Dear Hotaru,
I should savor slow mornings like this – because I might not be having
them for a long time again after a while. Although Quezon City is hot
and the neighborhood is not really quiet at this time, I have the
luxury of an unhurried day. There are many things that could be done,
actually, but I take privilege to save myself the pressure of having
to be productive. I will not consider giving my soul a little pleasure
as waste of time. Besides, this will just be a few days of idleness.
I'd have to be up on my feet eventually.
I'm sure you're itching to ask me how it's like now. Married, and
being a wife. A couple of people have asked me that already. My best
answer was "Ok lang." "I have yet to find out how the other 99% of
wifehood is," I added. It's been just a few weeks after all. There's a
lifetime to look forward to, and a lifetime to figure the answer to
the question.
The weddings were nice. I'd have to add an "s" to that because the
wedding celebration is also referred to as "the wedding." My husband
and I had been quite pleased that the affirmation ceremony and
celebration with the community took a significance of its own and had
served its purpose very well. It holds just as much meaning as the
earlier solemnization that happened a week before it, as we have
wanted it to be. I remember feeling the pressures of organizing the
weddings that for quite some time before they were held I just wished
they'd be over. Now that they are, more than relief, I feel thankful
that they happened. I am thankful for the moment that was there, and
we were sharing it. And there are many people to thank. God has been
good. I thank Him most of all.
The day is almost half done. The soul is quiet and speaks not many
words at the moment. I should savor this slow morning.
I'd want to write you again even when the mornings are not slow
anymore. Until then, God bless you.
Kulibangbang
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Monday, January 24, 2005
Life Letter for January 2005
January 4, 2005
Dear Hotaru,
I was wondering why our church's new year's eve service had no
candlelighting ceremony like it used to in the previous years. I never
did get to ask. Not that I saw anything wrong in it being absent. I
guess I just liked the idea of lighting a candle for the New Year.
January 6, 2005
My life has resumed to enduring the noisy highway side where our staff
house and office is located. It has been several days that I had
trouble sleeping. That is not something normal, or even frequent to
me. If, at certain times I go to bed with troubled thoughts, I would
be thankful of the respite that sleep would give me. I theorize that
it is probably the noise, since I did have quite a long enough break
and nights at our home in Baguio are a restful haven. The
sleeplessness might also be a manifestation of an excitement that is
nonetheless present, but which I have not been very expressive about.
Sometimes a rush of ideas could indeed keep your mind up and awake
even with your body's insistence to stop all activity. It's like
having drunk a lot of coffee, and the caffeine got into you.
How has it been? Has it been 365 days already… Here in the staff
house, one does not get to sit in front of the mirror for a time long
enough so you could talk to your reflection or make faces at it. So I
haven't had much time to notice how the previous year has changed me.
But I know it did… and it goes beyond my darkened skin complexion,
courtesy of the La Union sun, and my shortened hair, which I sported
when I started with my job, as a "new experience indicator", or was it
a "letting go ritual" for my previous life experience? Either way, I
did get to learn a few.
For one, the complexities of romance, and I still don't get it… but I
am enjoying it as it is – complex. I have always thought God's love
story with us is simple. He loved us so much that He gave His only
son. But then, when you start putting in the logic, and the intellect,
and the opinions of educated men, it all gets muddled up, we begin to
question: "What's love got to do with it?" We could never understand
how a baby born on Christmas could save us, but it did. We could never
understand how a man dying on a cross could save us, but it did. And
some people still don't get it but believe, and are saved. I guess
that's how faith could make all the difference. You simply believe.
Even in romance. And love has everything to do with it. But I will not
indulge you, so I shall keep that part to myself.
And again, for another, the complexities of changing the world. Or at
least promoting world peace. You learn that not all those in
development work are good people. You learn that even where people
"work" to make the world a better place, righteousness does not
prevail. Sometimes good intentions could go awry, which is usually
dangerous. But even more dangerous are seeming good intentions. Not
that I got burned or something. Reality bites. The world needs
transformers who themselves have been transformed. Christians can not
just watch the world go hungry, or at war, or in shambles and call it
signs of the end of the world. Jesus Christ was a development worker,
a community organizer, a women's rights activist, a children's rights
promoter. Why aren't His followers in the front lines of the battle to
claim heaven here on earth? I hope I am wrong to think we are not.
There are yet other bits and pieces of wisdom that have been learned
along the way. Humbling bits and pieces most of them. I still have to
earn the forgiveness of a friend. I fight the guilt feeling of not
having worked hard enough. I relish the joy of a child brought to the
home. I acknowledge the super heroes that are in mothers and fathers.
I am saddened over relationships broken. I still cry and wait for the
promise of a hope and a future for the Philippines. In all this, one
thing stands. God is faithful, and He loves you and me. We are foolish
to think otherwise. This love brings me hope, to which I cling. I can
be changed to become better. I can be forgiven. I can bless people. I
can love. I can serve.
So can you. Tell me your year-end story. I wait for it eagerly.
Hope. Take care. God bless you.
Loves,
Kulibangbang
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to
prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)
Dear Hotaru,
I was wondering why our church's new year's eve service had no
candlelighting ceremony like it used to in the previous years. I never
did get to ask. Not that I saw anything wrong in it being absent. I
guess I just liked the idea of lighting a candle for the New Year.
January 6, 2005
My life has resumed to enduring the noisy highway side where our staff
house and office is located. It has been several days that I had
trouble sleeping. That is not something normal, or even frequent to
me. If, at certain times I go to bed with troubled thoughts, I would
be thankful of the respite that sleep would give me. I theorize that
it is probably the noise, since I did have quite a long enough break
and nights at our home in Baguio are a restful haven. The
sleeplessness might also be a manifestation of an excitement that is
nonetheless present, but which I have not been very expressive about.
Sometimes a rush of ideas could indeed keep your mind up and awake
even with your body's insistence to stop all activity. It's like
having drunk a lot of coffee, and the caffeine got into you.
How has it been? Has it been 365 days already… Here in the staff
house, one does not get to sit in front of the mirror for a time long
enough so you could talk to your reflection or make faces at it. So I
haven't had much time to notice how the previous year has changed me.
But I know it did… and it goes beyond my darkened skin complexion,
courtesy of the La Union sun, and my shortened hair, which I sported
when I started with my job, as a "new experience indicator", or was it
a "letting go ritual" for my previous life experience? Either way, I
did get to learn a few.
For one, the complexities of romance, and I still don't get it… but I
am enjoying it as it is – complex. I have always thought God's love
story with us is simple. He loved us so much that He gave His only
son. But then, when you start putting in the logic, and the intellect,
and the opinions of educated men, it all gets muddled up, we begin to
question: "What's love got to do with it?" We could never understand
how a baby born on Christmas could save us, but it did. We could never
understand how a man dying on a cross could save us, but it did. And
some people still don't get it but believe, and are saved. I guess
that's how faith could make all the difference. You simply believe.
Even in romance. And love has everything to do with it. But I will not
indulge you, so I shall keep that part to myself.
And again, for another, the complexities of changing the world. Or at
least promoting world peace. You learn that not all those in
development work are good people. You learn that even where people
"work" to make the world a better place, righteousness does not
prevail. Sometimes good intentions could go awry, which is usually
dangerous. But even more dangerous are seeming good intentions. Not
that I got burned or something. Reality bites. The world needs
transformers who themselves have been transformed. Christians can not
just watch the world go hungry, or at war, or in shambles and call it
signs of the end of the world. Jesus Christ was a development worker,
a community organizer, a women's rights activist, a children's rights
promoter. Why aren't His followers in the front lines of the battle to
claim heaven here on earth? I hope I am wrong to think we are not.
There are yet other bits and pieces of wisdom that have been learned
along the way. Humbling bits and pieces most of them. I still have to
earn the forgiveness of a friend. I fight the guilt feeling of not
having worked hard enough. I relish the joy of a child brought to the
home. I acknowledge the super heroes that are in mothers and fathers.
I am saddened over relationships broken. I still cry and wait for the
promise of a hope and a future for the Philippines. In all this, one
thing stands. God is faithful, and He loves you and me. We are foolish
to think otherwise. This love brings me hope, to which I cling. I can
be changed to become better. I can be forgiven. I can bless people. I
can love. I can serve.
So can you. Tell me your year-end story. I wait for it eagerly.
Hope. Take care. God bless you.
Loves,
Kulibangbang
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to
prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Dear Daughter
There is much to learn after reading Cosmopolitan magazine for the first time, and I am already 27 years old. I felt like Rip Van Winkle waking up after a hundred years. But my initial shock of the modern Filipino perspective on relationships has now turned to fear. I fear for you, even though you are still yet only alive in my dreams. I fear for the world you will be growing up in when you would finally be born as my flesh and blood and not merely a vision that floats around in the amniotic fluid of my imagery.
I have quite a good idea of who your father will be, although I would be plagued by uncertainty when I realize how so many differences we have, including perspectives on virtue. I fear even more for you when you would be woman and have your own stories of young love.
The world has changed many times over on how it does romance. I have not really paid much attention to it so my lack of knowledge and experience makes me a most unlikely candidate for expert. I concede to knowing little and idealizing much, which explains why I should be so shocked at what is now reality. This will be the reality you’ll be growing up in and I wonder what you’ll say or do when you are told, “everybody does it.” I wonder if you’ll be like everybody else, because it’s hard not to be like everybody.
We have words for men we’ve dreamed to have in our lives – Romeo, Prince Charming, Valentino. I wonder if you’d still be using these same words or these same images when your time comes. I wonder if fairy tales would have different endings when they are told on your time. Amidst my wondering, I only wish that when there comes a man who would like to awaken your womanly passions so his manly desires may also be met, he would not be like everybody else.
He’d get to know you first, treat you as sister and friend and you’d get to know him as brother and friend without the pretention or pressure of havign to please just to make a conquest. I wish he’d know you so well, when he finally asks to win your heart, he’d be asking to win it so you could be his forever, and with certainty, because he has prayed for you for a long time and God said ok.
I wish he’d tell your father and me of his intentions so that we may know he respects us as your parents and that his intents are pure. I wish he’d still do special little things for you, even if you find them corny. I wish he’d write you love letters even in a time of emails and SMS. I wish he’ll take more effort to ensure that as you fall in love with him, you are falling in love even more with God, rather than demanding your whole attention towards him. I wish he’ll respect you and treasure you and keep you pure, even if he would have to restrain himself with much effort. I wish he wait in taking possession of your body and inviting you to engage in the ritual of making love only after you have both said your vows in front of God. I will not wish that you would someday grow up to be a Cosmopolitan girl. I wish you’d grow up to be a woman of character in a Cosmopolitan world, surpassing your mother, and grandmothers, because your challenges are far greater than ours.
Everybody might think you’re Rip Van Winkle, old fashioned, anti-modern, but then, you will not be like everybody and you will not do what everybody does unless it is right.
I wish.
I have quite a good idea of who your father will be, although I would be plagued by uncertainty when I realize how so many differences we have, including perspectives on virtue. I fear even more for you when you would be woman and have your own stories of young love.
The world has changed many times over on how it does romance. I have not really paid much attention to it so my lack of knowledge and experience makes me a most unlikely candidate for expert. I concede to knowing little and idealizing much, which explains why I should be so shocked at what is now reality. This will be the reality you’ll be growing up in and I wonder what you’ll say or do when you are told, “everybody does it.” I wonder if you’ll be like everybody else, because it’s hard not to be like everybody.
We have words for men we’ve dreamed to have in our lives – Romeo, Prince Charming, Valentino. I wonder if you’d still be using these same words or these same images when your time comes. I wonder if fairy tales would have different endings when they are told on your time. Amidst my wondering, I only wish that when there comes a man who would like to awaken your womanly passions so his manly desires may also be met, he would not be like everybody else.
He’d get to know you first, treat you as sister and friend and you’d get to know him as brother and friend without the pretention or pressure of havign to please just to make a conquest. I wish he’d know you so well, when he finally asks to win your heart, he’d be asking to win it so you could be his forever, and with certainty, because he has prayed for you for a long time and God said ok.
I wish he’d tell your father and me of his intentions so that we may know he respects us as your parents and that his intents are pure. I wish he’d still do special little things for you, even if you find them corny. I wish he’d write you love letters even in a time of emails and SMS. I wish he’ll take more effort to ensure that as you fall in love with him, you are falling in love even more with God, rather than demanding your whole attention towards him. I wish he’ll respect you and treasure you and keep you pure, even if he would have to restrain himself with much effort. I wish he wait in taking possession of your body and inviting you to engage in the ritual of making love only after you have both said your vows in front of God. I will not wish that you would someday grow up to be a Cosmopolitan girl. I wish you’d grow up to be a woman of character in a Cosmopolitan world, surpassing your mother, and grandmothers, because your challenges are far greater than ours.
