’t be more excited about it that Sunday night.
(This will have dire consequences for me later).
I had a recurring dream that I would be left by my plane on the way back to KSA. That would be disastrous – aside from whatever penalties I will pick up from the no-show, I would be heavily penalized by the Company. Loss of face actually would mean much more than the loss of money.
I had no idea it would turn out otherwise.
My life would most likely be more profitable have I no need of this form of catharsis. I take a lot of pride in being able to put words to describe my life; I take none in time at times I find that life wanting in meaning.
It's just like falling down - the power of the g-force swooshing against one's cheeks, the adrenaline kicking in and the promise of fear all but gone as exhilaration takes over the short-circuited nerves. It's all so exciting - until the brunt of the impact deadens the whole body. The thrill - and the emptiness - that's how the search of life must be those for those who have leisure at their fingertips.
Now if all those broken bones wouldn't serve up a reminder…
Thirty-five days I was away from my life in KSA, and my exile was put in hiatus. Thirty five whole days! How I wish they could be so easily forgotten. The prize of all this toil - a mere respite for all the 300 or so more days I have to wait for again - is a chance to be in touch with who and what I was BEFORE I left for the Middle East.
Funny, after one whole year, it seemed that it didn’t add up to a whole lot, but when I had to return, it was a whole lot more.
Day 1 – Actually, night one.
My mother’s 70th birthday was the 19th of March, so by all means fair and foul, I had to make to it to Manila by that date. Complication was, my sister was in Dubai and I had to go there too to see her.
So it was I booked myself on Emirates instead of Gulf and suffered a seven-hour lay-over. It didn’t feel like that way, but I did get stressed from all that waiting. The flight was full – families making their way back for the school holidays. In other words, I twiddled my thumbs since I couldn’t get on the earliest flight out. I did get some practice with Arabic by listening to the airport PA system.
Finally, when I got on the plane, some intemperate kabayans drank too much red wine on the trip from Dubai to Manila. Aforementioned kabayans started feeling the effects of their drinking, and proceeded to make a beeline for the toilets. Since I couldn’t do my thing in the plane, I had an extreme case of number two on the way out at Immigration. Coupled with the numerous frantic phone calls of my folks wanting me to arrive in time for my mother’s birthday, it was a real pressure cooker.
My folks arranged for airport pick-up – my arrival was meant to be a surprise – so I really had to get on the car service ASAP. There was traffic on Tramo, there was heavy traffic at Edsa Guadalupe, there was traffic at Pioneer. My kind driver drove me to a Chowking and fortunately I made it before my sphincter gave way… (hahahahaha!). I had a great entrance at the party. It was a blast. Nothing beats going home.
I was not surprised that I ended up that night at one of my old haunts along Edsa. It was as if I had never gotten away – there was the smell of spilled beer and cigarettes, the slight zest of the fragrance the bar gave to their girls, and as always, the videoke machine. Bless the videoke machine. Without it life wouldn’t have been as bearable.
Day 2 – The bright lights have given way to the start of the Manila heat. The notable of this day was that the SHARE people got together courtesy of our buddy Robert who called a reunion on my behalf.
Quezon City is still the same. The buildings of Eastwood rise against the smog-filled sky. Traffic clogs the streets.
The hits of the day: Beer and pork – goes without saying. Meeting with the SHARE folks!
This past year saw some friends and family depart – some very close to my heart and others just simply part of the periphery that makes up the space of OTEP. There were also new friends – friends out of the necessity of sharing the same workspace, but more importantly, friends I have chosen to take into my heart because they enrich the space where I live, think, and feel.
But the SHARE people – they are irreplaceable.
Misses of the day: I never missed Manila traffic, and I got a first-hand lesson in Manila humidity. The service at that Gerry’s Grill was abysmal.
Treat of the day: I bought an HP iPAQ 6365. It has some disappointments, but I couldn’t be more excited about it that Sunday night.
(This will have dire consequences for me later).
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Craven
I crave
I crave to be free
I crave to be me
Unmistaken to be a shining star
Firmly placed in the heavenly vault
A sign
A hope
I crave
I crave for the truth
I crave for my youth
Unknowing grasping at unknown
Folly to want so much wisdom
A shoot
A spur
I crave
I crave for a love
Not lost
Yet not understanding
Riding the rollercoaster of life
Dread
Terror
Going down the chasm
Yet wanting it again
and again
and again
Home
Clutched in my mother's arms
Bearing a sword in her defense
Wanting to be weak
Wanting to be a child
Wanting to let go
Craving
To be
Craven
Craven
No lies on my face
No false hopes
No questions
No doubts
No walls
No defenses
But no true love
Riven
Divided by expectation
Torn
Battered
Scarred
World wanting so much
Having everything and nothing to give
Distorted
Discarded
Forgotten
Craven
No reason to be brave
No reason to behave
I live
I thrive
I seek
Love hides
So it must be
So it always has been
Searching for the true song
A song of love
A song of living
A song of deliverance
No meaning hiding between the lines
For that song says
You are
I am
We are together
But we are two
Belonging
But strong even alone.
Until that day comes
I crave
Until that day comes
I crave
I admit loss
Inconsequence
Solitude
Pain
Fear
I am craven
But I am me
I crave to be free
I crave to be me
Unmistaken to be a shining star
Firmly placed in the heavenly vault
A sign
A hope
I crave
I crave for the truth
I crave for my youth
Unknowing grasping at unknown
Folly to want so much wisdom
A shoot
A spur
I crave
I crave for a love
Not lost
Yet not understanding
Riding the rollercoaster of life
Dread
Terror
Going down the chasm
Yet wanting it again
and again
and again
Home
Clutched in my mother's arms
Bearing a sword in her defense
Wanting to be weak
Wanting to be a child
Wanting to let go
Craving
To be
Craven
Craven
No lies on my face
No false hopes
No questions
No doubts
No walls
No defenses
But no true love
Riven
Divided by expectation
Torn
Battered
Scarred
World wanting so much
Having everything and nothing to give
Distorted
Discarded
Forgotten
Craven
No reason to be brave
No reason to behave
I live
I thrive
I seek
Love hides
So it must be
So it always has been
Searching for the true song
A song of love
A song of living
A song of deliverance
No meaning hiding between the lines
For that song says
You are
I am
We are together
But we are two
Belonging
But strong even alone.
Until that day comes
I crave
Until that day comes
I crave
I admit loss
Inconsequence
Solitude
Pain
Fear
I am craven
But I am me
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
The Stupidity of War
The headlines scream at me with the regularity of conflict that the images metamorphose to numbness. If there is a cause the world should devote itself to, it should be peace. There is no conclusive proof that free-market economics will do the trick.
Let's concentrate on the word "free." What kind of freedom does a "free" man have when all he has is the freedom to starve with the burdens of government inefficiency, too many taxes, too many barriers ... when conflict in the Middle East will spike oil prices and drive prices of commodities even further.
Yup, cynicism is the order of the day - or perhaps guarded optimism at best. A little piece I'd like to share with you, written at the beginning of the Balkan conflict in the 1990's:
Little soldier girl, do not cry when the drums refuse to play.
They are dead and buried under the ground, you know.
Don't fret when the clap of the cymbals have ceased singing.
They have wasted away in silence, even as you are far away.
No matter how much you tried to hear them as the winds blow,
No matter even if you're a world apart or within hearing.
The sounds of the battle march were tried, and found wanting.
And your tears mean even less in your own hour of reckoning.
Little boys in men's clothing take up their standards of death
And spread them like cloaks, or perhaps like picnic cloths
That invite destruction and decay to feast upon their souls.
Watch and see, little soldier girl, the stench of their breath
As they gamble recklessly and with doom they cast their lots.
They know little, men that they are, the weight of their roles.
So do not cry when the joyous jigs are buried with the moles.
The din of their gaiety brings no laughter but from the poles.
