ashes to dust

the big hand just let me up.
it's been a long 24 hours.

i got home to Sta. Rita yesterday around 5:30pm.
pipsy got a flat tire on blumentritt.
it was hot.
and, summer is upon us.

i made it to the embassy, somehow, between 3pm and 4pm, the magic hour that it is open for passport pick-up.
i didn't have proof of payment and had to talk my way in, through 3 guards and their detailed security checkpoints. i put on my best american accent for the occasion.
and then, at the window, they didn't even actually ask for proof of payment.
how do you like them apples?
anyway, i’m very glad i still have “the gift.”
the new passport is quite pretty.
and, i am quite relieved that i have it in time to travel on sunday.

Sherwin and Mak-Mak's cousin, Tic-Tak, helped me bring in my stuff.
as expected, three weeks worth of dust was on everything.
the water in the pipes was orange from the rust.
and the toilet needed to be scrubbed.
spiders took up residence, anywhere they wanted.
and, ants forgot their agreements,
the dishes i left in the sink are still there.

i realize that i have established a routine of leaving and returning to my little place.
leaving always entails making sure
i shut all the windows,
refill all the dehumidifiers,
take out the trash,
clean out the fridge,
empty the bucket of water in my bathroom and turn it upside down,
pay my rent, etc.
since october 2008, i spend, on average, one week of every month, home in sta. rita.
the rest of the time, i've been in negros, or the states, or iloilo, or manila, or some crazy combination of the four.

my routine for coming back entails some great efforts in general cleaning and re-establishing of order.
opening of all the windows.
sweeping and mopping of floors.
windowsill washing.
burning incense.
bathroom cleaning.
re-washing all the dishes.
going to the palengke and buying fresh food.
and doing a reluctant cha-cha with the laundry, weather (and music) permitting.
the s-lo-o-w process of unpacking my things.
passing out all the pasalubong to my neighbors.
taking note of all the geckos that greet me upon my return.

last night, when i got home, all routine was kicked to the proverbial curb.
as soon as Sherwin and Tik-Tak left, i was very restless.
i cleared the water in the pipes.
quickly scrubbed the toilet.
and fetched drinking water from the pump.

and then it came to me.
go take a walk.
where, po?
go the church and step lively.
huh?
step lively.
sige po.
as i was stepping lively, it came to me that i would find Rowell there.

i went to the south entrance, as i usually do.
i said my silent greetings to the statue of Santa Rita, holding the skull, as i passed.
the door was locked, and the courtyard was empty, except for two little boys pinching some little green mangoes from the big tree. they scurried away when they saw me.

Rowell wasn't there.
i shrugged, and thought, "well, it was nice, anyway, to get out," and i was about to go back home.

then i heard a woman's voice speaking kampampangan, into a microphone.
then music began to play.
and children were laughing.
there was some kind of event happening.
i tried to go around the side, trying to avoid going through the convent.
my way was blocked.
i could go all the way around the gate, or i could just cut through the convent.

i cut through the convent and was surprised to see Among Gene standing there, watching the festivities.
i always get a little shy when i am around our parish priest.
he reminds me of my father or my Teacher, especially when i feel like he sees more of me than i am choosing to show.

we greeted each other.
and he asked me, "how was the training?"
i said it went well.
he asked me when i got back.
i told him, "just now."
before i asked, he told me, "Rowell is there," raising his eyebrows toward the stage.
i thanked him and went to find my friend, somewhat relieved to slip past him.

there was a sizeable gathering of mostly children in the big plaza, in the front of the church.
some were dressed up like angels.
some were dressed up like hoboes.
some were dressed up like bingo cards.
some like prisoners.

i was puzzled and interested.
the program was in kampampangan.
but, i gathered it was something for Lent, Ash Wednesday.

i spotted my friend near the stage, and watched him run back and forth.
he was all in black, and had little red devil horns on, which made me laugh.
he looked busy, as usual, so i didn't bug him right away.
eventually, we saw each other and were happy to greet one another.

he asked, "when did you get back?"
i told him, "just now. and it is a funny thing that i am even here. you didn't mention that all this was happening, but i was really compelled to come and find you. it was like you were calling me."
he kinda laughed and smiled sheepishly, "yah...well, actually, i was."
a lot there.

we were silent for a moment, just regarding that kind of power, that kind of bond.
and then, he said, "ha, i have to go friend. i'll just bring the props for the prison skit onstage."

i found a place to stand, just to take everything in.
what a strange homecoming.

i saw Weng, our favorite dentist-nurse, taking photos, no doubt, for the church archives.
we smiled warmly at each other as we waved our hellos.