Everybody might think you’re Rip Van Winkle, old fashioned, anti-modern, but then, you will not be like everybody and you will not do what everybody does unless it is right.
I wish.
Saturday, September 18, 2004
Pambie Herrerra's Unrequitted 2
UNREQUITED 2
my hope for this love
needs no apology nor renunciation
for my words have fully ransomed
every part of me that remains indebted
to your repose
for my fragile affection
does not require from you
a shared awareness for this hurting
still in the dearth of your movement
i want to hear your whispering form
it may be the slightest hint of refusal
or an absolute abnegation for mutuality
no amount of atonement
not even that of my flesh and blood
can ever pay for this madness
a tumultuous longing
not to be reciprocated
just the delight of hearing you speak
so i stand circling on my syncopated space
waiting for the congruent rhythm of your tongue
stagnant without your initiation
just responding out of respect
for my words which fail to cross
the threshold of your seclusion
let not your lips be unspeaking
if your resolve is to shelter me from ache
of the truth of knowing my unrequited fate
let it whip my deepest bone if it has to
like the truth of the cupbearer's tongue
that cannot elude poison
so that it may save a part of me
that I have yet to give to you without reluctance
even in your final absence of ardor
for this love
that I desolately keep sacred
inside my
tamed box
- pambie, april 12, 2004
Monday, September 13, 2004
Pambie Herrerra in Filipino
PARA SA'YO NA MINSA'Y NAKASAMA KO SA AKING MALAYO-LAYO NA RING PAGLALAKBAY
sanay na ako sa iyong paglayo:
sa iyong malalayang hakbang
tungo sa kahit saan
basta wala ako o ang aking anino
sa mga kalsadang makikipot
upang hindi kita masabayan
sa iyong paglalakad
malayo-layo na rin ang iyong natahak
malayo-layo na para maabot
pa nang aking mga tanaw
minarapat kong hindi na lang sumunod
marahil nga, naakit na akong magpahinga
sa pampang nang umaalimbukay na ilog
o dili kaya'y bumalik na lamang
sa laot ng aking pag-iisa
binagtas ko ang daan pabalik
hindi dahil sa ako'y napagod
o nagsawa sa pagtugis
sa bulong ng iyong maiilap na yabag
kundi masakit ang makita kang malayo
kahit na isang dipang balikat lamang
ang sa atin ay nakapagitan
iyong pakatandaan:
ibig kong baunin mo paalis
ang apoy ng aking sulo
ang samu't saring liwanag
na nilagom ng aking mga mata
itong tungkod sa aking palad
hinga ng aking kaluluwa
na kaakibat ang lahat
pati luha ng aking salita
upang sa iyong pag-iisa
sasalamin sa iyong mga labi
mga ngiti at luha sa paggunita
noong tayo'y minsan ay nagkasama
subalit,iisa lamang ang aking pakiusap
huwag mo na akong pakaisipin pa
ipaubaya mo na ako sa ulan
sa araw... sa hangin... sa tala.
tangan nila, ako'y magpapahingalay
habang iniipon ko ang lakas
para sa bagwis ng aking naghihingalong paa
isang paghahanda:
sakali mang ika'y muling
bumalik pa.
-pambie herrera, setyembre 8, 2004
sanay na ako sa iyong paglayo:
sa iyong malalayang hakbang
tungo sa kahit saan
basta wala ako o ang aking anino
sa mga kalsadang makikipot
upang hindi kita masabayan
sa iyong paglalakad
malayo-layo na rin ang iyong natahak
malayo-layo na para maabot
pa nang aking mga tanaw
minarapat kong hindi na lang sumunod
marahil nga, naakit na akong magpahinga
sa pampang nang umaalimbukay na ilog
o dili kaya'y bumalik na lamang
sa laot ng aking pag-iisa
binagtas ko ang daan pabalik
hindi dahil sa ako'y napagod
o nagsawa sa pagtugis
sa bulong ng iyong maiilap na yabag
kundi masakit ang makita kang malayo
kahit na isang dipang balikat lamang
ang sa atin ay nakapagitan
iyong pakatandaan:
ibig kong baunin mo paalis
ang apoy ng aking sulo
ang samu't saring liwanag
na nilagom ng aking mga mata
itong tungkod sa aking palad
hinga ng aking kaluluwa
na kaakibat ang lahat
pati luha ng aking salita
upang sa iyong pag-iisa
sasalamin sa iyong mga labi
mga ngiti at luha sa paggunita
noong tayo'y minsan ay nagkasama
subalit,iisa lamang ang aking pakiusap
huwag mo na akong pakaisipin pa
ipaubaya mo na ako sa ulan
sa araw... sa hangin... sa tala.
tangan nila, ako'y magpapahingalay
habang iniipon ko ang lakas
para sa bagwis ng aking naghihingalong paa
isang paghahanda:
sakali mang ika'y muling
bumalik pa.
-pambie herrera, setyembre 8, 2004
Sunday, August 29, 2004
Paul Muego's Sharing in Payatas
Ang pag-ibig ng Dios ay di nagmamaliw
“I Love You?”
Ang pag-ibig ng Dios ay di nagmamaliw. Pero, ano nga ba ang pag-ibig ng Dios? O di kaya’y mayroon bang pag-ibig ang Dios? Kailan ba natin sinasabing iniibig tayo ng isang tao o iniibig natin siya? Ano ba yung mga sukatan natin? Katatapos lang ng araw ng mga puso. Sabi kahapon sa radio, magdaragdag ng mga pulis at mga tauhan ng MMDA sa daan kahapon para matugunan ang pagdagsa ng mga sasakyan lalu na sa mga lugar na kung saan may mga motel o mga inn o doon sa mga may sabay liko! Pati nga sa may Laong-Laan kung saan ang mga bulaklak galing Baguio ay ibinabagsak ay punung-puno ng mga tao! Lahat bumibili ng bulaklak para sa mga mahal sa buhay. Tapos sasabihin ng binata (at sana nga tunay na binata!) sa kaniyang sinta, “I love you” sabay abot sa bulaklak. Pero eto nga lang ba ang sukatan ng pag-ibig? Gano kaya katagal ang pag-ibig na sinasambit nila? Isang taon? Ilang buwan? O maswerte na kapag umabot ng ilang linggo? Kaya nga andaming mga unwed mothers o mga single parents dahil ang pag-ibig ng kanilang mga kasintahan ay nagmamaliw! Ngayong umaga pagninilayan natin ang pag-ibig ng Dios sa atin. Titignan natin kung paanong ang pag-ibig ng Dios sa atin ay di nagmamaliw sa pag-inog ng mundo, sa paglipas ng panahon.
Manalangin tayo.
Aming mapagmahal at maibiging Ama, ang pag-ibig sa mundong ito ay di gaanong tumatagal – napapagod, nawalan ng init at sigla, depende sa panahon o sa mood, depende sa maraming bagay na nakapalibot sa amin. Kadalasan O Ama na ang aming pag-ibig ay hindi tunay at ganap, na ang ito’y aming sinasambit lamang dahil na rin sa aming mga sariling interes. Maraming pagkakataon na binigo namin ang iyong atas na ibigin ang aming mga kapatid, lalo na ang mga maralita at kapus-palad. Ngunit sa kabila ng aming mga pagkadapa, ng aming mga pagtalikod sa iyong atas at halimbawa, patuloy mo kaming iniibig. Gabayan mo kami ngayong umaga O Dios upang makatagpo ka namin sa bawat isa sa amin na narito. Ipinapanalangin din namin Panginoon ang aming mga mahal sa buhay na sa oras na ito ay di namin kapiling. Ikaw din po ang gumabay sa kanila sa umagang ito at sa araw na ito. Tanggalin mo po Panginoon ang lahat ng makahahadlang sa aming pagsamba ngayong umaga at sa pagbabahaginan namin ng iyong mensahe. Ito ang aming dalangin sa pangalan ng iyong Anak na si Hesus. Amen.
Puno ng Pag-ibig ang Buhay!
Noong isang linggo ay nagpunta kami sa Sitio Banawen, Brgy. Maloma, San Felipe, Zambales. Pagabi na noong kami ay nakarating sa bario. May mga 3 oras din siguro yung nilakad namin sa isang halos tuyong ilog. Napakainit ng panahon at napakahirap lumakad dahil nga sa ang lahar ay tuyung-tuyo. Naglakad kami habang sa paligid namin nakikita namin na pati ang mga baka ay nakasilong. Bahagya din kaming nagpahinga sa daan dahil sa sobrang init. Habang naglalakad kami at sa mga panahon ng pahinga kami ay nagkukwentuhan at pinagbabalik-tanawan ang pakikipaglakbaay ng KKFI sa mga kapatid nating Ayta sa Banawen. Marahil kung ito’y isang gawain lang namin, matagal na naming iniwan ang mga Ayta. Ngunit pabalik-balik kami bilang mga hamak na instrumento ng ating Panginoon upang magpadama sa kanila na hindi sila nag-iisa (at upang madama din namin na hindi kami nagiisa)… na may mga magkakasamang nagsusulong ng isang kaunlarang dapat pinagsasaluhan ng lahat at di lang ng iilan.
Pagsapit ng gabi ay dumaan sa aming tinutuluyang bahay si Tatay Willy. Habang kami’y nakapa-ikot sa apoy at umiinom ng maiinit na kape ay nagpalitan kami ng mga balita at mga kwento tungkol sa buhay-buhay. Panay ang biro ni Tatay Willy kung kayat lahat kami’y tawanan ng tawanan. Sa gitna ng aming pagtatawanan, sabi ni Tatay Willy, “Masaya ang buhay...” Uulitin niya ito ng may karugtong, “Mahirap ang buhay gaya kung minsan na walang makain… pero masaya pa rin.” Sa loob-loob ko, “Ang lalim naman ni Tatay. Parang isang pilosopo.” Ngunit sa totoo lang hindi ba ang buhay ng mga kapatid nating Ayta sa Banawen pagkatapos ng pagputok ng bulkan ng Pinatubo ay isang patunay na ang pag-ibig ng Dios ay di nagmamaliw? Kinaumagahan habang nakasakay kami sa kariton na hila-hila ng kalabaw ni Tatay Willy sabi niya, “Ang aking buhay ay puno ng pag-ibig. Walang saysay ang buhay kapag wala itong pag-ibig.” Ano ba ang ibig mong sabihin Tatay Willy? Hindi nga ba ang patuloy ninyong pamumuhay sa Banawen, ang pagtubo at pamumunga ng inyong mga pananim na mga mangga, kasuy, at mga saging, ang pagsilang ng limang sanggol sa inyong komunidad… hindi ba ang mga ito’y mga himala na nagpapadama ng pag-ibig ng Dios?
Ang mga himala’y tanda ng buhay. Ang mga himala ni Hesus ay tanda ng buhay – buong buhay: pisikal at spiritwal; at tanda din ng di nagmamaliw na pag-ibig ng Dios sa atin.
Ang Habag ni Hesus
Patuloy na ipinapahayag ni Hesus ang Magandang Balita (Lukas 4:16-21) sa mga Sinagoga (mga simbahan) kung saan ang mga taga-Galilea ay nagtitipon upang makinig sa pagbasa ng banal na kasulatan at upang manalangin.
Ang taong may ketong ay itinatabuy ng lipunan. Sila’y itinuturing na mga makasalan. Ang kaniyang karamdaman ay kinakatakutan at sila’y kinamumuhian. Naalala ko tuloy yung inteview sa TV sa mga kamag-anak ni Adela Catalon. “Iniiwasan kami ng mga tao. Parang lahat kami may SARS,” ang malungkot niyang wika. Mahirap nga yung tayo’y iniiwasan ng mga tao sapagkat sa kanilang paningin tayo’y marurumi at makasalanan. Ang lalaking may ketong sa kwento ay hindi lamang nakraramdam ng pisikal na sakit. Ngunit ang mas matinding sakit ay dulot ng hagupit sa kaniyang pagkatao ng siya’y itinaboy ng dati niyang mga kasama.
Sa aklat ng Levitiko, ang mga may skin diseases (ke galis yan, o rashes, o simpleng alergy, o di kaya’y ketong) ay kailangang kumunsulta at magpatingin sa mga pari. (Lev. 13:1-2) Hindi upang gamutin sila ng mga pari ngunit para sila’y matatakan: malinis o marumi! Parang kapag pumapasok tayo sa bilangguan para dumalaw o di kaya’y sasalubong sa mga kamag-anak sa airport -- may tatak sa braso para maihiwalay tayo sa iba o para may palatandaang nagsasabi kung sino tayo!