And did you know, little soldier girl, that with each battle cry
Another drop of blood is spilled upon the ground, to sow the soil
With the seeds of death, so that more would die the next time?
Did you know that the cries of joy these men heave and sigh
Are the very shouts in the darkness against which all must toil?
There is no reason in the melodies you wish to hear, nor rhyme.
The echoes lash about themselves, destroying themselves in time.
And perhaps you may say the song of death has become sublime.
Little soldier girl, will you die for the din in their hearts
That cries for retribution, that shouts for revenge for wrongs
Of childhood that all must bear? Will you perish for dreams
Of fear, of bogeymen in the night, of wan witches and their arts?
Will you make them real as these men plan to do in their throngs?
Will they die for you, you who do not know what's real and seems?
The anger and hatred in them is ripping their souls at the seams.
And the discordant tunes that haunt you are nothing but dreams.
It's said that idle minds are the devil's workshop, and I agree,
As the train of thought urges one to take one's hands and grasp
That lowly piston of desire, to acquire some comfort from lust.
Little soldier girl, it is not war which would set them free,
For their guns spit only the scum from their fear-filled asps,
Cringing in their fear of unknown destiny rising from the dust.
And they still spew and fight, doing what they think they must.
But looking in their eyes, reality has powdered itself to rust.
And oh, the loneliness that cries out from their scarred sinews,
The greed which has wasted their speech into guttural laughter :
You know how it is, little soldier girl, when dreams have died,
There's no herald to shout and holler, no tome to break the news,
There's no one to pick up the broken pieces in the morning after,
There's nothing to make up for but the noise of slighted pride.
There's no song in the air and the whistle in the wind has died.
And you will stand all alone with only adversity by your side.
There's still time to grow, little soldier girl, time to scatter
All your dreams and sow them as seeds into the great wide beyond,
Time for you to live and be happy, time to cherish the beauty
Of all this world, time to ask and know what really is the matter
With all of life. There is time to bear your daughter and a son
Who will carry on all your dreams and live in all this bounty.
I can hear your song for them, but its voice is spent and empty.
The melody is mired in the stench, still it is proud and haughty.
Little soldier girl, the song foretold for you is beyond hearing.
Puny men decide the way you go, to show the size of their roles.
Let go, strive for happiness, look for the reason and the rhyme
In all of this madness; find the the true gold in all that seems
Glitter; raise yourself from the pile of filth and from the dust,
Give yourself a reason to brush your feathers and live in pride
For deep within you there's more than wealth, more than bounty.
Look for it deep within your heart. It's called the truth.
Let's concentrate on the word "free." What kind of freedom does a "free" man have when all he has is the freedom to starve with the burdens of government inefficiency, too many taxes, too many barriers ... when conflict in the Middle East will spike oil prices and drive prices of commodities even further.
Yup, cynicism is the order of the day - or perhaps guarded optimism at best. A little piece I'd like to share with you, written at the beginning of the Balkan conflict in the 1990's:
Little soldier girl, do not cry when the drums refuse to play.
They are dead and buried under the ground, you know.
Don't fret when the clap of the cymbals have ceased singing.
They have wasted away in silence, even as you are far away.
No matter how much you tried to hear them as the winds blow,
No matter even if you're a world apart or within hearing.
The sounds of the battle march were tried, and found wanting.
And your tears mean even less in your own hour of reckoning.
Little boys in men's clothing take up their standards of death
And spread them like cloaks, or perhaps like picnic cloths
That invite destruction and decay to feast upon their souls.
Watch and see, little soldier girl, the stench of their breath
As they gamble recklessly and with doom they cast their lots.
They know little, men that they are, the weight of their roles.
So do not cry when the joyous jigs are buried with the moles.
The din of their gaiety brings no laughter but from the poles.
And did you know, little soldier girl, that with each battle cry
Another drop of blood is spilled upon the ground, to sow the soil
With the seeds of death, so that more would die the next time?
Did you know that the cries of joy these men heave and sigh
Are the very shouts in the darkness against which all must toil?
There is no reason in the melodies you wish to hear, nor rhyme.
The echoes lash about themselves, destroying themselves in time.
And perhaps you may say the song of death has become sublime.
Little soldier girl, will you die for the din in their hearts
That cries for retribution, that shouts for revenge for wrongs
Of childhood that all must bear? Will you perish for dreams
Of fear, of bogeymen in the night, of wan witches and their arts?
Will you make them real as these men plan to do in their throngs?
Will they die for you, you who do not know what's real and seems?
The anger and hatred in them is ripping their souls at the seams.
And the discordant tunes that haunt you are nothing but dreams.
It's said that idle minds are the devil's workshop, and I agree,
As the train of thought urges one to take one's hands and grasp
That lowly piston of desire, to acquire some comfort from lust.
Little soldier girl, it is not war which would set them free,
For their guns spit only the scum from their fear-filled asps,
Cringing in their fear of unknown destiny rising from the dust.
And they still spew and fight, doing what they think they must.
But looking in their eyes, reality has powdered itself to rust.
And oh, the loneliness that cries out from their scarred sinews,
The greed which has wasted their speech into guttural laughter :
You know how it is, little soldier girl, when dreams have died,
There's no herald to shout and holler, no tome to break the news,
There's no one to pick up the broken pieces in the morning after,
There's nothing to make up for but the noise of slighted pride.
There's no song in the air and the whistle in the wind has died.
And you will stand all alone with only adversity by your side.
There's still time to grow, little soldier girl, time to scatter
All your dreams and sow them as seeds into the great wide beyond,
Time for you to live and be happy, time to cherish the beauty
Of all this world, time to ask and know what really is the matter
With all of life. There is time to bear your daughter and a son
Who will carry on all your dreams and live in all this bounty.
I can hear your song for them, but its voice is spent and empty.
The melody is mired in the stench, still it is proud and haughty.
Little soldier girl, the song foretold for you is beyond hearing.
Puny men decide the way you go, to show the size of their roles.
Let go, strive for happiness, look for the reason and the rhyme
In all of this madness; find the the true gold in all that seems
Glitter; raise yourself from the pile of filth and from the dust,
Give yourself a reason to brush your feathers and live in pride
For deep within you there's more than wealth, more than bounty.
Look for it deep within your heart. It's called the truth.
Forgotten
Does anyone want to live forever?
Does anyone want to love without pain?
In the rush to buy all things we've forgotten
Nothing we have is so easily won,
No road is better than the one we're on.
When this life ends, when everything is done,
Can eternal day make brighter the sun?
Glory fades soon after it's begotten
But no loss is lost; lost love is true gain
In memories of our lives together.
Does anyone want to love without pain?
In the rush to buy all things we've forgotten
Nothing we have is so easily won,
No road is better than the one we're on.
When this life ends, when everything is done,
Can eternal day make brighter the sun?
Glory fades soon after it's begotten
But no loss is lost; lost love is true gain
In memories of our lives together.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Housekeeping
Finally...I have put together all the relevant stuff I've written or thought about during the past year. There are still some holes in my narrative, such as my first impressions of the families living here in KSA, how things went in my Creative Writing classes, preparations for the show... or that span in July and August 2004 when I had to get my head down and learned what I needed to learn for my job.
There is also the matter of confidences shared that I could not possibly let the public know, or updates on family members - for example, after I left home, my sister laid out her stakes and went to Dubai. Of course there were times I had no time to think of other things except work. Certainly if I had time to post I'm not busy at all.
There is still some comfort level I have to attain writing this way and getting the hang of all the other enhancements will take some time, especially posting pictures - not so much of me since I am not at all photogenic, but of other people and events that have made this first year in KSA memorable.
I am not out of the woods yet - still three weeks to go! I got my ticket today and it's confirmed - I will be spending seven extra hours on my layover in Dubai before I board my flight to Manila. Major bummer! If only I could go to Dubai visa-free without flying Emirates, especially on the busy days of the week.