i eventually found a place to sit, near all the olds.
there were all these somewhat corny skits demonstrating some aspect of compassion, kindness, redemption, and generosity.
between running around, my friend gave me an armful of dried palms.
he said, “friend, paki-hawak ito. we’ll burn this later.”

the dried palms were unwieldy, prickly, and they had thorns.
i wrapped my tubao around the bouquet, and carried it around with me like a little itchy bundle of joy.

earlier that morning in iloilo, i was just googling Ash Wednesday.
and, i read on wikipedia that the ashes used to anoint are from the burning of the palms from the previous year’s Palm Sunday.

this year, was the first time in Sta. Rita, that it was decided that the burning of the palms and the making of the ash was to be a community ritual.
and, it was funny, because the reason i googled Ash Wednesday, in the first place that morning, was because i was curious how the ash was made.

well, i found out.

i helped distribute the dried palms to the crowd.
and, after they all placed the palms in the fire, there were 8 of us that remained to tend the fire and make sure all the palms were placed.

i felt a bit out of place because the other 7 were Among Gene and the core of the parish church volunteers. i had met them all before, from helping with the festival of St. Bridget, some months ago.
i was friends with Tey already, as we met in 2006, in manila. it was just a funny coincidence that she is also from Sta. Rita. and Mark, i recognized from Among Ed’s book launch, about a year ago in Betis.

we sat in a semi-circle, tending the fire, and we listened to Among Gene talk about the origins of Ash Wednesday. i was transported back in time and place to my Center, back in the Oakland days, when a small group of rag-tag people decided to come together and hold a daylong or a new year’s ceremony. i found myself missing my dharma community and my Teacher.

these 7 were all speaking kampampangan, but i got the gist.

when the fire was done, the church needed to be dressed for the Lenten season.
i stayed to help.

all 7 of the retablo, including the relic of Sta. Rita, had to be covered by long curtains made of satiny, lavender cloth.
the odd numbered stations of the cross, were to be swathed in gauzy light cloth.
long banners were to be hung on the high walls, on either side of the congregation and four places behind the altar.

it was a lot of work.
and we worked steadily ‘til 9:30pm, when we stopped to eat dinner.
it was fun, too.
and a bit nervewracking.

Rowell, being the youngest, lightest, most nimble, and the most willing out of all of us was climbing ladders like a spider monkey. the retablo holding Jesus is, no joke, about 50 feet up. the ones holding Mamma Mary and baby Jesus and Santa Rita are just as high, but even smaller. i asked the angels to please, please, protect my friend as he climbed up and down and up and down.

it took a little bit for us to work out a system. and it entailed Mark taking his pick-up to the mayor’s house to borrow different kinds of ladders. and in the end, we worked it out.

it was quite hard work.
we sweated.
and the lamook were thick.
after our dinner, which we took upstairs, in Among Gene’s private living space, we went back down to finish.

it must have been 11pm when it was all said and done.
Mark chauffeured everyone home in his pick-up.
Rowell and i elected to walk home.

Sta. Rita was fairly quiet, save one videoke place, near all the beauty salons.
there were a million stars, twinkling, and i was grateful to be with with my friend, again, and also to serve my community.

i didn’t sleep until way past midnight, as i took my time bathing and contemplating all that had happened that night. i was remembering all the times that Rowell and i spoke to each other while i was away in Iloilo. there were times that i just needed to hear some songs, his voice. and he, good friend that he is, always obliged. the moon song, stars. those were the two that i really needed to hear. stars was the first song i had ever heard him sing.
we were in subic, over a year ago now, at an impromptu cosmic dinner party.

when we were walking home, Rowell said that he would wake up at 3am.
“Bakit?!?” i asked. mass wasn’t until 5:30 am.
he said, “siyempre, my voice needs time to wake up. how will i sing?”
naku, i thought for a moment, i would offer to wake up at 3am with him, in solidarity.
and then, i thought, “ah…no. ‘Di ko kaya yun.”
i decided i’ll wake up at 4am instead.

4am rolled around this morning.
the alarm went off, and i pushed snooze twice.
or even thrice.
i was so tired.
and, i thought, i’ll just wake up at 5am na lang.

and then, a beautiful thing happened.
i heard Rowell singing at 4:30am to the whole Sta. Rita.
he was singing in kampampangan.
and, i thought, “Naku, Universe, ang galing ka talaga.”
prolly the only thing that could have roused me from sleep, from my comfy, comfy bed, with any kind of grace at all, was my friend singing, in kampampangan, gently urging me to come to mass, even if i was so tired and so sleepy.

there were many wearing violet and lavender this morning.
i don’t own anything violet or lavender, so i wore grey and charcoal, like ash.
as i was leaving, i noticed a pile of tubao by my door.
they were leftover from the making of my bedroom curtains.