Kung sakaling may ketong ang isang tao, siya’y sapilitang patitirahin sa labas ng siyudad (ang mga bayan nila noon ay may mga matataas na bakod). Hindi lang ito. Sila din ay kailangang sumigaw ng ganito: Marumi! Marumi! Ito’y kailangan nilang gawin upang hindi sila lapitan ng mga tao. (Lev. 13:45-46)
Naalala ko tuloy ang maraming maralita ng lunsod na patuloy na itinataboy dahil hindi daw sila kaaya-ayang tignan. Kagaya na lang noong dumating si President Bush, maraming mga komunidad ng mga maralitang taga-lunsod ang binakuran para hindi sila makita. Sa ganitong sitwasyon paano natin sasagutin o ano ang isasagot natin kapag tinanong tayo ni Mang Juan o Aling Maria na mga urban poor o yung lalaking may ketong sa kwento: “Nasaan ang di nagmamaliw na pag-ibig ng Dios?”
Ang lalaking lumapit kay Hesus ng may pagtitiwala ay may ketong: “kung ibig po ninyo’y mapagagaling ninyo ako” (Mk 1:40). Sa verse 41 makikita nating “nahabag si Hesus.” Ang ibig sabihin ng salitang “pagkahabag” ay hindi lang isang simpleng awa ngunit isang malalim na pagtanggap at pagdama sa sitwasyon ng kahirapan ng ketongin. Jesus made the man’s suffering his own. Sa isang iglap naki-integrate si Hesus sa kalagayan ng lalaking may ketong. Sa UP, sa CSWCD, sinasabing “we have to integrate with the poor until such time that their life is aslo our life, their experiences are also our experiences, and their dreams are also our dreams.” Kailangang ang mga manggagawa sa pagpapaunlad ng pamayanan ay maging kaisa ng mga maralita.
Hindi iniwasan ni Hesus ang lalaking may ketong. Sa verse 41 makikita natin si Hesus: “hinipo siya, sabay ang wika, ‘Ibig ko. Gumaling ka!” Sa kaniyang paghipo sa lalaking may ketong, isinapanganib ni Hesus ang kaniyang sariling kalusugan; hindi siya gumawa ng anumang pag-iingat. Naalala ko tuloy yung mga naririnig kong mga kwento tungkol sa mga pulitiko kapag panahon ng pangangampanya. Pagkatapos daw makipagkamayan sa mga tao ay nagbubuhos ng alcohol sa mga kamay upang matangal ang anumang bakas ng maruruming mga taong kanilang kinamayan. Gaano katotoo ito? Ewan ko. Magmasid-masid tayo ngayon dahil tiyak maraming mga pulitiko ang pupunta sa ating lugar.
Ang ginawa ni Hesus ay isang napakagandang huwaran para sa ating nagsasabing mga Kristyano o followers of Christ. Danasin at damhin natin ang kalungkutan, pighati, hapdi at kirot ng puso, katawan at isipan, ang mga sama ng loob ng ibang tao; ginagawa natin silang mga kapit-bahay natin, mga kamag-anak, mga taong malapit sa atin. Ngunit getting close to people, ang paglapit sa mga tao ay maaaring magdulot ng mga problema at kahirapan sa panig natin kung kayat we prefer loving without costs, without risks for ourselves and our own people. Mas gugustuhin natin ang magmahal na hindi natin maisasapanganib ang ating sarili o yung kapakanan natin.
Kaya nga’t enjoy na enjoy ako sa mga kwento ng mga pastor o mga pari na nasa mission areas. Kagaya nung isang kapartner ng KKFI diyan sa Montalban, si Pastor Larry. Mahirap ang kanilang simbahan. Pagpapaayos nga lang ng pinto ng kanilang kapilya ay talagang madugo! Mga pamasahe na nga lang e hirap na ang pastor. Pero patuloy pa rin siyang naglilinkod sa mga taga-Montalban – tumutlong sa mga livelihood programs para sa mga tao, nakikinig sa kanilang mga problema at sama ng loob. Ang mga problema ng mga tago-komunidad ay tunay na nadarama ni Pastor Larry kaya problema na rin niya ang mga ito. At siyempre ang kanilang pangarap ng isang maunlad na buhay ay kaniya na ring pangarap. Di pa ba ito isang patunay na ang pag-ibig ng Dios ay di nagmamaliw?
Ang Masa Mission Center ay nasa ikalawang taon na dito sa Payatas. Ngayon magkakaroon na ng Day Care Center dito. Siguro, ni minsan hindi sumagi sa isipan ng mga kasamahan natin dito na minsan isang araw ay magkakaroon ng ganitong pagtitipon para sa pormal na opening at dedikasyon ng isang day care center sa mismo nilang pamayanan. Ang pag-ibig ng Dios ay di nagmamaliw!
Uliranin si Kristo
Ipinagkaloob ni Hesus ang kahilingan ng may ketong: “Ibig ko . Gumaling ka!” Sa mas malalim na pagsusuri, hindi lang ang ketong ang pinagaling niya. Ayaw ni Hesus na may mga taong itinatakwil ng lipunan. Ayaw ni Hesus, at hindi nararapat sa dangal ng tao bilang mga anak ng Dios na wala silang mga kapwa, tahanan, pamayanan at mga kaibigan. Sa pagpapagaling sa karamdaman nung lalaki siya ay muling isinama sa lipunan. Ang itsa-pwera ngayon ay kasama na! Ang ibinukod ng lipunan ngayon ay kabuklod na ng mamamayan! Ang pagmamahal ng Diyos ay tunay na di nagmamaliw!
Ngunit kung tayo ay nagdiriwang mayroon ding mga taong nagngingit-ngit o nagpuputok ang butsi dahil sa takbo ng mga pangyayari. Ang ginawa ni Hesus ay labag sa batas. Hinipo niya ang isang maruming tao! Ngunit namnamin natin na ang paghipo ni Hesus sa lalaking may ketong ay isang pagpapahayag ng isang malalim na mensahe – ang pag-ibig sa mga hinahamak, kinamumuhian, kinasusuklaman, mga itinataboy ng lipunan!
Ang ating pagtangging ibukas ang ating mga puso sa iba, ang ating pag-abot ng ating mga kamay sa kanila, sa mga mahihirap at sa mga itinatakwil ng lipunan ay isang iskandalo. Ang pagpapatotoo o pagpapatunay lamang ng pag-ibig at kagandahang-loob ang tanging makakaabot sa mga taong ipinapalagay nila ang kanilang sarili at loob na malayo sa Dios (1 Cor. 10:32).
Ang kwento ng Masa Mission ay isang pagpapatotoo o pagpapatunay sa di-nagmamaliw na pag-ibig ng Dios. Ang kwento sa likod ng pagtatatag ng isang day care center dito sa pamayanan ay isang pagpapatotoo sa di-nagmamaliw na pag-ibig ng Dios. Ang patuloy nating pakikiisa sa panig ng maralita ay isang pagpapatotoo sa di-nagmamaliw na pag-ibig ng Dios.
Noong bumibyahe kami patungong Zambales huminto yung bus na aming sinasakyan bandang San Narciso. Sabi nung konduktor na nagkataong nasa tapat ko: “Iihi lang sandali yung driver?” Narinig yun nung isang matandang pasahero. Papunta ng Iba si lolo upang lakarin ang ilang mga papeles dahil may mga dala-dala siyang mga brown envelope. Malayo pa ang Iba kaya gusto rin niyang bumaba para umihi. Ngunit siya ay nagaalinlangan dahil baka siya’y maiwan. Ilang segundo pa ang lumipas at siya’y nakapagpasiya. Bumaba siya at umihi sa ilalim ng isang puno. Nasa kalagitnaan pa lang siya ng kaniyang pag-ihi nung umakyat na ang driver at paaandarin na ang sasakyan. Hindi naman siya makasigaw dahil nasa may kalayuan siya at mahirap din namang putulin niya ang kaniyang pag-ihi! Aandar na ang sasakyan! Nagsalita yung matandang nakasakay, “Umiihi pa yung isang matanda. Hintayin natin.” Sa isang iglap naramdaman nung isang matanda ang nararamdaman nung matandang umiihi, yung takot na baka siya maiwanan. Isipin na lang natin kung ano ang nangyari kung hindi umimik yung isang matanda!
BAGONG LANGIT AT BAGONG LUPA (Basahin ang Isaiah 65:17-25)
Ang pagmamahal ng Dios ay di nagmamaliw. Ang pagmamahal ng Diyos ay patuloy na bumubuhos sa ating lahat dahil mayroon pa ring mga taong nais ipagkaloob ang kanilang mga sarili, lumabas sa kanilang mga komportableng lugar, at makibahagi sa pakikibaka ng mga maralita.
Hinahamon tayong palakisin ang bigkis ng ating pakikiisa sa mga maliliit nating kapatid kay Kristo upang tahakin ang isang alternatibong paraan ng pag-unlad na kung saan ang lahat ay sama-samang magsasalo sa mga bunga ng di-nagmamaliw na pag-ibig ng Dios, ang kaganapan ng isang BAGONG LANGIT AT BAGONG LUPA DITO SA PAYATAS!
Ibinahagi ko sa blessing ng Day Care Center sa Masa Mission Church ng Puno United Methodist Church. Sabi ng isang nanay, sana sa malaking simbahan ito maibahagi para marinig ng mga tao doon.
“I Love You?”
Ang pag-ibig ng Dios ay di nagmamaliw. Pero, ano nga ba ang pag-ibig ng Dios? O di kaya’y mayroon bang pag-ibig ang Dios? Kailan ba natin sinasabing iniibig tayo ng isang tao o iniibig natin siya? Ano ba yung mga sukatan natin? Katatapos lang ng araw ng mga puso. Sabi kahapon sa radio, magdaragdag ng mga pulis at mga tauhan ng MMDA sa daan kahapon para matugunan ang pagdagsa ng mga sasakyan lalu na sa mga lugar na kung saan may mga motel o mga inn o doon sa mga may sabay liko! Pati nga sa may Laong-Laan kung saan ang mga bulaklak galing Baguio ay ibinabagsak ay punung-puno ng mga tao! Lahat bumibili ng bulaklak para sa mga mahal sa buhay. Tapos sasabihin ng binata (at sana nga tunay na binata!) sa kaniyang sinta, “I love you” sabay abot sa bulaklak. Pero eto nga lang ba ang sukatan ng pag-ibig? Gano kaya katagal ang pag-ibig na sinasambit nila? Isang taon? Ilang buwan? O maswerte na kapag umabot ng ilang linggo? Kaya nga andaming mga unwed mothers o mga single parents dahil ang pag-ibig ng kanilang mga kasintahan ay nagmamaliw! Ngayong umaga pagninilayan natin ang pag-ibig ng Dios sa atin. Titignan natin kung paanong ang pag-ibig ng Dios sa atin ay di nagmamaliw sa pag-inog ng mundo, sa paglipas ng panahon.
Manalangin tayo.
Aming mapagmahal at maibiging Ama, ang pag-ibig sa mundong ito ay di gaanong tumatagal – napapagod, nawalan ng init at sigla, depende sa panahon o sa mood, depende sa maraming bagay na nakapalibot sa amin. Kadalasan O Ama na ang aming pag-ibig ay hindi tunay at ganap, na ang ito’y aming sinasambit lamang dahil na rin sa aming mga sariling interes. Maraming pagkakataon na binigo namin ang iyong atas na ibigin ang aming mga kapatid, lalo na ang mga maralita at kapus-palad. Ngunit sa kabila ng aming mga pagkadapa, ng aming mga pagtalikod sa iyong atas at halimbawa, patuloy mo kaming iniibig. Gabayan mo kami ngayong umaga O Dios upang makatagpo ka namin sa bawat isa sa amin na narito. Ipinapanalangin din namin Panginoon ang aming mga mahal sa buhay na sa oras na ito ay di namin kapiling. Ikaw din po ang gumabay sa kanila sa umagang ito at sa araw na ito. Tanggalin mo po Panginoon ang lahat ng makahahadlang sa aming pagsamba ngayong umaga at sa pagbabahaginan namin ng iyong mensahe. Ito ang aming dalangin sa pangalan ng iyong Anak na si Hesus. Amen.
Puno ng Pag-ibig ang Buhay!