*Sigh* They said you can't have everything, but I certainly tried to on this trip. Still thankful anyway.
Grounded
High-flying, free
Waiting to break out into song
Buoyed by the flush of delight
Like's a lover's long-awaited first kiss
Gliding, swirling
Dewdrops on the freshest flowers
Expectant of self-fulfilling prophecy
A supplicant hoping against all hope
Hanging on a thread
Such is life of one like me
Nourished by hopes
It will all get better
Not wanting to wake up
Otherwise –
Grounded
World-weary, obscure
No pretending in the face of despair
No formulae or words
No mantras –
Humbled, silenced
Treading the world step by step
Mystery is all in the mind
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Working Backward...
I've actually had this blog all of one day but I'm organizing my way backward ... digesting all the thoughts I've written down electronically or in my journals.
It's a nice new experience. If I had more time to learn this gig (my training in HTML coding is dated about five years) I'll put in all the bells and whistles. Anyway, for now this format would suffice.
How time flies. Eighteen years ago I was with a bunch of other people who enjoyed the mere sight of four million people crammed into such a tiny space called EDSA. I find Antoine de Saint-Exupery's statements in "A Little Prince" so true. It's strange that humans want so much space when you can cram the whole six plus billion of us into a small amount of space than we occupy all over the Earth. It gives me perspective on how fleeting things can be and that people are much more important than ideas.
But it's like working backward on this blog... one can't perfect the events of the past, one can only move forward. Looking back, though, teaches me that it's all so possible to regain the insight of the times. Still, human beings can be so stubborn. History does not repeat itself, really, it's just that humans learn so slowly.
Will there be another EDSA in store for the Philippines? I do hope so, not because we Filipinos need to throw out our leadership for one more time, only to allow other crooks and the crackpots to seize power, but only because the potential exists for us to want, to need, to act for that change.
Still, one can only work backward for so long. I have said this so many times during those retreats - for every moment that passes, the past becomes bigger and the future becomes smaller. There is no value to looking past or looking forward if one doesn't start doing something NOW.
It's a nice new experience. If I had more time to learn this gig (my training in HTML coding is dated about five years) I'll put in all the bells and whistles. Anyway, for now this format would suffice.
How time flies. Eighteen years ago I was with a bunch of other people who enjoyed the mere sight of four million people crammed into such a tiny space called EDSA. I find Antoine de Saint-Exupery's statements in "A Little Prince" so true. It's strange that humans want so much space when you can cram the whole six plus billion of us into a small amount of space than we occupy all over the Earth. It gives me perspective on how fleeting things can be and that people are much more important than ideas.
But it's like working backward on this blog... one can't perfect the events of the past, one can only move forward. Looking back, though, teaches me that it's all so possible to regain the insight of the times. Still, human beings can be so stubborn. History does not repeat itself, really, it's just that humans learn so slowly.
Will there be another EDSA in store for the Philippines? I do hope so, not because we Filipinos need to throw out our leadership for one more time, only to allow other crooks and the crackpots to seize power, but only because the potential exists for us to want, to need, to act for that change.
Still, one can only work backward for so long. I have said this so many times during those retreats - for every moment that passes, the past becomes bigger and the future becomes smaller. There is no value to looking past or looking forward if one doesn't start doing something NOW.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Stultified
3:19 p.m. Arab Standard Time.
So reads the dial on my computer clock. Three weeks and counting before I go on vacation in the Philippines . . . I’m facing a creativity drain which is threatening all the rest of my normal professional functions.
Is work boring? No. Is life boring? No. I just have this overwhelming feeling that all this – doesn’t matter anymore! Funny, but that it should happen to me these past few days when this was the kind of feeling I had avoided during my entire sojourn in Saudi Arabia.
Let’s see what I can do to get out of this funk. Instead of being aimless in front of my computer, I’ll see if blogging will get me moving. Stay tuned.
So reads the dial on my computer clock. Three weeks and counting before I go on vacation in the Philippines . . . I’m facing a creativity drain which is threatening all the rest of my normal professional functions.
Is work boring? No. Is life boring? No. I just have this overwhelming feeling that all this – doesn’t matter anymore! Funny, but that it should happen to me these past few days when this was the kind of feeling I had avoided during my entire sojourn in Saudi Arabia.
Let’s see what I can do to get out of this funk. Instead of being aimless in front of my computer, I’ll see if blogging will get me moving. Stay tuned.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Random Thoughts - Valentine's Day
Well, I'd like to say something again...business must be good on Valentine's Day.
Hate to sound particularly KJ, but isn't the point of a loving relationship is keeping the love-light burning on the 364 other days of the year? So what's all the fuss with Valentine's Day?
Paraphrase of Robert Jordan: "Women love to fall in love, but only with the one they really want. Men don't want to think of love, but fall in love with the first woman that ties a string to their hearts." Don't want to blame the women for the hubbub over V-Day, but hey, blame everyone else first, right? (O.k., I'm just kidding, girls. Don't delete me from your lists yet.) OTOH, men have their own salacious reasons for the day, and mostly illicit too, hehe.
Got interrupted midway on this post...proud to say that our group here in KSA did well on our first presentation - a voice recital from eight of our students. Some dancing, some acting, some hosting thrown in, mostly by pre-teeners and teenagers. I was not altogether pleased with the PROCESS of it getting done, but on the whole, it turned out to be a lot better than what I expected.
Hey, it would be great to celebrate Valentine's and have it mean something more than just the CHOREOGRAPHY of love. Maybe, for me, it's because there's no one to share it with, these days. (short pause...)Or maybe not. If that were true, there'd be no reason to love life the other 364 days of the year. And I like life a whole lot more these days even though on some days it can be tough even to smile.
Still, needs must that we observe the rites of love (the romancing and the dancing) for often these are actions that are too often neglected, or in some cases, commercialized and trivialized to an absurd degree. For every rite that makes one day different from other days, and one hour from other hours, there is just another business that goes with it.
I'd like to see more homemade cards that even though they don't come out like Hallmark's, make a bolder statement because of the effort that went into them. I'd like to read bad poetry because it says more of the courage of the person writing and saying them than just hitting the right note with a ready-made CD. I'd like to know more of the patient waiting at the corner just to see a glimpse of the treasured one, and oh, the delight of it!Those are the things that make V-Day really work. It doesn't mean to throw out all that other stuff, but that without the real magic behind them, they're just... BUSINESS.
Trouble is, if everyone just picked up love at every other time, there wouldn't be any fun for business at all during Valentine's Day, and that may be ruinous, wouldn't you say? But such spontaneous gestures for any other day, on the other hand, make for more worthwhile living, methinks.
Have good thoughts of loving, everyone.
Hate to sound particularly KJ, but isn't the point of a loving relationship is keeping the love-light burning on the 364 other days of the year? So what's all the fuss with Valentine's Day?
Paraphrase of Robert Jordan: "Women love to fall in love, but only with the one they really want. Men don't want to think of love, but fall in love with the first woman that ties a string to their hearts." Don't want to blame the women for the hubbub over V-Day, but hey, blame everyone else first, right? (O.k., I'm just kidding, girls. Don't delete me from your lists yet.) OTOH, men have their own salacious reasons for the day, and mostly illicit too, hehe.
Got interrupted midway on this post...proud to say that our group here in KSA did well on our first presentation - a voice recital from eight of our students. Some dancing, some acting, some hosting thrown in, mostly by pre-teeners and teenagers. I was not altogether pleased with the PROCESS of it getting done, but on the whole, it turned out to be a lot better than what I expected.
Hey, it would be great to celebrate Valentine's and have it mean something more than just the CHOREOGRAPHY of love. Maybe, for me, it's because there's no one to share it with, these days. (short pause...)Or maybe not. If that were true, there'd be no reason to love life the other 364 days of the year. And I like life a whole lot more these days even though on some days it can be tough even to smile.
