finding Home

purpose...

2009-11-22T14:23:00.000-08:00

i've been living on blue-green algae, caffeine, and protein bars.
hardly the breakfast of champions.
eh, but, very low carb...

i take walks everyday outside (or try to) to remind myself of what the air feels like on my cheeks.
i like to see the trees.
the cars and the noise i can do without.

i catch up on phone calls when i walk.
i even have a jawbone bluetooth thingy so i can talk 'hands-free.'

i remember the Philippines when i take these walks.
i remember walking in the rice fields.
and to the palengke.
and to the church.
and to the tiangge on Mondays.

i remember walking to Rowell's house.
and fetching water from the pump.
i remember falling asleep to crickets and the whirring fan at night.

those things really happened, i tell myself, lest i forget.

here, my to-do list never seems to diminish.
here, so many things are 'time-sensitive.'
here, the weather is crisp and cold.
here, it's harder to feel Kapwa.
here, things move a lot faster.
here, it feels harder to catch up.
here, i feel out of place, "too emotional."

here, is Home, too.

i tell myself, it will get better.
i tell myself, to just keep swimming.
i tell myself, i'm sorry it's so hard.
i tell myself, that i must be my own Witness.

i tell myself:
there is purpose to this pain.
there is purpose to this pain.
there is purpose to this pain.

another level

2009-11-09T20:58:00.000-08:00

my heart feels heavy.
with grief.

unmet expectations really suck.
unexpected challenges do too, if you ask me.

it is one thing to know that a situation isn't impossible.
it is another to feel like it utterly is.

i remember my meta-choice.
it helps me stay on track.

i never imagined it would be so hard to stay on track.

this is another level of learning.
my Freedom is around here somewhere.

if i just let go of my psoas muscles...
if i just let this lump in my throat dissolve...
if i just trust that there is purpose to this pain...

i've been distracted and distant.
i'm getting weary.
this isn't what i expected.

okay.
okay, dear Me.

grieve it.
grieve it fully.
it was a beautiful dream.

and then, get up again.
and meet what's actually here.

some losses we don't ever get over.
we just learn how to manage our lives despite them.

i wonder if this is that kind of loss.
time will tell.

fallen to the earth...

2009-10-17T20:49:00.000-07:00

i can't yet write about it myself--about my transition back.
i'm still wide-eyed and in it.

soon tho.
soon, i hope.

here's a blog entry written by my friend, Leny.
she often has words that describe the indescribable.
especially when it comes to decolonization and journeys Home.

Len, maraming, maraming salamat.
lubya.
thank you for your exquisite Witness, in this, and in all things...

***

Friday, October 16, 2009
This blog is for my friends, Muki and Grace, who have recently returned from their long sojourns in the homeland and processing the return to this place that is also home.

My Buddhist friend, Gail, used to remind me to slow down and take my time after returning from my trips to Pampanga. She saw my weepiness, my homesickness, my blank stares, my struggle to return to my life. Sometimes this processing would last longer than the two-week jet lag. I often expressed my fear to her that I might not emerge from this fog and that I would be sad forever. I needed Gail as a witness and she was a very good witness. She held me gently and honored what I was going through. No attempt to rush or analyze. Just a gentle presence.

I think of her now and I wish to be that kind of witness for my friends. But we are not in the same city. Would facebook chat do? Would email suffice? Would a phone call be enough?

**
I am re-reading "The Woman Who Watches Over the World" again. And this time, I noticed passages that escaped me the last time. Linda writes that, in retrospect, her days of falling down to the earth when she was too drunk to walk upright, was her body's attempt to fall to the earth. Literally. Her body's need to reconnect and hear the calling of the earth. The earth calling her back, inviting her to rest and be healed in the earth's bosom.

This is a very poignant passage to me. As I think about how the body carries history and how this history has been a wound for indigenous peoples, it is comforting to think that we can fall to the earth and be healed.

This is such a difficult concept to think about when I think of the devastation from the recent typhoons in the Philippines and the people, animals, trees, rocks that were all displaced. My first sympathies always lie in human suffering. This is my conditioning. But I am also learning how to enlarge my sympathies to the rest of creation. Where does it lead but to the feeling of awe and respect for processes that my mind cannot contain or that language cannot articulate?Time stretches and space expands until the contours of a cosmology begin to manifest and becomes a source of calm and peace. Yet the suffering is real, the losses are real. My body feels this.
**
Dear Muki and Grace, I imagine the struggle to be present in the body even as the mind pulls us away to our beloved archipelago. The body longs for the comfort and the feeling of knowing that it belongs to the land and kapwa over there. The body longs for the humidity that saturates the skin. It longs for the sounds - both natural and man made. It longs for the smells, taste, sights. It longs for the familiar. It is October and our ears ring with carols as we know that Christmas starts in the 'Ber' months over there. We long for the fluidity of life over there that makes people open and available to each other's hospitality and generosity. We long for the sense of kapwa. We long to belong to the earth and over there it feels a little easier to do so.