Noong isang linggo ay nagpunta kami sa Sitio Banawen, Brgy. Maloma, San Felipe, Zambales. Pagabi na noong kami ay nakarating sa bario. May mga 3 oras din siguro yung nilakad namin sa isang halos tuyong ilog. Napakainit ng panahon at napakahirap lumakad dahil nga sa ang lahar ay tuyung-tuyo. Naglakad kami habang sa paligid namin nakikita namin na pati ang mga baka ay nakasilong. Bahagya din kaming nagpahinga sa daan dahil sa sobrang init. Habang naglalakad kami at sa mga panahon ng pahinga kami ay nagkukwentuhan at pinagbabalik-tanawan ang pakikipaglakbaay ng KKFI sa mga kapatid nating Ayta sa Banawen. Marahil kung ito’y isang gawain lang namin, matagal na naming iniwan ang mga Ayta. Ngunit pabalik-balik kami bilang mga hamak na instrumento ng ating Panginoon upang magpadama sa kanila na hindi sila nag-iisa (at upang madama din namin na hindi kami nagiisa)… na may mga magkakasamang nagsusulong ng isang kaunlarang dapat pinagsasaluhan ng lahat at di lang ng iilan.
Pagsapit ng gabi ay dumaan sa aming tinutuluyang bahay si Tatay Willy. Habang kami’y nakapa-ikot sa apoy at umiinom ng maiinit na kape ay nagpalitan kami ng mga balita at mga kwento tungkol sa buhay-buhay. Panay ang biro ni Tatay Willy kung kayat lahat kami’y tawanan ng tawanan. Sa gitna ng aming pagtatawanan, sabi ni Tatay Willy, “Masaya ang buhay...” Uulitin niya ito ng may karugtong, “Mahirap ang buhay gaya kung minsan na walang makain… pero masaya pa rin.” Sa loob-loob ko, “Ang lalim naman ni Tatay. Parang isang pilosopo.” Ngunit sa totoo lang hindi ba ang buhay ng mga kapatid nating Ayta sa Banawen pagkatapos ng pagputok ng bulkan ng Pinatubo ay isang patunay na ang pag-ibig ng Dios ay di nagmamaliw? Kinaumagahan habang nakasakay kami sa kariton na hila-hila ng kalabaw ni Tatay Willy sabi niya, “Ang aking buhay ay puno ng pag-ibig. Walang saysay ang buhay kapag wala itong pag-ibig.” Ano ba ang ibig mong sabihin Tatay Willy? Hindi nga ba ang patuloy ninyong pamumuhay sa Banawen, ang pagtubo at pamumunga ng inyong mga pananim na mga mangga, kasuy, at mga saging, ang pagsilang ng limang sanggol sa inyong komunidad… hindi ba ang mga ito’y mga himala na nagpapadama ng pag-ibig ng Dios?
Ang mga himala’y tanda ng buhay. Ang mga himala ni Hesus ay tanda ng buhay – buong buhay: pisikal at spiritwal; at tanda din ng di nagmamaliw na pag-ibig ng Dios sa atin.
Ang Habag ni Hesus
Patuloy na ipinapahayag ni Hesus ang Magandang Balita (Lukas 4:16-21) sa mga Sinagoga (mga simbahan) kung saan ang mga taga-Galilea ay nagtitipon upang makinig sa pagbasa ng banal na kasulatan at upang manalangin.
Ang taong may ketong ay itinatabuy ng lipunan. Sila’y itinuturing na mga makasalan. Ang kaniyang karamdaman ay kinakatakutan at sila’y kinamumuhian. Naalala ko tuloy yung inteview sa TV sa mga kamag-anak ni Adela Catalon. “Iniiwasan kami ng mga tao. Parang lahat kami may SARS,” ang malungkot niyang wika. Mahirap nga yung tayo’y iniiwasan ng mga tao sapagkat sa kanilang paningin tayo’y marurumi at makasalanan. Ang lalaking may ketong sa kwento ay hindi lamang nakraramdam ng pisikal na sakit. Ngunit ang mas matinding sakit ay dulot ng hagupit sa kaniyang pagkatao ng siya’y itinaboy ng dati niyang mga kasama.
Sa aklat ng Levitiko, ang mga may skin diseases (ke galis yan, o rashes, o simpleng alergy, o di kaya’y ketong) ay kailangang kumunsulta at magpatingin sa mga pari. (Lev. 13:1-2) Hindi upang gamutin sila ng mga pari ngunit para sila’y matatakan: malinis o marumi! Parang kapag pumapasok tayo sa bilangguan para dumalaw o di kaya’y sasalubong sa mga kamag-anak sa airport -- may tatak sa braso para maihiwalay tayo sa iba o para may palatandaang nagsasabi kung sino tayo!
Kung sakaling may ketong ang isang tao, siya’y sapilitang patitirahin sa labas ng siyudad (ang mga bayan nila noon ay may mga matataas na bakod). Hindi lang ito. Sila din ay kailangang sumigaw ng ganito: Marumi! Marumi! Ito’y kailangan nilang gawin upang hindi sila lapitan ng mga tao. (Lev. 13:45-46)
Naalala ko tuloy ang maraming maralita ng lunsod na patuloy na itinataboy dahil hindi daw sila kaaya-ayang tignan. Kagaya na lang noong dumating si President Bush, maraming mga komunidad ng mga maralitang taga-lunsod ang binakuran para hindi sila makita. Sa ganitong sitwasyon paano natin sasagutin o ano ang isasagot natin kapag tinanong tayo ni Mang Juan o Aling Maria na mga urban poor o yung lalaking may ketong sa kwento: “Nasaan ang di nagmamaliw na pag-ibig ng Dios?”
Ang lalaking lumapit kay Hesus ng may pagtitiwala ay may ketong: “kung ibig po ninyo’y mapagagaling ninyo ako” (Mk 1:40). Sa verse 41 makikita nating “nahabag si Hesus.” Ang ibig sabihin ng salitang “pagkahabag” ay hindi lang isang simpleng awa ngunit isang malalim na pagtanggap at pagdama sa sitwasyon ng kahirapan ng ketongin. Jesus made the man’s suffering his own. Sa isang iglap naki-integrate si Hesus sa kalagayan ng lalaking may ketong. Sa UP, sa CSWCD, sinasabing “we have to integrate with the poor until such time that their life is aslo our life, their experiences are also our experiences, and their dreams are also our dreams.” Kailangang ang mga manggagawa sa pagpapaunlad ng pamayanan ay maging kaisa ng mga maralita.
Hindi iniwasan ni Hesus ang lalaking may ketong. Sa verse 41 makikita natin si Hesus: “hinipo siya, sabay ang wika, ‘Ibig ko. Gumaling ka!” Sa kaniyang paghipo sa lalaking may ketong, isinapanganib ni Hesus ang kaniyang sariling kalusugan; hindi siya gumawa ng anumang pag-iingat. Naalala ko tuloy yung mga naririnig kong mga kwento tungkol sa mga pulitiko kapag panahon ng pangangampanya. Pagkatapos daw makipagkamayan sa mga tao ay nagbubuhos ng alcohol sa mga kamay upang matangal ang anumang bakas ng maruruming mga taong kanilang kinamayan. Gaano katotoo ito? Ewan ko. Magmasid-masid tayo ngayon dahil tiyak maraming mga pulitiko ang pupunta sa ating lugar.
Ang ginawa ni Hesus ay isang napakagandang huwaran para sa ating nagsasabing mga Kristyano o followers of Christ. Danasin at damhin natin ang kalungkutan, pighati, hapdi at kirot ng puso, katawan at isipan, ang mga sama ng loob ng ibang tao; ginagawa natin silang mga kapit-bahay natin, mga kamag-anak, mga taong malapit sa atin. Ngunit getting close to people, ang paglapit sa mga tao ay maaaring magdulot ng mga problema at kahirapan sa panig natin kung kayat we prefer loving without costs, without risks for ourselves and our own people. Mas gugustuhin natin ang magmahal na hindi natin maisasapanganib ang ating sarili o yung kapakanan natin.
Kaya nga’t enjoy na enjoy ako sa mga kwento ng mga pastor o mga pari na nasa mission areas. Kagaya nung isang kapartner ng KKFI diyan sa Montalban, si Pastor Larry. Mahirap ang kanilang simbahan. Pagpapaayos nga lang ng pinto ng kanilang kapilya ay talagang madugo! Mga pamasahe na nga lang e hirap na ang pastor. Pero patuloy pa rin siyang naglilinkod sa mga taga-Montalban – tumutlong sa mga livelihood programs para sa mga tao, nakikinig sa kanilang mga problema at sama ng loob. Ang mga problema ng mga tago-komunidad ay tunay na nadarama ni Pastor Larry kaya problema na rin niya ang mga ito. At siyempre ang kanilang pangarap ng isang maunlad na buhay ay kaniya na ring pangarap. Di pa ba ito isang patunay na ang pag-ibig ng Dios ay di nagmamaliw?
Ang Masa Mission Center ay nasa ikalawang taon na dito sa Payatas. Ngayon magkakaroon na ng Day Care Center dito. Siguro, ni minsan hindi sumagi sa isipan ng mga kasamahan natin dito na minsan isang araw ay magkakaroon ng ganitong pagtitipon para sa pormal na opening at dedikasyon ng isang day care center sa mismo nilang pamayanan. Ang pag-ibig ng Dios ay di nagmamaliw!
Uliranin si Kristo
Ipinagkaloob ni Hesus ang kahilingan ng may ketong: “Ibig ko . Gumaling ka!” Sa mas malalim na pagsusuri, hindi lang ang ketong ang pinagaling niya. Ayaw ni Hesus na may mga taong itinatakwil ng lipunan. Ayaw ni Hesus, at hindi nararapat sa dangal ng tao bilang mga anak ng Dios na wala silang mga kapwa, tahanan, pamayanan at mga kaibigan. Sa pagpapagaling sa karamdaman nung lalaki siya ay muling isinama sa lipunan. Ang itsa-pwera ngayon ay kasama na! Ang ibinukod ng lipunan ngayon ay kabuklod na ng mamamayan! Ang pagmamahal ng Diyos ay tunay na di nagmamaliw!
Ngunit kung tayo ay nagdiriwang mayroon ding mga taong nagngingit-ngit o nagpuputok ang butsi dahil sa takbo ng mga pangyayari. Ang ginawa ni Hesus ay labag sa batas. Hinipo niya ang isang maruming tao! Ngunit namnamin natin na ang paghipo ni Hesus sa lalaking may ketong ay isang pagpapahayag ng isang malalim na mensahe – ang pag-ibig sa mga hinahamak, kinamumuhian, kinasusuklaman, mga itinataboy ng lipunan!
Ang ating pagtangging ibukas ang ating mga puso sa iba, ang ating pag-abot ng ating mga kamay sa kanila, sa mga mahihirap at sa mga itinatakwil ng lipunan ay isang iskandalo. Ang pagpapatotoo o pagpapatunay lamang ng pag-ibig at kagandahang-loob ang tanging makakaabot sa mga taong ipinapalagay nila ang kanilang sarili at loob na malayo sa Dios (1 Cor. 10:32).
Ang kwento ng Masa Mission ay isang pagpapatotoo o pagpapatunay sa di-nagmamaliw na pag-ibig ng Dios. Ang kwento sa likod ng pagtatatag ng isang day care center dito sa pamayanan ay isang pagpapatotoo sa di-nagmamaliw na pag-ibig ng Dios. Ang patuloy nating pakikiisa sa panig ng maralita ay isang pagpapatotoo sa di-nagmamaliw na pag-ibig ng Dios.
Noong bumibyahe kami patungong Zambales huminto yung bus na aming sinasakyan bandang San Narciso. Sabi nung konduktor na nagkataong nasa tapat ko: “Iihi lang sandali yung driver?” Narinig yun nung isang matandang pasahero. Papunta ng Iba si lolo upang lakarin ang ilang mga papeles dahil may mga dala-dala siyang mga brown envelope. Malayo pa ang Iba kaya gusto rin niyang bumaba para umihi. Ngunit siya ay nagaalinlangan dahil baka siya’y maiwan. Ilang segundo pa ang lumipas at siya’y nakapagpasiya. Bumaba siya at umihi sa ilalim ng isang puno. Nasa kalagitnaan pa lang siya ng kaniyang pag-ihi nung umakyat na ang driver at paaandarin na ang sasakyan. Hindi naman siya makasigaw dahil nasa may kalayuan siya at mahirap din namang putulin niya ang kaniyang pag-ihi! Aandar na ang sasakyan! Nagsalita yung matandang nakasakay, “Umiihi pa yung isang matanda. Hintayin natin.” Sa isang iglap naramdaman nung isang matanda ang nararamdaman nung matandang umiihi, yung takot na baka siya maiwanan. Isipin na lang natin kung ano ang nangyari kung hindi umimik yung isang matanda!