Still, needs must that we observe the rites of love (the romancing and the dancing) for often these are actions that are too often neglected, or in some cases, commercialized and trivialized to an absurd degree. For every rite that makes one day different from other days, and one hour from other hours, there is just another business that goes with it.
I'd like to see more homemade cards that even though they don't come out like Hallmark's, make a bolder statement because of the effort that went into them. I'd like to read bad poetry because it says more of the courage of the person writing and saying them than just hitting the right note with a ready-made CD. I'd like to know more of the patient waiting at the corner just to see a glimpse of the treasured one, and oh, the delight of it!Those are the things that make V-Day really work. It doesn't mean to throw out all that other stuff, but that without the real magic behind them, they're just... BUSINESS.
Trouble is, if everyone just picked up love at every other time, there wouldn't be any fun for business at all during Valentine's Day, and that may be ruinous, wouldn't you say? But such spontaneous gestures for any other day, on the other hand, make for more worthwhile living, methinks.
Have good thoughts of loving, everyone.
Monday, January 31, 2005
Rebirth
For the gift of life, for the gift of love. For my late father, for my mother who waits for my return. For today, which would have been their forty-seventh wedding anniversary.
Once I wrote of birth, waiting to be reborn. For a memory fourteen years past, for a life fourteen years hence that I may be able to look at this time with fondness.
For my family - the one that gave me life, and for those others who shared their lives and gave me inspiration.
Ang Anak Sa Sinapupunan ng Ina
Nagising ako sa kadiliman.
Hindi ko alam kung sino ako, o ano ako.
Basta, ang alam ko, bunga ako ng pagmamahalan.
Nag-ugat ako sa isang handog ng pag-ibig.
Iyon pa lang ang nasasaisip ko, maligaya na ako.
Sino kaya ang nagbigay buhay sa akin?
Ano kaya ang ginagawa nila?
Ano ang kanilang katangiang kahanga-hanga?
Ano ang kanilang pagkukulang?
Handa ko silang mahalin, dahil binuhay nila ako...
Ewan ko ba kung bakit ganito ang naiisip ko.
Kabubuo ko pa lamang, ang dami ko nang tanong.
Ang Ina, Umaasa
Naramdaman ko ang buhay na namutawi sa loob ko.
Batid ko ang anak ko sa aking sinapupunan.
Lalaki ba siya, o babae? Matangkad o pandak?
A, basta, kahit ano pa siya, minamahal ko siya.
Kahit maging pangit pa siya para sa iba.
Sa akin, magandang-maganda siya, o kaya,
Napakaguwapo! Anak ko yata 'yan.
Hindi na bale ang paghihirap, kasama 'yan
Sa kaligayahang matatamo sa pagdadala ng bagong tao,
Bagong buhay dito sa mundong kinagigiliwan...
Sabik na akong halikan at hagkan siya,
Ang anak ko!...Mahal na mahal kita!
Ang Ama, Nagsasaya
Tatay na ako! Nabigyang katuparan ang aking inaasam!
Ang anak ko ang magiging pambato namin,
Ang pagyayabang ng aming pamilya!
Sana lalaki, tagadala ng pangalan, bisig na masasandalan!
Kung babae?...hahangaan ng buong pamayanan!
Hindi na ako makapagpigil, kailangan kong magsaya!
Tatay na ako, naiinitindihan ninyo ba ang ligaya
Ng mag-alaga at magpalaki ng iyong anak,
Ng magbigay-ligaya sa sanggol at sa batang lumalaki,
Ng magkayod at magsikap para sa kanyang kinakailangan?
Handa na akong magtiis para sa iyo, anak,
Mahal kita! Kahit sino ka man, mahal kita...
Ang Kapatid, Hindi Mapakali
Nadagdagan pa kami, biyaya raw ng Diyos.
Naku! Ang dami pang abala ng sanggol na iyan!
Ang dami pang kakulitan at kaguluhan ang bibigay niya!
At higit pa sa lahat, magmumukha pa akong matanda,
Kasi, mas bata siya sa akin....nakakahiya, 'no?
Diyahe pala ang matawag na ate o kuya, at manong o manang.
Pero...masarap sigurong maging bantay sa bata,
Nakakakiliti pa lang isipin na mayroong akong matuturuan,
Na ako ay magiging huwara para sa kanyang mabuting paghubog,
At higit pa sa lahat...mauutusan at mauuto!
Hindi naman, kasama iyan sa pagmamahal, sa kapatiran.
'Tol, kahit kailan, naririto ako para sa iyo.
Ang Ina
Anak ko, anong biyaya ang maibibigay ko sa iyo?
Anong pamanang maihandog na iyong pagyayabang?
Anong pagmamahal na iyong ikalalaki at ipapamahagi?
Anong pag-arugang iyong ilalakip na parang hiyas?
Anong parangal ang ikatataas at ikabubuti mo?
Ang Ama
Anak ko, sapat ba ang aking huwaran para sa iyo?
Ako ba'y nagtataglay ng kabutihang iyong sasaliminin?
Ako ba'y isang bayani sa iyong paninigin?
Ano pa ba dapat ang aking gagawin para sa iyo?
Ang Kapatid
Kapatid, sana hindi lamang tayo magkadugo, ngunit magkaibigan,
Na ang kadalisayan ng pagmamahal ang siyang pangpatingkad
Sa atin...ano pa ang aabutin ko para sa iyo?
Mga Gabay ng Sanggol
Kung hindi sapat ang puso ko sa pagbibigay ng pagmamahal,
Kung hindi sapat ang kamay ko sa pag-alaga,
Kung hindi sapat ang dugo't pawis ko sa pag-aalala,
Iaalay ko ang aking buong sarili...para sa iyo.
Ang Sanggol
Salamat, mga nagmamahal sa akin, salamat sa
Pagmamalasakit ninyo...Ano ang aking pagkatao
Na kayo'y magdulot ng inyong buong pagkatao,
Na kayo'y mag-alay ng inyong pag-ibig...
Sino ba ako? Bakit ako ganito kahalaga?
Ano ba ang aking halaga para sa inyo?
Sana, hindi maglaho ang inyong pangako...
Pero, alam, hindi mangyayari iyon, ibibigay ninyo
Kung ano ang makakaya ninyo...Sana, sana, sana,
Humigit ang handog ko inyo sa pagdaos ng panahon...
Iyan ang aking pangako, sana hindi ako mabigo...
Panahon ko na para maisilang!
Once I wrote of birth, waiting to be reborn. For a memory fourteen years past, for a life fourteen years hence that I may be able to look at this time with fondness.
For my family - the one that gave me life, and for those others who shared their lives and gave me inspiration.
Ang Anak Sa Sinapupunan ng Ina
Nagising ako sa kadiliman.
Hindi ko alam kung sino ako, o ano ako.
Basta, ang alam ko, bunga ako ng pagmamahalan.
Nag-ugat ako sa isang handog ng pag-ibig.
Iyon pa lang ang nasasaisip ko, maligaya na ako.
Sino kaya ang nagbigay buhay sa akin?
Ano kaya ang ginagawa nila?
Ano ang kanilang katangiang kahanga-hanga?
Ano ang kanilang pagkukulang?
Handa ko silang mahalin, dahil binuhay nila ako...
Ewan ko ba kung bakit ganito ang naiisip ko.
Kabubuo ko pa lamang, ang dami ko nang tanong.
Ang Ina, Umaasa
Naramdaman ko ang buhay na namutawi sa loob ko.
Batid ko ang anak ko sa aking sinapupunan.
Lalaki ba siya, o babae? Matangkad o pandak?
A, basta, kahit ano pa siya, minamahal ko siya.
Kahit maging pangit pa siya para sa iba.
Sa akin, magandang-maganda siya, o kaya,
Napakaguwapo! Anak ko yata 'yan.
Hindi na bale ang paghihirap, kasama 'yan
Sa kaligayahang matatamo sa pagdadala ng bagong tao,
Bagong buhay dito sa mundong kinagigiliwan...