there was a handsome brown one that had lovely wide, muted lavender stripes.
i brought it with me.
i left my house at ten past 5, and when i arrived at the church, it was already full.

there was no room on my favorite side, and i crossed over to the other.
i couldn’t help but admire all the preparation that we had done, mere hours before. the church was beautiful. and, i remembered all the efforts and the ladders and the fervent prayers for no injuries.
when i looked up, i saw Tita Fely, Rowell’s mom, waving me towards her.
i found my place to sit, next to her.

i told Tita Fely about her son’s spider monkey abilities, and she was surprised.
she laughed and said, “no wonder he was sweating so much when he came home.”
we laughed about this.

while i was away in iloilo, Tita Fely was in the hospital.
and Rowell texted.

i heard Among Gene say last night that the mass would be in kampampangan this morning, and for the most part, it was.
when it came time for his homily, though, he spoke in english.

i was surprised, and pleasantly so.
i silently thanked the Universe, and apparently, She wanted me very much to get his message.

Among Gene talked about Lent.
that it was a paring down to the essentials.
that it was an opportunity to discover what those essentials are.
that it wasn’t about just about giving up sweets or desserts or nice things to eat.
that at the end of 40 days, you may discover how non-essential those things were in the first place.
that it wasn’t just about giving things up, that it was also a gaining of understanding, a platform for transformation.
that it wasn’t about giving away food to the hungry, in the hopes that God would love you more. (“God loves you anyway”, Among said, “and, of course, it is important that we show generosity to those less fortunate, AND let that be an expression of how you love God.”)
that the ashes are a reminder that most things are impermanent, and that we all eventually return to dust.
that the beginning of Lent is an opportunity to reflect on the previous year, to review the ways in which you are truly sorry for the ways in which you have acted not in accordance with your highest self.

whoa.

so, this is what Lent is about?
i, seriously, had no freakin’ idea.
i remember going to mass as a young school-age child, only because i knew we would go the mall after. and then i could eat a hot dog and pickle at the café in Marshall Field’s in Stratford Square. i used to go to church and zone out. i remember appreciating the way the priest would sing the eucharist. but, mostly, i would watch the candles flicker, and would while away the time by trying to control the movement of the flame with my mind.

really, that’s what i would do at church.
i would watch the candle flames and will them right or left or backwards or to sputter. i was such strange child.
i didn’t understand the context of it all.
no one bothered to cultivate any of that understanding, and so, i didn’t learn the true importance of cultivating reverence and ritual until i lived in the Center.

well, i am reminded that the Practice Period is coming up at the Center. this happens every quarter. and i realize, that by design, it is like Lent. that, ideally, at the end of 27 days, it is very difficult to backslide. there is no going back. i remember saying this to my Teacher one time, after 2 or 3 Practice Periods under my belt. i said to her, a bit astonished and appropriately incredulous, “the Practice Period is like the greatest trick. it keeps us always moving forward.”
she just smiled.

brilliant, my Mitra is.
and, once again, i am grateful and remember the importance of the container.

so, now, i find myself, in the midst of this reclamation and my earnest search for the cosmic Christ within me, at the brink of another great transformation.

Lent and the Practice Period…
this must be some kind of 1-2 combination, spiritual double whammy.
(that is, if you choose to really root in these two powerful Practices.)

okay.

after mass, i found Rowell and gave him the lavender striped tubao.
i had shed some tears after being anointed with the ash and after the eucharist.
the same voice that told me to take a walk last night told me to give my friend the tubao.
so, i did.

after mass, i went to the palengke to buy fresh food.
i bought mangga, papaya, carrot, ginger, onions, tomatoes, garlic, and apples.
i also bought my favorite uraro cookies.
i wanted lettuce, but i could find only one very forlorn head of iceberg. (i’d be better off eating ash!) i could have gotten some mustard greens, but i didn’t.
i wanted tanglad, but there was none to be found.
i’ll make do, like always.
i’m happy to know that i know how to do just that, in a good way.

i’ve spent the last three hours writing this.
i slept for like five hours.
all the food that i bought earlier is still sitting on the table, waiting to be washed and put away.

i didn’t go out today to buy a new tire for Pipsy.
tomorrow.

i’ll go after to manila to spend time with my friend Cha.
i haven’t seen her in months, and it is her birthday on friday.
i loathe going to manila, especially since i have so little time to spend in my beloved Sta. Rita before i am off the states for a month.
but, the same familiar voice that told me to take a walk yesterday and give Rowell the tubao this morning, suggested that i go and see Cha.
i am needed there.
so, i’ll go.

life is a good.
and, i am happy.
heartbroken to be sure…and very, very happy.
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