BAGONG LANGIT AT BAGONG LUPA (Basahin ang Isaiah 65:17-25)
Ang pagmamahal ng Dios ay di nagmamaliw. Ang pagmamahal ng Diyos ay patuloy na bumubuhos sa ating lahat dahil mayroon pa ring mga taong nais ipagkaloob ang kanilang mga sarili, lumabas sa kanilang mga komportableng lugar, at makibahagi sa pakikibaka ng mga maralita.
Hinahamon tayong palakisin ang bigkis ng ating pakikiisa sa mga maliliit nating kapatid kay Kristo upang tahakin ang isang alternatibong paraan ng pag-unlad na kung saan ang lahat ay sama-samang magsasalo sa mga bunga ng di-nagmamaliw na pag-ibig ng Dios, ang kaganapan ng isang BAGONG LANGIT AT BAGONG LUPA DITO SA PAYATAS!
Ibinahagi ko sa blessing ng Day Care Center sa Masa Mission Church ng Puno United Methodist Church. Sabi ng isang nanay, sana sa malaking simbahan ito maibahagi para marinig ng mga tao doon.
Dear Hotaru - August 18, 2004
August 18, 2004
Dear Hotaru,
I have forgotten how to write. For some reason, my muses have left me, and it is not for a lack of stories that I have not written you for a long time… just a lack of putting things into words.
It has not been raining as I have expected. Although sometimes an inconvenience, I would still have welcomed the frequent rain, if not for the flooding it would cause on the places I am now working at. I have started work, by the way. Actually, since five months ago. I’m working with fisher folks in this boiling hot of a place called La Union. It is nice to be near the sea again as when I was in Masbate. But the sea here is not as near as I wish it would be. I stay most of the time in a house cum office near a terribly noisy highway… so it is not the waves of the sea that I hear most of the hours that I am awake or asleep. And you have always known my abhorrence of tricyles. Terrible invention, I really think it is. For all the noise and bad air it contributes. As to the income it gives thousands, no, probably millions of men here in the Philippines, I have to concede. But if I ever get to be President of this already desperate country of ours, I would definitely think of a way to get these drivers some other job. You nudge me to check my attitude, but I assure you, I am not whining. Just stating facts, he he. It really is boiling hot where I am, and the highway really is noisy, and tricyles really do contribute noise and bad air. I am also a lot darker than my usual color, and people have been telling me how emaciated I look. I have cut my hair as a symbolic gesture of letting go of the hang – ups I had from the last place I had been and as a welcoming, sort of, of this supposed new chapter of my life. It has been growing much faster than I thought.
What have we been learning lately? Blame it on the muses, much of my profundities have gone somewhere other than letters that should have been written to you. I did try to send some, in 160 characters, taking advantage of the technology now available to us. I do not think you received much. I think I kept much of them to myself, not that I sent myself my own SMS. There are such things as messages unsent. Messages kept. As there are messages sent, messages misunderstood, or messages ignored. Wonderful, really, how this world has come up with these things that mock distance, time, and energy. I guess, for some people, writing a letter by hand would be more for the drama than the need. Archaic as it may seem, the hand written letter is still one of the most expressive mediums of the heart. But I should get out of this dreamy like thing of talking about letters…
I have not been to places quite lately. The longest ride I’ve had recently was six hours and it was to a place familiar. But there is one place, you probably might not have heard of, and I just came from there. Moriah. It was where this old guy from the Bible called Abraham was about to bring his son so he could roast the boy. In obedience to God. I will not tell you the details of how or why I had to go to Moriah, but I will tell you how it feels. It hurts. It’s the most crushing, most agonizing feeling you could have. Like the death of a loved one. The death of an only son. Being always errant, I can never fully understand total obedience and submission, especially when you’re never really sure the things you hear inside your head is the voice of God or those little deceptive imaginary creatures you call your demons. But God does speak. And He said lay your heart’s desire down; bring the precious of your soul to the altar. Stop. Let go. Wait.
Stop. Let go. Wait. For you, these commands may seem trivial, but it is torture. And there is no other source of comfort but the knowledge that God desires the best. A perfect assurance and satisfaction in His love. What is then torture and agony will become steps of faith. A greater expectation of things to come. And release.
My humanness will require me frequent trips to Moriah. Maybe you’ve been there. You just might not have recognized the place. It’s a place of struggle and testing. It’s a place of doubt and questions. It’s a place of letting go. It’s a place of obedience to Divine mandates, or integrity to convictions, at a price. It’s a place of death, death to self. It’s a place of total surrender. These are things I have to learn, over and over again.
I pray you are well. God bless you.
Always,
Kulibangbang
Therefore, I urge you brothers in view of God's mercy to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing God - this is your spriritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is - His good, pleasing and perfect will. - Romans 12: 1-2
The Lord redeems the soul of His servants; and none of them that trust in him shall be desolate.
– Psalm 34:22
Dear Hotaru,
I have forgotten how to write. For some reason, my muses have left me, and it is not for a lack of stories that I have not written you for a long time… just a lack of putting things into words.
It has not been raining as I have expected. Although sometimes an inconvenience, I would still have welcomed the frequent rain, if not for the flooding it would cause on the places I am now working at. I have started work, by the way. Actually, since five months ago. I’m working with fisher folks in this boiling hot of a place called La Union. It is nice to be near the sea again as when I was in Masbate. But the sea here is not as near as I wish it would be. I stay most of the time in a house cum office near a terribly noisy highway… so it is not the waves of the sea that I hear most of the hours that I am awake or asleep. And you have always known my abhorrence of tricyles. Terrible invention, I really think it is. For all the noise and bad air it contributes. As to the income it gives thousands, no, probably millions of men here in the Philippines, I have to concede. But if I ever get to be President of this already desperate country of ours, I would definitely think of a way to get these drivers some other job. You nudge me to check my attitude, but I assure you, I am not whining. Just stating facts, he he. It really is boiling hot where I am, and the highway really is noisy, and tricyles really do contribute noise and bad air. I am also a lot darker than my usual color, and people have been telling me how emaciated I look. I have cut my hair as a symbolic gesture of letting go of the hang – ups I had from the last place I had been and as a welcoming, sort of, of this supposed new chapter of my life. It has been growing much faster than I thought.
What have we been learning lately? Blame it on the muses, much of my profundities have gone somewhere other than letters that should have been written to you. I did try to send some, in 160 characters, taking advantage of the technology now available to us. I do not think you received much. I think I kept much of them to myself, not that I sent myself my own SMS. There are such things as messages unsent. Messages kept. As there are messages sent, messages misunderstood, or messages ignored. Wonderful, really, how this world has come up with these things that mock distance, time, and energy. I guess, for some people, writing a letter by hand would be more for the drama than the need. Archaic as it may seem, the hand written letter is still one of the most expressive mediums of the heart. But I should get out of this dreamy like thing of talking about letters…
I have not been to places quite lately. The longest ride I’ve had recently was six hours and it was to a place familiar. But there is one place, you probably might not have heard of, and I just came from there. Moriah. It was where this old guy from the Bible called Abraham was about to bring his son so he could roast the boy. In obedience to God. I will not tell you the details of how or why I had to go to Moriah, but I will tell you how it feels. It hurts. It’s the most crushing, most agonizing feeling you could have. Like the death of a loved one. The death of an only son. Being always errant, I can never fully understand total obedience and submission, especially when you’re never really sure the things you hear inside your head is the voice of God or those little deceptive imaginary creatures you call your demons. But God does speak. And He said lay your heart’s desire down; bring the precious of your soul to the altar. Stop. Let go. Wait.
Stop. Let go. Wait. For you, these commands may seem trivial, but it is torture. And there is no other source of comfort but the knowledge that God desires the best. A perfect assurance and satisfaction in His love. What is then torture and agony will become steps of faith. A greater expectation of things to come. And release.
My humanness will require me frequent trips to Moriah. Maybe you’ve been there. You just might not have recognized the place. It’s a place of struggle and testing. It’s a place of doubt and questions. It’s a place of letting go. It’s a place of obedience to Divine mandates, or integrity to convictions, at a price. It’s a place of death, death to self. It’s a place of total surrender. These are things I have to learn, over and over again.
I pray you are well. God bless you.
Always,
Kulibangbang
Therefore, I urge you brothers in view of God's mercy to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing God - this is your spriritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is - His good, pleasing and perfect will. - Romans 12: 1-2
The Lord redeems the soul of His servants; and none of them that trust in him shall be desolate.
– Psalm 34:22
Thursday, August 12, 2004
Bleak
I had this written late February, I think. Posting it for the archive. :)
Bleak
By Eleonor T. Baldo
Birds are actually chirping outside the window. There are children playing on the pavement. It’s a bright sun shiny day. It’s a weekday and I am home. It is not a national holiday and there has not been a national strike organized for the day. There is not even a coup, or a mutiny, or a call for the people to gather and revolt. It is not even the elections. There is absolutely no reason why I should be home and not earning my day’s wage so I could have something to eat. No reason except that I am plainly out of work. Unemployed. Just like probably a considerable percentage of the Filipino population.
But having so many people in the same boat with me is not comforting. For one, it’s not a good boat and for another there are too many people aboard. We will not burn like that recent ferry accident. We will not even notice it that we have already sunk at the bottom of the ocean. We will not even notice the water seeping in. We will just see how many we are in the boat. We will not pat each other’s backs and say, “it’s okay.” We will look at each other’s eyes and say, “We have to get out of this boat, or get out of this country.” Heck, even those who are not in the boat want to get out of the country. Which, on hind sight, does not seem too bad. If four of ten people want to leave the country and that if they actually did, and of course they would bring along their families, the Philippines’ population will significantly be lowered. A significant portion of the workforce will be outside the country so there will be a demand for jobs inside the country. All the other people still with me in the boat would be out of it and we won’t have to leave the country! The Philippines is not over speeding towards entropy after all. But then, I am merely humoring myself. If I don’t get myself some source of income soon, I will soon be begging in the streets. But then again, there are some days the beggar makes more money than a regular workman. Maybe that is why they always go back, dressed for the day’s “work.” I am still humoring myself.
There should be some sense in this unemployed existence. I can make it a time of refreshing. Freedom from the stress of beating deadlines or producing outputs. Freedom from bosses who think you are magic workers able to complete tasks by the millions. Freedom from routines of office work. But then I used to work for a health organization that hopes to make a difference in the health of Asian populations. And I used to work for a research team that looks into the health practices of indigenous women. I liked what I used to work for. I don’t work for them anymore because I got lost somewhere and now I’m back and unemployed. Besides, the tasks were project based- at the mercies of funding organizations or clients.
They are still around – the people I used to work with. As May 2004 approaches, people are getting more desperate and hopeless over the future of the Philippines. Some people said I had the chance out. I was already out of the country. I should have stayed there. I should not have come back. I came back, though, not only because there is family and friends to come back to at home, but also because I refuse to lose hope in the country. There is still hope because there are still people who believe that people’s lives can get better. And they are working for it. At the end of May, I might have a president I might not be proud of, and a hoard of other politicians I abhor ruling this country. But there will still be people who pray, who believe that the Philippines will have a year of fullness and years of overflowing after. There is still hope because I still look forward to the birth of my nephew or niece. There is hope because I am still sending out my resumes and crossing my fingers. There is hope because I still find “help – wanted” advertisements in the newspapers. I refuse to shake my head over the seemingly bleak future of my country. I have to hold on to that because there are children still playing on the pavement outside where I live.
At the end of May, I might still be in the boat of the unemployed. But there is still June, and six other months after that. I can start planting my own vegetables if I run out of food. A can of soil is enough to grow a pechay plant. I’ll get myself many cans. I can exchange my vegetables for rice. I will survive.
The chickens are crowing. It’s three in the afternoon. See, even the chickens call out to the sun even when it’s already up. What more when it is down. The sun will set in a few hours. It will be night. There is morning to look forward to. Even in my unemployed existence.
Author’s Introduction:
I am 26 years old and a graduate of UP Baguio. I had originally planned to have something published in Youngblood so I could advertise myself. But I may be described with three words: Christian, Pahinungod, and Cordilleran. Thank you
Bleak
By Eleonor T. Baldo
Birds are actually chirping outside the window. There are children playing on the pavement. It’s a bright sun shiny day. It’s a weekday and I am home. It is not a national holiday and there has not been a national strike organized for the day. There is not even a coup, or a mutiny, or a call for the people to gather and revolt. It is not even the elections. There is absolutely no reason why I should be home and not earning my day’s wage so I could have something to eat. No reason except that I am plainly out of work. Unemployed. Just like probably a considerable percentage of the Filipino population.