Sabik na akong halikan at hagkan siya,
Ang anak ko!...Mahal na mahal kita!
Ang Ama, Nagsasaya
Tatay na ako! Nabigyang katuparan ang aking inaasam!
Ang anak ko ang magiging pambato namin,
Ang pagyayabang ng aming pamilya!
Sana lalaki, tagadala ng pangalan, bisig na masasandalan!
Kung babae?...hahangaan ng buong pamayanan!
Hindi na ako makapagpigil, kailangan kong magsaya!
Tatay na ako, naiinitindihan ninyo ba ang ligaya
Ng mag-alaga at magpalaki ng iyong anak,
Ng magbigay-ligaya sa sanggol at sa batang lumalaki,
Ng magkayod at magsikap para sa kanyang kinakailangan?
Handa na akong magtiis para sa iyo, anak,
Mahal kita! Kahit sino ka man, mahal kita...
Ang Kapatid, Hindi Mapakali
Nadagdagan pa kami, biyaya raw ng Diyos.
Naku! Ang dami pang abala ng sanggol na iyan!
Ang dami pang kakulitan at kaguluhan ang bibigay niya!
At higit pa sa lahat, magmumukha pa akong matanda,
Kasi, mas bata siya sa akin....nakakahiya, 'no?
Diyahe pala ang matawag na ate o kuya, at manong o manang.
Pero...masarap sigurong maging bantay sa bata,
Nakakakiliti pa lang isipin na mayroong akong matuturuan,
Na ako ay magiging huwara para sa kanyang mabuting paghubog,
At higit pa sa lahat...mauutusan at mauuto!
Hindi naman, kasama iyan sa pagmamahal, sa kapatiran.
'Tol, kahit kailan, naririto ako para sa iyo.
Ang Ina
Anak ko, anong biyaya ang maibibigay ko sa iyo?
Anong pamanang maihandog na iyong pagyayabang?
Anong pagmamahal na iyong ikalalaki at ipapamahagi?
Anong pag-arugang iyong ilalakip na parang hiyas?
Anong parangal ang ikatataas at ikabubuti mo?
Ang Ama
Anak ko, sapat ba ang aking huwaran para sa iyo?
Ako ba'y nagtataglay ng kabutihang iyong sasaliminin?
Ako ba'y isang bayani sa iyong paninigin?
Ano pa ba dapat ang aking gagawin para sa iyo?
Ang Kapatid
Kapatid, sana hindi lamang tayo magkadugo, ngunit magkaibigan,
Na ang kadalisayan ng pagmamahal ang siyang pangpatingkad
Sa atin...ano pa ang aabutin ko para sa iyo?
Mga Gabay ng Sanggol
Kung hindi sapat ang puso ko sa pagbibigay ng pagmamahal,
Kung hindi sapat ang kamay ko sa pag-alaga,
Kung hindi sapat ang dugo't pawis ko sa pag-aalala,
Iaalay ko ang aking buong sarili...para sa iyo.
Ang Sanggol
Salamat, mga nagmamahal sa akin, salamat sa
Pagmamalasakit ninyo...Ano ang aking pagkatao
Na kayo'y magdulot ng inyong buong pagkatao,
Na kayo'y mag-alay ng inyong pag-ibig...
Sino ba ako? Bakit ako ganito kahalaga?
Ano ba ang aking halaga para sa inyo?
Sana, hindi maglaho ang inyong pangako...
Pero, alam, hindi mangyayari iyon, ibibigay ninyo
Kung ano ang makakaya ninyo...Sana, sana, sana,
Humigit ang handog ko inyo sa pagdaos ng panahon...
Iyan ang aking pangako, sana hindi ako mabigo...
Panahon ko na para maisilang!
Monday, January 10, 2005
I'll Be Seeing You Again...
When I first heard the confirmation that one of my friends had stomach cancer, I was dumbfounded. I had known that he had an operation to address a malignant tumor, but since I moved to KSA I had no idea how bad it was.
So I wrote my friends that our friend, indeed, is losing his fight against stomach cancer. I wrote: Please pray for him that he makes it to another round. It hurts to say it, but if not, please pray for him that his soul will be freed from anger, despair, and regret for the time he has remaining.
I was glad that in the intervening months between the operation and his death my friend accepted his impending mortality and learned how to treasure whatever time he had left. Battista said: "The greatest weakness of most humans is their hesitancy to tell others how much they love them while they're still alive." I'm glad in some small way, he knew that I cared.
At his passing, I was reminded of this story – I don’t remember where I first learned of it – about a man visiting an old lady’s grave. When I read the obituary of our friend –
CARLOS MIGUEL BALUYUT
June 11, 1976 – January 10, 2005
I wouldn’t measure his life by the number of years that he lived. I’d like to focus on the “–” that represented the entirety of his life. Funny that in most cases we are so focused on the beginning and end we never look at the “between.”
I dare not write a testimonial because I fear it will not be the truest and most faithful representation of Miggy. All I can say is that I treasure all the good times, and only wish I could have helped out more during the bad. As in all things I wish I could have been a better person to Miggy while he was still alive. My heart goes out to all of those who had to watch and wait for a dear friend to end his days.
One lesson that his life has taught me is that we can never celebrate life too much. No one can stay the inevitability of death, but only to live life as best as we could.
In the middle of 2004, I heard the news that the wife of one of my close colleagues from the Namfrel days died in a road accident, leaving behind a child who hadn't even celebrated his second birthday. Late last month, my mother's youngest brother died.
I have no personal connection with the victims of the recent calamities (especially the ones closer to home who were overshadowed by the Indian Ocean tsunami), but I empathize with the members of the affected communities as they get through the trauma such a tragedy has wrought on their lives.
Life is precious. But even more precious are those moments we share with those whom we love, and those moments of clarity where we fully realize the hand of God in our lives.
I’ll say no more before my sorrow swallows me up in front of my desk.
To all who were honored to be called friends by Miggy, be true and love one another always.
Miggy, I'll be seeing you again, someday.
What we do today, right now, will have an accumulated effect on all our tomorrows. - Alexandra Stoddard -
So I wrote my friends that our friend, indeed, is losing his fight against stomach cancer. I wrote: Please pray for him that he makes it to another round. It hurts to say it, but if not, please pray for him that his soul will be freed from anger, despair, and regret for the time he has remaining.
I was glad that in the intervening months between the operation and his death my friend accepted his impending mortality and learned how to treasure whatever time he had left. Battista said: "The greatest weakness of most humans is their hesitancy to tell others how much they love them while they're still alive." I'm glad in some small way, he knew that I cared.
At his passing, I was reminded of this story – I don’t remember where I first learned of it – about a man visiting an old lady’s grave. When I read the obituary of our friend –
CARLOS MIGUEL BALUYUT
June 11, 1976 – January 10, 2005
I wouldn’t measure his life by the number of years that he lived. I’d like to focus on the “–” that represented the entirety of his life. Funny that in most cases we are so focused on the beginning and end we never look at the “between.”
I dare not write a testimonial because I fear it will not be the truest and most faithful representation of Miggy. All I can say is that I treasure all the good times, and only wish I could have helped out more during the bad. As in all things I wish I could have been a better person to Miggy while he was still alive. My heart goes out to all of those who had to watch and wait for a dear friend to end his days.
One lesson that his life has taught me is that we can never celebrate life too much. No one can stay the inevitability of death, but only to live life as best as we could.
In the middle of 2004, I heard the news that the wife of one of my close colleagues from the Namfrel days died in a road accident, leaving behind a child who hadn't even celebrated his second birthday. Late last month, my mother's youngest brother died.
I have no personal connection with the victims of the recent calamities (especially the ones closer to home who were overshadowed by the Indian Ocean tsunami), but I empathize with the members of the affected communities as they get through the trauma such a tragedy has wrought on their lives.