But having so many people in the same boat with me is not comforting. For one, it’s not a good boat and for another there are too many people aboard. We will not burn like that recent ferry accident. We will not even notice it that we have already sunk at the bottom of the ocean. We will not even notice the water seeping in. We will just see how many we are in the boat. We will not pat each other’s backs and say, “it’s okay.” We will look at each other’s eyes and say, “We have to get out of this boat, or get out of this country.” Heck, even those who are not in the boat want to get out of the country. Which, on hind sight, does not seem too bad. If four of ten people want to leave the country and that if they actually did, and of course they would bring along their families, the Philippines’ population will significantly be lowered. A significant portion of the workforce will be outside the country so there will be a demand for jobs inside the country. All the other people still with me in the boat would be out of it and we won’t have to leave the country! The Philippines is not over speeding towards entropy after all. But then, I am merely humoring myself. If I don’t get myself some source of income soon, I will soon be begging in the streets. But then again, there are some days the beggar makes more money than a regular workman. Maybe that is why they always go back, dressed for the day’s “work.” I am still humoring myself.
There should be some sense in this unemployed existence. I can make it a time of refreshing. Freedom from the stress of beating deadlines or producing outputs. Freedom from bosses who think you are magic workers able to complete tasks by the millions. Freedom from routines of office work. But then I used to work for a health organization that hopes to make a difference in the health of Asian populations. And I used to work for a research team that looks into the health practices of indigenous women. I liked what I used to work for. I don’t work for them anymore because I got lost somewhere and now I’m back and unemployed. Besides, the tasks were project based- at the mercies of funding organizations or clients.
They are still around – the people I used to work with. As May 2004 approaches, people are getting more desperate and hopeless over the future of the Philippines. Some people said I had the chance out. I was already out of the country. I should have stayed there. I should not have come back. I came back, though, not only because there is family and friends to come back to at home, but also because I refuse to lose hope in the country. There is still hope because there are still people who believe that people’s lives can get better. And they are working for it. At the end of May, I might have a president I might not be proud of, and a hoard of other politicians I abhor ruling this country. But there will still be people who pray, who believe that the Philippines will have a year of fullness and years of overflowing after. There is still hope because I still look forward to the birth of my nephew or niece. There is hope because I am still sending out my resumes and crossing my fingers. There is hope because I still find “help – wanted” advertisements in the newspapers. I refuse to shake my head over the seemingly bleak future of my country. I have to hold on to that because there are children still playing on the pavement outside where I live.
At the end of May, I might still be in the boat of the unemployed. But there is still June, and six other months after that. I can start planting my own vegetables if I run out of food. A can of soil is enough to grow a pechay plant. I’ll get myself many cans. I can exchange my vegetables for rice. I will survive.
The chickens are crowing. It’s three in the afternoon. See, even the chickens call out to the sun even when it’s already up. What more when it is down. The sun will set in a few hours. It will be night. There is morning to look forward to. Even in my unemployed existence.
Author’s Introduction:
I am 26 years old and a graduate of UP Baguio. I had originally planned to have something published in Youngblood so I could advertise myself. But I may be described with three words: Christian, Pahinungod, and Cordilleran. Thank you
Third moon
O let me wish
Break from reason
Cut the string
That tugs my wings
So I can be passionate
Even for a while
Let me wish this forever
Let me wish
That your feet have stopped
Their searching
And my wings
Need not desire to fly
Let me wish
To be the fountain
At the end of your day
Untie the burdens
Kiss your cares away
The world is left
Outside the door
And you are home.
Let me wish.
June 3, 2003
Break from reason
Cut the string
That tugs my wings
So I can be passionate
Even for a while
Let me wish this forever
Let me wish
That your feet have stopped
Their searching
And my wings
Need not desire to fly
Let me wish
To be the fountain
At the end of your day
Untie the burdens
Kiss your cares away
The world is left
Outside the door
And you are home.
Let me wish.
June 3, 2003
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Attempts in Productivity Series
Ramblings.
Chapter 1.
It is July 26, 2004. A few minutes more the clock would turn and so would the calendar. I decide to play with words instead of get myself frustrated over Spider Solitaire. I should be pushing myself to do something that resembles work so I could at least say I had a productive day but for some reason, it wearies me tapping on the keyboard to put into eternal electronic form the notes a colleague made of a recent activity. I also could not bring myself to read, not even the supposedly light reading that Filipino romance novels are (since these books are around where I am right now), or the highly intellectual compilation of readings on organizations. Was the previous sentence even correct? Maybe I should save this and post it on my blog spot, which I was never able to “update” (I am too lazy now to look for the right term) since probably centuries ago. You see, sometimes, I have the illusion that I am a writer… and I thought I could eke out something every now and then that I could post on my “personal space” in the world wide web. I never got, no, made the time to learn, but I did try, and actually made simple personal websites, courtesy of Yahoo.. but I never really got far enough to actually have made a website. The blog was a more convenient option. Simple enough for my simple brain to take. Five minutes to twelve midnight. Maybe I should do other things.
Still at Chapter 1
Why I should put these “things” into chapters, I do not really know. I think I had intended to write something that resembles a story. It is July 29, 2004, by the way. I had slept late yesterday and had to wake up early for a trip to one of a co- worker’s field areas. We had a grand time walking through a bamboo bridge and milkfish feeds polluted water. Our intention was to get to the sea. We did get to the sea. The fishermen were there, too, “folding” their nets after around four hours of seafaring. It was quite impressive seeing them all lined up beside their bancas, doing the same thing. It was like watching workers in a factory assembly line. Impressive because it meant all those hundred something fishermen went and came back from the sea almost at the same time, talk about fishing together. It is not impressive however if one asks them how much bounty they had brought home. At least these fishermen had more than half a pail of fish to sell.
Chapter 1.
It is July 26, 2004. A few minutes more the clock would turn and so would the calendar. I decide to play with words instead of get myself frustrated over Spider Solitaire. I should be pushing myself to do something that resembles work so I could at least say I had a productive day but for some reason, it wearies me tapping on the keyboard to put into eternal electronic form the notes a colleague made of a recent activity. I also could not bring myself to read, not even the supposedly light reading that Filipino romance novels are (since these books are around where I am right now), or the highly intellectual compilation of readings on organizations. Was the previous sentence even correct? Maybe I should save this and post it on my blog spot, which I was never able to “update” (I am too lazy now to look for the right term) since probably centuries ago. You see, sometimes, I have the illusion that I am a writer… and I thought I could eke out something every now and then that I could post on my “personal space” in the world wide web. I never got, no, made the time to learn, but I did try, and actually made simple personal websites, courtesy of Yahoo.. but I never really got far enough to actually have made a website. The blog was a more convenient option. Simple enough for my simple brain to take. Five minutes to twelve midnight. Maybe I should do other things.
Still at Chapter 1
Why I should put these “things” into chapters, I do not really know. I think I had intended to write something that resembles a story. It is July 29, 2004, by the way. I had slept late yesterday and had to wake up early for a trip to one of a co- worker’s field areas. We had a grand time walking through a bamboo bridge and milkfish feeds polluted water. Our intention was to get to the sea. We did get to the sea. The fishermen were there, too, “folding” their nets after around four hours of seafaring. It was quite impressive seeing them all lined up beside their bancas, doing the same thing. It was like watching workers in a factory assembly line. Impressive because it meant all those hundred something fishermen went and came back from the sea almost at the same time, talk about fishing together. It is not impressive however if one asks them how much bounty they had brought home. At least these fishermen had more than half a pail of fish to sell.
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
Another serving of Pambie Herrera's Poems
CALL OF THE QUILL
Words flooded me in a navigable ocean
Like a lost ship sailing on a labyrinth
Scorned by typhoon's face
They came so rapidly
During my most impenetrable
Solace with anonymity
They came in torrents
Which my mind was unable to calculate
Much more decipher
All I can do was to entertain them
Like a hospitable host
And forgot they came even before they left
But they stayed
Lavishing my thoughts with its punitive torture
That has yet to be indemnified
By the slightest weeping of the ink
I know, they were meant to be
Hidden in oblivion
For if not
They may cause people to think
Of an extreme insanity
That plagued my senses
But I tell you:
They kept coming
Willing to bare their soul
And as I drench their nakedness
The more they became incessant
Of prodding me to take heed of the call
WHITE AUTUMN
There are no rainbows
During this time of pale autumn
I walk in sands of white
Beneath a shrouded cloud of black rain
Confetti leaves of monochrome
Smoldered by a once fiery memory
Forever shared in forgetfulness
By those who knew my last summer
The tear, a prism it should be
To change this lifeless scene
To a flush of kaleidoscope
But it failed to escape my eyes
It is here
But it can never be shed
I wait for the maple leaves to burst red
But it remained a shower of dust
Softening my path of pebbles
There are no rainbows
Just a memory of how this autumn
Confronts me
Without its colors
THE SHELL
Wrapped in a mellifluous embrace
You sing
The deepest song of the sea
Such beauty you capture
In waves imprisoned within your bounds
That an inquiring ear alone can hear
Even the palms of my hands
Cannot hold the immensity
Of your galloping song
For it escapes me
Like wind of past
Yet never loses its warmth
Upon my ear
And the sands are nowhere
But traces of a weathered affliction
Sang by a drowned soul
Seeking for home
You hold your song upon your breast
Only to be heard by those
Who keeps you close
TAGHOY NG DAGAT
Umiyak ka
Basagin ang mga luha
Tulad ng umaalon kong katawang
Patuloy na gingahasa ng bagyo
Walang katapusang alipin ng araw
Pahaw na ang mata sa pag-iyak
Manhid na sa sakit
Na dulot ng nalunod na pag-asa
Ni hindi na maisipang dumaloy
Ng abang luha
Kahit unos pilit na niyayakap
Sapagkat halik niya
Ang aking kalayaan
Nagbibigay halakhak
Sa mga gabing ligaw
Ikaw, kailan huling nakatikim
Ng alat iyong mga mata?
Dinggin mo ang aking awit
At didiligin ko ng alat iyong mga luha
INSOMNIA 6
Pulsating awareness
Of a hopeful darkness
Leading my wakefulness
To a fervent kneeling
I ask slumber to kill my eyes
But no!
The more I become incessant
To the night's call
Of its yearning
And in this deep recession
Of ebony's beguiling passion
I find my knees
In joyful intercession
DUSK AND SOLITUDE
Silent my heart is
Calm as it kisses
The crimson dusk
Birthing anew from
The saffron rays
Gently it glides
Unto the recesses
Of the sheltered moment
That only the abyss
Of time holds
A treasure trove
Yet to be uncovered
It remain placid
And undisturbed
Even as the dusk
Prods its way
To its disclosure
Its threat of aging
As it welcomes
The sweetness
Of darkness' song
And the lark
Raptures a burning note
That strikes the gentleness
Of my soul
Exploding into a mildness
Bliss
That the union
Of night and twilight
Alone can hear
Quiet it has to be
For it not to lose its song
A worth once told
This treasure that
I have kept for so long
The night creeps
And once more I will hide
This love
On my own
Words flooded me in a navigable ocean
Like a lost ship sailing on a labyrinth
Scorned by typhoon's face
They came so rapidly
During my most impenetrable
Solace with anonymity
They came in torrents
Which my mind was unable to calculate
Much more decipher
All I can do was to entertain them
Like a hospitable host
And forgot they came even before they left
But they stayed
Lavishing my thoughts with its punitive torture
That has yet to be indemnified
By the slightest weeping of the ink
I know, they were meant to be
Hidden in oblivion
For if not
They may cause people to think
Of an extreme insanity
That plagued my senses
But I tell you:
They kept coming
Willing to bare their soul
And as I drench their nakedness
The more they became incessant
Of prodding me to take heed of the call
WHITE AUTUMN
There are no rainbows
During this time of pale autumn
I walk in sands of white
Beneath a shrouded cloud of black rain
Confetti leaves of monochrome
Smoldered by a once fiery memory
Forever shared in forgetfulness
By those who knew my last summer
The tear, a prism it should be
To change this lifeless scene
To a flush of kaleidoscope
But it failed to escape my eyes
It is here
But it can never be shed
I wait for the maple leaves to burst red
But it remained a shower of dust
Softening my path of pebbles
There are no rainbows
Just a memory of how this autumn
Confronts me
Without its colors
THE SHELL
Wrapped in a mellifluous embrace
You sing
The deepest song of the sea
Such beauty you capture
In waves imprisoned within your bounds
That an inquiring ear alone can hear
Even the palms of my hands
Cannot hold the immensity
Of your galloping song
For it escapes me
Like wind of past
Yet never loses its warmth
Upon my ear
And the sands are nowhere
But traces of a weathered affliction
Sang by a drowned soul
Seeking for home
You hold your song upon your breast
Only to be heard by those
Who keeps you close
TAGHOY NG DAGAT
Umiyak ka
Basagin ang mga luha
Tulad ng umaalon kong katawang
Patuloy na gingahasa ng bagyo
Walang katapusang alipin ng araw
Pahaw na ang mata sa pag-iyak
Manhid na sa sakit
Na dulot ng nalunod na pag-asa
Ni hindi na maisipang dumaloy
Ng abang luha
Kahit unos pilit na niyayakap
Sapagkat halik niya
Ang aking kalayaan
Nagbibigay halakhak
Sa mga gabing ligaw
Ikaw, kailan huling nakatikim
Ng alat iyong mga mata?