Life is precious. But even more precious are those moments we share with those whom we love, and those moments of clarity where we fully realize the hand of God in our lives.
I’ll say no more before my sorrow swallows me up in front of my desk.
To all who were honored to be called friends by Miggy, be true and love one another always.
Miggy, I'll be seeing you again, someday.
What we do today, right now, will have an accumulated effect on all our tomorrows. - Alexandra Stoddard -
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Having a little faith...
Adapted from my e-mail...
Happy New Year!
Now how am I going to make a few resolutions for this year?
As I write, I am down to three months and 17 days, or if one prefers to be exact, 76 days before my contract ends and I will be due for a vacation. Some of my Indian colleagues transpose their v's and w's and their f's and v's. In the first case, "visa" becomes "wisa," while in the second, I'd rather not quote how they pronounce "vacation."
Resolutions, resolutions, let's pull out a few ones out of the hat from years gone by:
2001: Hold on to a job, at least longer than one year.
Status: Achieved, though only in 2003. I'm fighting for the "inches" of my career, in the words of Tony D (played by Al Pacino) in "Any Given Sunday." So far, doing okay.
2002: Never be held hostage by the opinions of others.
Status: It worked a great deal in '02 and '03, but here in KSA I'm on a different operating system so the jury's still out.
2003: Get something meaningful done in my job.
Status: I FAILED! Which led to...
2004: Dust off the cobwebs on my career and do something more challenging and more importantly, more financially rewarding.
Status: Am now finishing my first OFW contract, which I never dreamed of doing. Ever. But now that I'm here, it's a mixed bag of good and bad. Mostly good.
So what does 2005 bring? It is said that the absence of one thing draws more acute attention to it. What I don't have here:
a) Constant presence of family
b) The nourishment from a spiritual community (technically I could get some, but I don't want to switch religions just yet, or to belong to an organized group over here)
c) A steady relationship which would lead to a commitment. Of course, the side benefits that go with it. Or not.
d) Alcohol (NOT!)
2004 has been a really rough year on the world. I'm not about to go "millennial" and say this is the time of the "rapture" (as wonderfully advertised by Wilde E. Almeda, hehe), but there are signs that for life to be more meaningful, we have to go back to what is important. PDA's, new cars and such trappings one may not have, but one may derive joy and contentment from what one does, or with those that one loves.
I'd like to say 2005 would be a great year to build up on my faith life. Whether this would bring me to other things, I don't really know. But that sense of wonder, that strength of conviction, I'm sure, would give me a more solid anchor in these challenging times. I trust it will do the same for you, too.
Have a great 2005 everyone!
"When you come to the edge of all the light you know, and are about to step off into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing one of two things will happen: There will be something solid to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly." - Barbara J. Winter -
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
New Year - Facing Adversity
"Authorities across the region are running out of places to put the dead -- lining them up in schools and stacking them in the street ..."
Watching the images of the aftermath of the Indian ocean tsumani unfold on my TV set doesn't give me a lot of confidence that New Year would be great. On the one hand, I could say, "The quake didn't happen to me." On the other, how could I say it can't affect me at all?
I am all the more thankful that for whatever dire straits I think my life has fallen into, I am still on my feet ready to face another day. I may be down and out, broke, depressed, lonely, or what-have-you, but I have life, and that means something. I have still the chance to do something good that matters in someone else's life.
I don't think I could say there is a just God. Not today. But I'd like to believe there's a reason we can find someplace. There's a reason to be happy, and that is I live and exist to give happiness to others, as much as I can, when I can.
Happy New Year!
"There are two ways of spreading light - to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." - Edith Wharton
Watching the images of the aftermath of the Indian ocean tsumani unfold on my TV set doesn't give me a lot of confidence that New Year would be great. On the one hand, I could say, "The quake didn't happen to me." On the other, how could I say it can't affect me at all?
I am all the more thankful that for whatever dire straits I think my life has fallen into, I am still on my feet ready to face another day. I may be down and out, broke, depressed, lonely, or what-have-you, but I have life, and that means something. I have still the chance to do something good that matters in someone else's life.
I don't think I could say there is a just God. Not today. But I'd like to believe there's a reason we can find someplace. There's a reason to be happy, and that is I live and exist to give happiness to others, as much as I can, when I can.
Happy New Year!
"There are two ways of spreading light - to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." - Edith Wharton
Sunday, December 12, 2004
First Christmas, KSA-style
Our organization had its Christmas party last Friday. I was in the middle of the program when my eldest sister called, which was funny to me because I was at the podium at the time. I didn't want to host but then again, I was the only guy funny enough and hip enough (and stupid enough, to boot), I suppose, to do it. Thank God I didn’t have to do a Santa Claus. We had something like 70+ (maybe 100) people arriving. Lots of games, song numbers, and a bunch of idiots (nice idiots) lined up to join “You’re Da Man” that we channeled from MTB Ang Saya Saya! Needless to say, it was a rousing success.
For the Christmas reunion for the clan, the responsibility passed on to our family. The last time we hosted the gig was in 1997 and while it wasn't the best of parties, it was well-remembered. Needless to say, I was involved in it (Oh, don't you worry about modesty. I don't have any of it.)
I suggested that the family do something of an SCQ-TV Idol sort of thing for the children. I also sent them questions for a “Game Ka Na Ba?” simulation. I had plans to use this during our Christmas party but we did not have enough time.
Favorite song this week: “Que Sera Sera” by Doris Day. I watched Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Man Who Knew Too Much” with Jimmy Stewart and Ms. Day and the song was prominently featured in the movie, one of Hitchcock’s better ones (shame I couldn’t get a copy of “Psycho”). It’s really dumb singing: “When I was a little boy/I asked my mother/what will I be?/Will I be handsome?/Will I be rich?/Here’s what she said to me” in the morning.
I hope the folks would find a good place for the reunion. The traditional place - the Teachers' Association assembly hall beside our house - is ghastly.
If I had Christmas gifts back from home, I would wish for an MP3 collection of the Beatles’ albums. If not the bootleg CDs of the albums or their Anthology series should be selling in Quiapo. Tough luck for any of that stuff to pass through Saudi customs and immigration. But I can dream of my old tapes of Green Day, Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, and Guns and Roses, can't I?
On the other hand, I could go domestic and ask for a sewing kit to darn my clothes. (Damn, that washing machine is EVIL! A necessary one, anyway.) The weather has moved to the level of Tagaytay/Baguio-type cold, but not enough for me to want to wear a jacket yet. At least on a regular basis. I like the cold, anyway. It reminds me to wrap myself in a jacket and pretend I am hugging someone I love from back home.
For the Christmas reunion for the clan, the responsibility passed on to our family. The last time we hosted the gig was in 1997 and while it wasn't the best of parties, it was well-remembered. Needless to say, I was involved in it (Oh, don't you worry about modesty. I don't have any of it.)
I suggested that the family do something of an SCQ-TV Idol sort of thing for the children. I also sent them questions for a “Game Ka Na Ba?” simulation. I had plans to use this during our Christmas party but we did not have enough time.
Favorite song this week: “Que Sera Sera” by Doris Day. I watched Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Man Who Knew Too Much” with Jimmy Stewart and Ms. Day and the song was prominently featured in the movie, one of Hitchcock’s better ones (shame I couldn’t get a copy of “Psycho”). It’s really dumb singing: “When I was a little boy/I asked my mother/what will I be?/Will I be handsome?/Will I be rich?/Here’s what she said to me” in the morning.
I hope the folks would find a good place for the reunion. The traditional place - the Teachers' Association assembly hall beside our house - is ghastly.
If I had Christmas gifts back from home, I would wish for an MP3 collection of the Beatles’ albums. If not the bootleg CDs of the albums or their Anthology series should be selling in Quiapo. Tough luck for any of that stuff to pass through Saudi customs and immigration. But I can dream of my old tapes of Green Day, Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, and Guns and Roses, can't I?