Dinggin mo ang aking awit
At didiligin ko ng alat iyong mga luha
INSOMNIA 6
Pulsating awareness
Of a hopeful darkness
Leading my wakefulness
To a fervent kneeling
I ask slumber to kill my eyes
But no!
The more I become incessant
To the night's call
Of its yearning
And in this deep recession
Of ebony's beguiling passion
I find my knees
In joyful intercession
DUSK AND SOLITUDE
Silent my heart is
Calm as it kisses
The crimson dusk
Birthing anew from
The saffron rays
Gently it glides
Unto the recesses
Of the sheltered moment
That only the abyss
Of time holds
A treasure trove
Yet to be uncovered
It remain placid
And undisturbed
Even as the dusk
Prods its way
To its disclosure
Its threat of aging
As it welcomes
The sweetness
Of darkness' song
And the lark
Raptures a burning note
That strikes the gentleness
Of my soul
Exploding into a mildness
Bliss
That the union
Of night and twilight
Alone can hear
Quiet it has to be
For it not to lose its song
A worth once told
This treasure that
I have kept for so long
The night creeps
And once more I will hide
This love
On my own
Sunday, December 14, 2003
In a world of images
this story was taken from www.inq7.net
URL: http://www.inq7.net/opi/2003/dec/14/text/opi_rsdavid-1-p.htm
In a world of images
Posted:10:52 PM (Manila Time) | Dec. 13, 2003
By Randy David
IT must have been one of the many spokespersons of the President. Someone from Malacañang recently made a point of saying that Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo is President in "the real world." The remark was clearly meant to draw a sharp contrast between GMA, a "real" President, and FPJ, an aspirant from the imaginary world of the movies. Any serious student of philosophy however might tell us that the statement, witty as it may be, makes sense only if there is a way of knowing the "real world" except through our images of it. There is none.
Modern science may often seem as if it offers us a more accurate picture of the world "as it really is." But this picture is just one more image taken from another angle, using some instruments of measurement. In the latest Social Weather Stations survey, for instance, the President received a minus 3 satisfaction rating. That rating depicts her as a non-performing President. Harsh as it is, this is the image that the Filipino public has of her at this time, as seen through the lenses of a public opinion poll.
We get to know reality only through appearances, whether we use our everyday commonsense or the sophisticated methods of science. There is no way, as Nietzsche puts it, of "reaching beyond the image or behind it." We may oppose what purports to be a more precise image to one derived from commonsense by, for example, drawing a more comprehensive picture of how things came to be. But even this shows only another image, not reality "as it really is."
All this is to say that we are well advised not to denigrate images of character derived from the movies or television. They are as "real" as the projections that public officials make of their achievements. Perhaps the only difference, if any, is that in the case of the movies, viewers are prompted to suspend belief, whereas in politics there is no such warning. When politicians present their qualifications and achievements on television, they expect us to suspend disbelief.
The consciousness of the poor is as true as their condition. There is nothing false about it. They see the world necessarily from the prism of their own beliefs and values. The habits of thought that constitute the core of their consciousness are products of their specific formation as a human community. Their consciousness may be limited from the standpoint of certain goals, but it is not inferior.
There was a time when I, like many from the Left, uncritically accepted terms like "false consciousness" and "objective conditions." When people subjected to exploitation and oppression failed to respond to their situation in a revolutionary way, we said it was because they suffered from "false consciousness." We assumed that what they needed was a correct political education to enable them to see the "objective conditions" of their exploitation and oppression. The patronizing arrogance of this language became evident to me when I encountered the writings of Paulo Freire, the Brazilian educator. In his work among the poor of Latin America and Africa, Freire insisted that the people must be allowed to "create their own words."
But the other side of this process is equally important. Those of us who claim to see better and are inclined to teach must also learn the ability to look inward and review our own perspectives. For these may often be colored by unexamined fears and prejudices that prevent us from assigning any value to others' opinions even before we have understood where they are coming from.
We typically assume, for example, that the voting behavior of the poor is not rational when they choose candidates who do not possess the experience and qualifications that we think are essential to the position they seek. We forget that rationality is relative. People have different concepts of the ideal leader. These are not unchanging notions; they depend very much on people's perceptions of the situation in which they find themselves at any given moment.
In late 1985, after Marcos suddenly announced the holding of a snap election in February the following year, the public searched around for a presidential candidate who could personify the popular movement that opposed Marcos. Winning was secondary; everyone expected Marcos to cheat. Experience and readiness to discharge the duties of the presidency were also secondary. The important thing was to offer the nation the complete antithesis of Marcos. That was Cory Aquino, a woman whose husband had been murdered by the regime, a housewife with no previous experience in politics who could tell Marcos-the consummate politician-that she also did not have any experience in corruption.
Yet we were not wanting in leaders who could lead the country out of the nightmare of martial law. The venerable Lorenzo Ta¤ada, who led countless demonstrations against the dictatorship, was still alive. So was the brilliant Jose W. Diokno. Undeterred by his incarceration in Marcos jails, he articulated the clearest vision of a nation for our children. So was Jovito R. Salonga, the scholar-statesman who led the Senate that closed the American bases in the Philippines and, to this day, continues to fight for a just society. They all stepped aside to make way for Cory Aquino.
Analysts may say that the public's choice of a leader may not always be the right one for the nation. That is a judgment that still proceeds from the specific perspective of a given set of goals and values. In a world of images, we can only look at results from different perspectives. We have no recourse to a neutral or eternal perspective lying outside human affairs.
* * *
Comments to randolf@pacific.net.ph
©2003 www.inq7.net all rights reserved
URL: http://www.inq7.net/opi/2003/dec/14/text/opi_rsdavid-1-p.htm
In a world of images
Posted:10:52 PM (Manila Time) | Dec. 13, 2003
By Randy David
IT must have been one of the many spokespersons of the President. Someone from Malacañang recently made a point of saying that Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo is President in "the real world." The remark was clearly meant to draw a sharp contrast between GMA, a "real" President, and FPJ, an aspirant from the imaginary world of the movies. Any serious student of philosophy however might tell us that the statement, witty as it may be, makes sense only if there is a way of knowing the "real world" except through our images of it. There is none.
Modern science may often seem as if it offers us a more accurate picture of the world "as it really is." But this picture is just one more image taken from another angle, using some instruments of measurement. In the latest Social Weather Stations survey, for instance, the President received a minus 3 satisfaction rating. That rating depicts her as a non-performing President. Harsh as it is, this is the image that the Filipino public has of her at this time, as seen through the lenses of a public opinion poll.
We get to know reality only through appearances, whether we use our everyday commonsense or the sophisticated methods of science. There is no way, as Nietzsche puts it, of "reaching beyond the image or behind it." We may oppose what purports to be a more precise image to one derived from commonsense by, for example, drawing a more comprehensive picture of how things came to be. But even this shows only another image, not reality "as it really is."
All this is to say that we are well advised not to denigrate images of character derived from the movies or television. They are as "real" as the projections that public officials make of their achievements. Perhaps the only difference, if any, is that in the case of the movies, viewers are prompted to suspend belief, whereas in politics there is no such warning. When politicians present their qualifications and achievements on television, they expect us to suspend disbelief.
The consciousness of the poor is as true as their condition. There is nothing false about it. They see the world necessarily from the prism of their own beliefs and values. The habits of thought that constitute the core of their consciousness are products of their specific formation as a human community. Their consciousness may be limited from the standpoint of certain goals, but it is not inferior.
There was a time when I, like many from the Left, uncritically accepted terms like "false consciousness" and "objective conditions." When people subjected to exploitation and oppression failed to respond to their situation in a revolutionary way, we said it was because they suffered from "false consciousness." We assumed that what they needed was a correct political education to enable them to see the "objective conditions" of their exploitation and oppression. The patronizing arrogance of this language became evident to me when I encountered the writings of Paulo Freire, the Brazilian educator. In his work among the poor of Latin America and Africa, Freire insisted that the people must be allowed to "create their own words."
But the other side of this process is equally important. Those of us who claim to see better and are inclined to teach must also learn the ability to look inward and review our own perspectives. For these may often be colored by unexamined fears and prejudices that prevent us from assigning any value to others' opinions even before we have understood where they are coming from.
We typically assume, for example, that the voting behavior of the poor is not rational when they choose candidates who do not possess the experience and qualifications that we think are essential to the position they seek. We forget that rationality is relative. People have different concepts of the ideal leader. These are not unchanging notions; they depend very much on people's perceptions of the situation in which they find themselves at any given moment.
In late 1985, after Marcos suddenly announced the holding of a snap election in February the following year, the public searched around for a presidential candidate who could personify the popular movement that opposed Marcos. Winning was secondary; everyone expected Marcos to cheat. Experience and readiness to discharge the duties of the presidency were also secondary. The important thing was to offer the nation the complete antithesis of Marcos. That was Cory Aquino, a woman whose husband had been murdered by the regime, a housewife with no previous experience in politics who could tell Marcos-the consummate politician-that she also did not have any experience in corruption.
Yet we were not wanting in leaders who could lead the country out of the nightmare of martial law. The venerable Lorenzo Ta¤ada, who led countless demonstrations against the dictatorship, was still alive. So was the brilliant Jose W. Diokno. Undeterred by his incarceration in Marcos jails, he articulated the clearest vision of a nation for our children. So was Jovito R. Salonga, the scholar-statesman who led the Senate that closed the American bases in the Philippines and, to this day, continues to fight for a just society. They all stepped aside to make way for Cory Aquino.
Analysts may say that the public's choice of a leader may not always be the right one for the nation. That is a judgment that still proceeds from the specific perspective of a given set of goals and values. In a world of images, we can only look at results from different perspectives. We have no recourse to a neutral or eternal perspective lying outside human affairs.
* * *
Comments to randolf@pacific.net.ph
©2003 www.inq7.net all rights reserved
Blessings
this story was taken from www.inq7.net
URL: http://www.inq7.net/opi/2003/dec/12/text/opi_csdequiros-1-p.htm
Blessings
Posted:8:19 PM (Manila Time) | Dec. 11, 2003
By Conrado de Quiros
LAST Tuesday, I saw a sight where I live. It was just past 2 p.m. I was on my way to Makati to meet with somebody and was dreading the thought of driving all the way there. I normally just take the Metro Rail Transit (MRT) going to Makati, but decided to bring the car this time since I had to go to the Inquirer afterward (it was our anniversary). My dread proved well founded. Traffic was horrible, despite the hour, the odd day, and the fact that no accident had taken place along Edsa.
But before I got out of our compound, I saw an old man lugging a big ice cream chest on his back. He was an itinerant ice cream vendor, one of those who ply their trade our way. The others push along carts with carnival tunes tinkling after them, and only in the mornings and late afternoons when they have better chances of finding customers. And they have "runners," kids who knock on doors, or ring the doorbell like there was an emergency, and take orders from the upper floors. I don't know what kind of commission they make, but I've always been a sucker for their spirit of enterprise.
The old man was different. He was lugging the thing on his back, and his back was bent from the exertion. He was frail and ragged, his small thin body looking like a question mark when viewed from the side. He had the most mournful expression I had seen on a face. He was looking down at the pavement with vacant eyes, walking on a cloudy and tepid afternoon from inertia, one foot following another from the sheer remembrance of the motion. He wasn't shouting his ware, his mouth was agape and his breathing was labored. He probably knew there was little chance of finding anyone to buy ice cream at that hour, the compound looked deserted except for the workmen who were busy drilling into the cement. But still he walked, hoping a lightning bolt would issue from clear skies.
His face no longer wore the pained expression of someone who demanded to know from heaven why life was like this. It wore the blank expression of someone who took what he was doing at that very hour to be part of the order of the universe, as natural as the sighing of the wind and the silence of the stones. It wore the staggering weight of someone who lived in the present and for the present, someone who could see neither behind nor ahead, where he had come from and where he was going, where past and future lay. His life seemed to be governed by absolute need, and he met it with absolute instinct.
When I saw him, I remembered the old woman who to this day delivers our paper. She has been doing so for more than five years now. I am her favorite customer because when I was still writing editorials for this paper, I used to buy all the broadsheets from her, courtesy of this paper. Now I buy only one, guess what. But I have remained her favorite customer because I pay cash on the nail--something apparently her other customers in our compound do not do. They rack up a debt that keeps growing, without ever getting paid. That is why I subscribe to Nandy Pacheco's favorite cause and do not own a gun even at home: If I did, I would go out and shoot them.