On the other hand, I could go domestic and ask for a sewing kit to darn my clothes. (Damn, that washing machine is EVIL! A necessary one, anyway.) The weather has moved to the level of Tagaytay/Baguio-type cold, but not enough for me to want to wear a jacket yet. At least on a regular basis. I like the cold, anyway. It reminds me to wrap myself in a jacket and pretend I am hugging someone I love from back home.
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Volunteerism
“The world may not always understand a person’s profession of faith but it can understand service.”
My thanks to Nicky Templo-Perez who gave me this apt greeting on World Volunteers’ Day, today… and to all the people who keep that torch of volunteerism bright, here’s a cup of the best Turkish coffee for you. And for those who have tried the real-deal Turkish coffee, you know what I mean that it’s a real pick-me-up on a slow day. Assuming you like it, of course.
There’s this grade-A mush (moosh) line in Pearl Harbor that goes “There’s nothing greater than a heart of a volunteer” (or something like that) mentioned by Alec Baldwin, but somehow to this day it still rings true.
Somewhere out there people are still doing their thing, volunteering whatever they can give, and here’s my note of thanks for them.
I somehow got untracked with my regular routine since I moved to a bigger apartment in the center of town last weekend. Don’t have a TFC connection yet (has its advantages and disadvantages), my refrigerator and kitchen utensils are not properly set-up and I have lost a lot of inclination to do my own cooking since all the good eating places are just a stroll away. When there’s a gaping hole left in my wallet I’ll probably start. At least I have my own bathroom but …. (go on to the next paragraph if you feel you’re not close enough to me, hehe) ….the toilet is in the Eastern style, so doing number two means having to squat. This is not so bad since one would really want to get out of the bathroom quickly as temperatures run into the friendly teens (Celsius) for the better part of the day.
Christmas here means a whole lot more to the kids and to those who have kids. I really cannot relate for the most part since I’ve stopped thinking about Christmas as a season a long time ago, starting from the time I started paying my own bills (a solid thirteen or so years running), and going without a steady relationship (except for SHARE, bless her) for about 80% of that time. I do reflect a lot on the whole meaning of Christmas these days, and try to get whatever spiritual nourishment I can get from meditation, prayer, singing a few hymns and occasional reading of contraband Bibles. On the last matter, such items normally belong to those who are either Born-Again or are part of avidly Christian groups with whom I have personal or ideological differences. It’s nice to have faith on a daily basis but some people can get to be a drag. Moving to an additional level of acceptance is not as easy as it was ten years ago, alas.
Classes in my literary writing clinic are winding down for the season since most families in our group are spending the Christmas holidays back home. Maybe if I stay here long enough I will probably find the opportunity to go home during December. I try to focus on the here-and-now as it is difficult to think about the might-have-beens back home and all the difficulties many of our countrymen are experiencing. We are organizing our own fund-raising efforts here for the families and communities ravaged by the succession of storms, but a number of us were affected. My boss, for instance, lost some P1M in investments on his farm in Mindoro following typhoon Unding.
I’m glad that for the most part everyone in my family is okay, though I do hear reports that one of my uncles is in failing health. While we are not on great terms, I sent my best wishes to him and pray for him as much as I can.
My thanks to Nicky Templo-Perez who gave me this apt greeting on World Volunteers’ Day, today… and to all the people who keep that torch of volunteerism bright, here’s a cup of the best Turkish coffee for you. And for those who have tried the real-deal Turkish coffee, you know what I mean that it’s a real pick-me-up on a slow day. Assuming you like it, of course.
There’s this grade-A mush (moosh) line in Pearl Harbor that goes “There’s nothing greater than a heart of a volunteer” (or something like that) mentioned by Alec Baldwin, but somehow to this day it still rings true.
Somewhere out there people are still doing their thing, volunteering whatever they can give, and here’s my note of thanks for them.
I somehow got untracked with my regular routine since I moved to a bigger apartment in the center of town last weekend. Don’t have a TFC connection yet (has its advantages and disadvantages), my refrigerator and kitchen utensils are not properly set-up and I have lost a lot of inclination to do my own cooking since all the good eating places are just a stroll away. When there’s a gaping hole left in my wallet I’ll probably start. At least I have my own bathroom but …. (go on to the next paragraph if you feel you’re not close enough to me, hehe) ….the toilet is in the Eastern style, so doing number two means having to squat. This is not so bad since one would really want to get out of the bathroom quickly as temperatures run into the friendly teens (Celsius) for the better part of the day.
Christmas here means a whole lot more to the kids and to those who have kids. I really cannot relate for the most part since I’ve stopped thinking about Christmas as a season a long time ago, starting from the time I started paying my own bills (a solid thirteen or so years running), and going without a steady relationship (except for SHARE, bless her) for about 80% of that time. I do reflect a lot on the whole meaning of Christmas these days, and try to get whatever spiritual nourishment I can get from meditation, prayer, singing a few hymns and occasional reading of contraband Bibles. On the last matter, such items normally belong to those who are either Born-Again or are part of avidly Christian groups with whom I have personal or ideological differences. It’s nice to have faith on a daily basis but some people can get to be a drag. Moving to an additional level of acceptance is not as easy as it was ten years ago, alas.
Classes in my literary writing clinic are winding down for the season since most families in our group are spending the Christmas holidays back home. Maybe if I stay here long enough I will probably find the opportunity to go home during December. I try to focus on the here-and-now as it is difficult to think about the might-have-beens back home and all the difficulties many of our countrymen are experiencing. We are organizing our own fund-raising efforts here for the families and communities ravaged by the succession of storms, but a number of us were affected. My boss, for instance, lost some P1M in investments on his farm in Mindoro following typhoon Unding.
I’m glad that for the most part everyone in my family is okay, though I do hear reports that one of my uncles is in failing health. While we are not on great terms, I sent my best wishes to him and pray for him as much as I can.
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Eid Mubarak and Remembrance
Eid Mubarak!
Ramadan has officially ended. More or less we will be back in a normal groove for our schedule. Muslims all over are practically celebrating – legally there is no work but I go to work anyway – no one wants to be trapped “not celebrating” or making like a vegetable in front of the TV set.
For non-Muslims, the best analogue to Ramadan is like rolling Lent and Christmas all into one. While I’m not to criticize somebody else’s religion if it works for them, I just find it funny that instead of losing weight and reflecting on the words of the Prophet during this time, people actually eat more and end up being more vacant-eyed during the day.
As for me, eating in secret (especially if one finds great leftovers in the fridge) has always been a thing to do even during my days back home, so nothing is different. Hehe, but I do hate having to eat big meals instead of small snacks. It was difficult doing it during the entire month, but now I can munch as much as I want on my desk.
The days of remembering have just gone by. I said a prayer for the dearly departed before I went to bed and got to reflect on some life lessons.
Life does pass us by, and there’s rarely a relationship where there is finality – there’s always something you want to say that is left unsaid, there’s something you wish to do for that person, or to do together with that person, that remains undone. Obviously there’s nothing more to be done but to appreciate each moment – because just as that familiar letter-writing activity goes, saying “I love you” can never be done too many times. And ironically, we yearn to say these words when it’s already too late.
Hindsight is the most common form of wisdom. At the same time, I always remember that line from “The Matrix” which has been very instructive: “Knowing the path is different from walking the path.” You can add “Being the One is like being in love – you just know it, balls to bones.”
So now, back to life and living. There are days when I miss my father terribly, but since he is gone the only thing I wish to do is that I could do the same for my future family all the good that my father has made it possible for our family. I pray that I will be true to this promise. As to the bad… well, I wouldn’t have known the good if not for the bad.
Ramadan has officially ended. More or less we will be back in a normal groove for our schedule. Muslims all over are practically celebrating – legally there is no work but I go to work anyway – no one wants to be trapped “not celebrating” or making like a vegetable in front of the TV set.
For non-Muslims, the best analogue to Ramadan is like rolling Lent and Christmas all into one. While I’m not to criticize somebody else’s religion if it works for them, I just find it funny that instead of losing weight and reflecting on the words of the Prophet during this time, people actually eat more and end up being more vacant-eyed during the day.
As for me, eating in secret (especially if one finds great leftovers in the fridge) has always been a thing to do even during my days back home, so nothing is different. Hehe, but I do hate having to eat big meals instead of small snacks. It was difficult doing it during the entire month, but now I can munch as much as I want on my desk.
The days of remembering have just gone by. I said a prayer for the dearly departed before I went to bed and got to reflect on some life lessons.
Life does pass us by, and there’s rarely a relationship where there is finality – there’s always something you want to say that is left unsaid, there’s something you wish to do for that person, or to do together with that person, that remains undone. Obviously there’s nothing more to be done but to appreciate each moment – because just as that familiar letter-writing activity goes, saying “I love you” can never be done too many times. And ironically, we yearn to say these words when it’s already too late.
Hindsight is the most common form of wisdom. At the same time, I always remember that line from “The Matrix” which has been very instructive: “Knowing the path is different from walking the path.” You can add “Being the One is like being in love – you just know it, balls to bones.”
So now, back to life and living. There are days when I miss my father terribly, but since he is gone the only thing I wish to do is that I could do the same for my future family all the good that my father has made it possible for our family. I pray that I will be true to this promise. As to the bad… well, I wouldn’t have known the good if not for the bad.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
The Burden of Memory
A remembrance for my father, dead these past eleven years.
Plea (Song for my Father)
I break the silence of my heart to cry.
I crave for the truth even as I lie.
Understanding that words are never enough
To express the warmth of dreams, the stuff
That allows visions to live and be true.
Oh, for the life that belonged to you!
Is it inevitability that laid first claim,
For no heralds call out to shout your name?
Or has weak human flesh denied us our fate,
For unearned wisdom that arrived too late?
Time has come for the toll of your bell . . .
When my memories fail what more can I tell?
In peace or oblivion goodbyes are so trite
However I wish, or will with all of my might
Even as I gasp out the very life of my breath
My love will never match the power of death.
Plea (Song for my Father)
I break the silence of my heart to cry.
I crave for the truth even as I lie.
Understanding that words are never enough
To express the warmth of dreams, the stuff
That allows visions to live and be true.
Oh, for the life that belonged to you!
Is it inevitability that laid first claim,
For no heralds call out to shout your name?
Or has weak human flesh denied us our fate,
For unearned wisdom that arrived too late?
Time has come for the toll of your bell . . .
When my memories fail what more can I tell?
In peace or oblivion goodbyes are so trite
However I wish, or will with all of my might
Even as I gasp out the very life of my breath
My love will never match the power of death.
Monday, November 08, 2004
Walking Down Old Paths
I opened up some of my old work and this poem struck me for its length - it was meant to be a closed-eye experience, called "autogenics" in our seminar-jargon so long ago. Fourteen years ago have not stained the freshness of the thoughts. I would tend to hate the construction, but what do I know? Dedicated to SHARE Batch 10, November 1991. Many thanks, Gina V!
Journeying Within The Self
The First Voice
I am the voice of your inner shadow.
Let your world escape from your mind.
Let the shadows be the expression of your being.
For in this shadow without your world's glitter,
The wholeness of your being takes shape.
For in this darkness nothing else would give light
But the beauty of your person...
Let it come forward! Let your self find its voice,
Among the din of wayward melodies
Which you call upon for your guidance.
Drop the pale figure of your everyday masks
For here they are nothing but ghosts
Insubstantial forms, nothing more
Like the shadows which encase your being...
The Second Voice
We wear these masks to protect ourselves
To hold off everybody we meet,
For they savor the glamor of the creation
And not the simplicity of that
Which comes from the heart.
We seek to protect that image
We carefully contrive for ourselves
So that we can keep what we can
To satisfy our petty whims and egos.
For this is our only safety,
To be secure in what we believe in.
But stop! For the shadows catch up
To tear away at your wrappings
And reveal all your confusions,
And wounds, and scars, and fears...
Which you try to overcome
By running away...but you cannot.
The Third Voice
You don't wish to recall
The time you felt so hurt, so empty,
So much draped in your loneliness.
You are alone here in this darkness,
With only your conscience for company...
Do you remember how does it feel to be alone?
How does it feel to see
All your dreams shattered,
All your aspirations dashed to pieces?
How does it feel to be imprisoned
By your own masks and lies?
Your empty shell breathes its hollowness,
And the silence becomes deafening...
You cannot run away from truth,
But you can start facing yourself...
For in this shadow comes your light
And it speaks to you, saying ---
The First Voice, softly
I am the beauty which is barely heard
Like some sweet melody
Which visits your ears in that moment
When you are at peace with yourself.
I am the inspiration which opens
Your mind to scale greater heights
And break down barriers
To reach your goal.
Come, reach for me...
Journey within that being you call
YOURSELF...
And find me there, waiting.
The Second Voice, imploring
Don't be afraid of pain
For in pain comes happiness.
But for loss, we will never understand gain.
But for smallness, we will never see immensity.
But for limitations, we will never grasp forever.
But for selfishness, we will never know sacrifice.
But for loneliness, we will never feel love.
The Third Voice, inviting
Let your soul begin this journey
To seek and understand yourself
To grapple with the darkness
And discover your inner light.
Let your mind find its peace
Among your life's wellsprings
This is the beckoning call of our search:
To find ourselves through service.
Journeying Within The Self
The First Voice
I am the voice of your inner shadow.
Let your world escape from your mind.
Let the shadows be the expression of your being.
For in this shadow without your world's glitter,
The wholeness of your being takes shape.
For in this darkness nothing else would give light
But the beauty of your person...
Let it come forward! Let your self find its voice,
Among the din of wayward melodies
Which you call upon for your guidance.
Drop the pale figure of your everyday masks
For here they are nothing but ghosts
Insubstantial forms, nothing more
Like the shadows which encase your being...
The Second Voice
We wear these masks to protect ourselves
To hold off everybody we meet,
For they savor the glamor of the creation
And not the simplicity of that
Which comes from the heart.
We seek to protect that image
We carefully contrive for ourselves
So that we can keep what we can
To satisfy our petty whims and egos.
For this is our only safety,
To be secure in what we believe in.
But stop! For the shadows catch up
To tear away at your wrappings
And reveal all your confusions,
And wounds, and scars, and fears...
Which you try to overcome
By running away...but you cannot.
The Third Voice
You don't wish to recall
The time you felt so hurt, so empty,
So much draped in your loneliness.
You are alone here in this darkness,
With only your conscience for company...
Do you remember how does it feel to be alone?
How does it feel to see
All your dreams shattered,
All your aspirations dashed to pieces?
How does it feel to be imprisoned
By your own masks and lies?
Your empty shell breathes its hollowness,
And the silence becomes deafening...
You cannot run away from truth,
But you can start facing yourself...
For in this shadow comes your light
And it speaks to you, saying ---
The First Voice, softly
I am the beauty which is barely heard
Like some sweet melody
Which visits your ears in that moment
When you are at peace with yourself.
I am the inspiration which opens
Your mind to scale greater heights
And break down barriers
To reach your goal.
Come, reach for me...
Journey within that being you call
YOURSELF...
And find me there, waiting.
The Second Voice, imploring
Don't be afraid of pain
For in pain comes happiness.
But for loss, we will never understand gain.
But for smallness, we will never see immensity.
But for limitations, we will never grasp forever.
But for selfishness, we will never know sacrifice.
But for loneliness, we will never feel love.
The Third Voice, inviting
Let your soul begin this journey
To seek and understand yourself
To grapple with the darkness
And discover your inner light.
Let your mind find its peace
Among your life's wellsprings
This is the beckoning call of our search:
To find ourselves through service.
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