I am this old woman's favorite customer for another reason. She does not only collect cash from me, she keeps mortgaging her future with me. I think I've paid her for the next several months (I don't know up to which month; I haven't counted). She needs the advance because of one thing and another, mostly the needs of her grandchildren. I have yet to hear her complain about her lot in life. Nothing we give her--sweater, umbrella, etc.--stays long with her. They are immediately passed on to kin.
I asked Manang (as we call her) once how old she was and was astounded to learn she was only in her late 60s. She looks far, far older. Her face is a map of hills and furrows, and well etched they are too. She has gotten bowlegged from the daily grind, and on mornings you can see her on the compound or out in the streets hobbling, or bobbing from side to side like an inverted pendulum. By rights she should be living the quiet life of someone who has paid her dues, with the steepest interest. By necessity, she has to climb stairs on arthritic legs, an affliction I have the most sympathy, or empathy, for. Yet wondrously, miraculously, she always manages a smile, sometimes a laugh.
After seeing the old man on our compound that warm afternoon and remembering Manang on her morning rounds, I fell into traffic in Edsa. The snarling, growling kind that sounds like dogs snapping at each other after being thrown scraps of meat. That is no exaggeration when you look at the way we drive, which is a dedicated subversion not just of basic courtesy but of rational thought. I have always wondered, having done my work from my home for more than a decade now, if I can ever work in an office again. But that is another story.
But somehow, that afternoon everything seemed like a walk in the park. Trying to extricate myself from the tangle of glass and metal that seemed to have fused like soldered iron on that spot of earth seemed like the easiest thing in the world, especially with the aid of newly restored air-conditioning. Tapping the wheel with fingers while furiously texting people to say I would be late, and wondering where on earth the cops were, they must be having beer in a neighborhood turo-turo (roadside eatery) to go with the free lunch, seemed almost like a benign pass. Enduring the slings and arrows of outrageous helplessness, hearing the minutes and seconds and microseconds ticking by while I stared at the world with vacant eyes, seemed like listening to Bach's suites for single cello and gazing at Van Gogh's sunflowers.
Count your blessings instead of sheep, the song says. Better still this Christmas, share them.
©2003 www.inq7.net all rights reserved
URL: http://www.inq7.net/opi/2003/dec/12/text/opi_csdequiros-1-p.htm
Blessings
Posted:8:19 PM (Manila Time) | Dec. 11, 2003
By Conrado de Quiros
LAST Tuesday, I saw a sight where I live. It was just past 2 p.m. I was on my way to Makati to meet with somebody and was dreading the thought of driving all the way there. I normally just take the Metro Rail Transit (MRT) going to Makati, but decided to bring the car this time since I had to go to the Inquirer afterward (it was our anniversary). My dread proved well founded. Traffic was horrible, despite the hour, the odd day, and the fact that no accident had taken place along Edsa.
But before I got out of our compound, I saw an old man lugging a big ice cream chest on his back. He was an itinerant ice cream vendor, one of those who ply their trade our way. The others push along carts with carnival tunes tinkling after them, and only in the mornings and late afternoons when they have better chances of finding customers. And they have "runners," kids who knock on doors, or ring the doorbell like there was an emergency, and take orders from the upper floors. I don't know what kind of commission they make, but I've always been a sucker for their spirit of enterprise.
The old man was different. He was lugging the thing on his back, and his back was bent from the exertion. He was frail and ragged, his small thin body looking like a question mark when viewed from the side. He had the most mournful expression I had seen on a face. He was looking down at the pavement with vacant eyes, walking on a cloudy and tepid afternoon from inertia, one foot following another from the sheer remembrance of the motion. He wasn't shouting his ware, his mouth was agape and his breathing was labored. He probably knew there was little chance of finding anyone to buy ice cream at that hour, the compound looked deserted except for the workmen who were busy drilling into the cement. But still he walked, hoping a lightning bolt would issue from clear skies.
His face no longer wore the pained expression of someone who demanded to know from heaven why life was like this. It wore the blank expression of someone who took what he was doing at that very hour to be part of the order of the universe, as natural as the sighing of the wind and the silence of the stones. It wore the staggering weight of someone who lived in the present and for the present, someone who could see neither behind nor ahead, where he had come from and where he was going, where past and future lay. His life seemed to be governed by absolute need, and he met it with absolute instinct.
When I saw him, I remembered the old woman who to this day delivers our paper. She has been doing so for more than five years now. I am her favorite customer because when I was still writing editorials for this paper, I used to buy all the broadsheets from her, courtesy of this paper. Now I buy only one, guess what. But I have remained her favorite customer because I pay cash on the nail--something apparently her other customers in our compound do not do. They rack up a debt that keeps growing, without ever getting paid. That is why I subscribe to Nandy Pacheco's favorite cause and do not own a gun even at home: If I did, I would go out and shoot them.
I am this old woman's favorite customer for another reason. She does not only collect cash from me, she keeps mortgaging her future with me. I think I've paid her for the next several months (I don't know up to which month; I haven't counted). She needs the advance because of one thing and another, mostly the needs of her grandchildren. I have yet to hear her complain about her lot in life. Nothing we give her--sweater, umbrella, etc.--stays long with her. They are immediately passed on to kin.
I asked Manang (as we call her) once how old she was and was astounded to learn she was only in her late 60s. She looks far, far older. Her face is a map of hills and furrows, and well etched they are too. She has gotten bowlegged from the daily grind, and on mornings you can see her on the compound or out in the streets hobbling, or bobbing from side to side like an inverted pendulum. By rights she should be living the quiet life of someone who has paid her dues, with the steepest interest. By necessity, she has to climb stairs on arthritic legs, an affliction I have the most sympathy, or empathy, for. Yet wondrously, miraculously, she always manages a smile, sometimes a laugh.
After seeing the old man on our compound that warm afternoon and remembering Manang on her morning rounds, I fell into traffic in Edsa. The snarling, growling kind that sounds like dogs snapping at each other after being thrown scraps of meat. That is no exaggeration when you look at the way we drive, which is a dedicated subversion not just of basic courtesy but of rational thought. I have always wondered, having done my work from my home for more than a decade now, if I can ever work in an office again. But that is another story.
But somehow, that afternoon everything seemed like a walk in the park. Trying to extricate myself from the tangle of glass and metal that seemed to have fused like soldered iron on that spot of earth seemed like the easiest thing in the world, especially with the aid of newly restored air-conditioning. Tapping the wheel with fingers while furiously texting people to say I would be late, and wondering where on earth the cops were, they must be having beer in a neighborhood turo-turo (roadside eatery) to go with the free lunch, seemed almost like a benign pass. Enduring the slings and arrows of outrageous helplessness, hearing the minutes and seconds and microseconds ticking by while I stared at the world with vacant eyes, seemed like listening to Bach's suites for single cello and gazing at Van Gogh's sunflowers.
Count your blessings instead of sheep, the song says. Better still this Christmas, share them.
©2003 www.inq7.net all rights reserved
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
Starry night
Thousands
of things
not me
I cannot count
Filling
this void
called my life
until I drown
then I become
Lost
My dreamkeeper's eyes
Surround me
I am
after all
A million things
more glorious.
I have
merely forgotten.
of things
not me
I cannot count
Filling
this void
called my life
until I drown
then I become
Lost
My dreamkeeper's eyes
Surround me
I am
after all
A million things
more glorious.
I have
merely forgotten.
Monday, September 01, 2003
Thursday, August 14, 2003
STRUGGLE
spliced in this crevice
of muffled sanity and impulsive insanity
this repose
a cursed escape
from a spiteful bedlam
of an eccentric monotone
the line splits not knowing where to go
should it be total abnegation
of what was past?
or
an imprisoned suffocation
of a redolent present?
the air is just above the heavy water
i either drown
or
swim
can i not struggle with both?
be sane
and
insane?
be ephemeral
and
eternal?
silent
yet
heard?
the line is thin
BUT THE CHOICE IS CLEAR:
darkness and light
can never be congruent
nor can they even be seen
on the same plane
-pambie herrera
8/3/2003
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
UGLY HANDS
I have
Ugly hands
Not worn
Not weathered
Just plain
Ugly.
Short
Almost stubby
Fingers.
Nails
Shaped strangely
Mine
Like my mother's.
I have
My mother's hands
Worn
Weathered
Now.
Beautiful.
Ugly hands
Not worn
Not weathered
Just plain
Ugly.
Short
Almost stubby
Fingers.
Nails
Shaped strangely
Mine
Like my mother's.
I have
My mother's hands
Worn
Weathered
Now.
Beautiful.
Friday, July 18, 2003
Pambie Herrera's Incence Series
INCENSE
unlit
yet your incense
burns
upon my nose
hungry
for the taste
of pine
being held
by a longing
to swallow
its cone
to feed the sight
that this eyes
were unable to hold
-pambie, 7/18/03
INCENSE 2
incense lit
smokes tendril
into mid-air nest
of woven pine needles
of translucent dreams
in a hazy afternoon
and its scent wafts
past me
that i follow its traces
as it goes back
from where it came
past highways
that knew roses trails
and mountains
that stood for ages
beyond the silhouettes
disclosed not by early fogs
only upon a memory
of wrapped smokes
of the incense burning
and the touch
of its pine scent
sheeting my nose
can lead me back
to your doorstep
and i lit the next
for me to enter
your door
-pambie, 7/18/03
INCENSE 3
what shatters me is:
nothing in this scent
of pine needles
can intrude your sanctuary
for how can smoke sulk back
to a less dense air
that covers your space?
how can this fragrance
unwrap the quietness of you
that scorches distance?
and how can another
incense burn
without losing its scent?
no amount of this burning
can reach you,
no aroma can
for its familiarity
numbed you
the ashes fall in soft laces
giving its last sweet smell
that is my soul
but you never opened your door
you never let me in
your opaque seclusion
-pambie, 7/18/03
INCENSE 4
the pack, empty
incense gone
just the aftermath
of its heavy weeping:
ashes covers
my calloused hands
and smokes
curtaining a translucent
memory
shelved.
soon to fade
with the last trembling scent
rising to my nostrils
that wants to deny
its honeyed suffocation
my eyes closed
to savor the taste
of the last tears
of this pungent burning
as the air blew its last
the smokes clear
yet the fragrance
never left
this i know: it never will
for to me:
i smell the fresh memory
of the pine cones
so close that
the memory became real
the air thicks
with the sweetness
of rose petals
reckoning me
to open my eyes
and when i did,
i realized
that you brought back
the pine scent
right on my doorstep
-pambie 7/18/03
unlit
yet your incense
burns
upon my nose
hungry
for the taste
of pine
being held
by a longing
to swallow
its cone
to feed the sight
that this eyes
were unable to hold
-pambie, 7/18/03
INCENSE 2
incense lit
smokes tendril
into mid-air nest
of woven pine needles
of translucent dreams
in a hazy afternoon
and its scent wafts
past me
that i follow its traces
as it goes back
from where it came
past highways
that knew roses trails
and mountains
that stood for ages
beyond the silhouettes
disclosed not by early fogs
only upon a memory
of wrapped smokes
of the incense burning
and the touch
of its pine scent
sheeting my nose
can lead me back
to your doorstep
and i lit the next
for me to enter
your door
-pambie, 7/18/03
INCENSE 3
what shatters me is:
nothing in this scent
of pine needles
can intrude your sanctuary
for how can smoke sulk back
to a less dense air
that covers your space?
how can this fragrance
unwrap the quietness of you
that scorches distance?
and how can another
incense burn
without losing its scent?
no amount of this burning
can reach you,
no aroma can
for its familiarity
numbed you
the ashes fall in soft laces
giving its last sweet smell
that is my soul
but you never opened your door
you never let me in
your opaque seclusion
-pambie, 7/18/03
INCENSE 4
the pack, empty
incense gone
just the aftermath
of its heavy weeping:
ashes covers
my calloused hands
and smokes
curtaining a translucent
memory
shelved.
soon to fade
with the last trembling scent
rising to my nostrils
that wants to deny
its honeyed suffocation
my eyes closed
to savor the taste
of the last tears
of this pungent burning
as the air blew its last
the smokes clear
yet the fragrance
never left
this i know: it never will
for to me:
i smell the fresh memory
of the pine cones
so close that
the memory became real
the air thicks
with the sweetness
of rose petals
reckoning me
to open my eyes
and when i did,
i realized
that you brought back
the pine scent
right on my doorstep
-pambie 7/18/03
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
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