We long for these feelings and wish to recreate them here. But how? It is even hard to find people to talk to who would know what this struggle is about. Even our loved ones are impatient and they want to see us move on already. They want answers from us. Our ambiguity is unsettling to them. What are we mirroring? And can we create those conversations?

I think of you as I write this. I am thinking that I could have picked up the phone and called you instead. I am thinking that you might not be available. I am thinking that I think too much.

But I will talk to you soon and commune with you soon. Love to you.

posted by Leny @ 2:19 PM

back

2009-09-13T22:07:00.000-07:00

i've been back 5 days, and it already feels like a month.
i blink and a whole Universe opens up.
i blink again, and it's gone.

i've been sleeping 3-4 hours a night.
things at the Center are familiar and unfamiliar.
it's cold.

we have our big fundraiser on Saturday.

i'm emotional.
and lonely.
and devastated.

and okay.
then, not okay.

sounds like grief, doesn't it?
only...
i don't even know what i'm grieving.

i just know it's deep.
and heartbreaking.
and will eventually unfold in bits.
and one day, blindside me.

i feel desperate for a Witness.
there is none.
i'll just have to be my own.

who else knows what this feels like?

the perfume of packing

2009-09-03T21:03:00.000-07:00

i’m burning the copal that Miguel gave me over 2 years ago before i left.
we were carpooling home together from the ‘Loin, and we stopped in that one shop whose name i always forget on Valencia down the street from Osento in the Mission.

he bought copal.
i bought a set of cards.

the resin bubbles as the fire catches.
i was always afraid to burn it before.
afraid i didn’t have the proper vessel.
or didn’t know how to do it ‘right.’

unafraid, i light it now.
(and keep lighting it; it keeps burning out.)
it smells like the incense they burn at church.
i place it on one of the pink plates that Uma and Mitra brought back from Japan.
the woodsy fragrance fills my nostrils, as i watch a fat ribbon of black smoke writhe and slither up into the air.
i feel the heat, let the flame singe the hairs on my knuckle, almost burning my skin.
a flood of memories come back.

i remember my first fire ceremony.
the smell of the land in the Santa Cruz mountains.
i remember the burden that ‘Bino bears.
that when he is Called, he must come.
i remember my Teacher calling him…for us.
i remember basking in the reflected light between these two Great Friends.
i remember Jr. and how everyone swooned.
i remember the dark.
and Thuy hyperventilating, then shrieking.
i remember feeling curious.
and open.
i remember feeling like my lips, nostrils, and eyelids were on fire.
i remember seeing green sparks.
i remember putting my cheek to the earth to find coolness.

i remember the second fire ceremony, the following year.
i was not allowed inside.
my moon had just finished and i was still too powerful and potent to enter.
everyone else was inside.
i waited outside and sang songs softly to myself and the trees.
and thought about the Philippines.
and watched as, one by one, they emerged from the fire’s womb, gulping the cool air and afternoon sun, glistening and sweating.

when i was helping prepare the space, i found a red diamond shaped rock.
it was so rough and light.
it stayed in my pocket for years after that.
i remember finding it again when i was wandering the cordilleras.
pleased to rub it between my fingers again, feeling it snag my skin.

let the fire change you, Muki.

that’s what i heard this morning, as i lit another candle for Ligaya’s Papa.
that’s why i lit the copal, i guess.
that’s why i will light incense all day and fill my little place with warmth and light.

outside, it’s grey and cool.
and sprinkling.
the sky is crying tears that i’m not.
i’ve cried so much already.

the lights were flickering on and off this morning.
the fan’s motor whirring on and off, sputtering.
i’m amidst boxes and stuff.
copious amounts of stuff.

i had been hoping to go to baguio, as my last trip before i return to the States.
i realize it was another kind of distraction, procrastination.
i won’t go.
i need to fully unpack so that i can pack.

it’s painful this process.
i don’t want to do it.
people have offered to help me.
pero, paano?

i go through each thing…remembering.
with each thing, i decide if it goes or stays.
weighing it, literally, figuratively, emotionally.
it is an alone process.

two came yesterday and lingered.
i sent them away.
i want to be alone in this.

i made arrangements for a van to bring me to the airport on Tuesday.
i’ll go early.
i’ll have excess baggage fees to pay.
this will be the last time that i pay for that.
no more excess baggage for me.
even when i go home, i know there are boxes of things yet at my parents’ house and Center to go thru and release.
no more holding onto things that are not useful, no longer needed.
after Sit For Change, there will be a great releasing.

i found pockets of things that i never unpacked from the clinic.
a stash of incense, sweet cedar, and sage.
green rocks and pebbles from the beach and alien windmills in ilocos norte.
i assemble a makeshift incense holder from a ceramic cup and those pebbles, and i will burn it all today.

i gave all of my agnihotra supplies to Bahay Ginhawa.
i will buy a new pyramid when i am settled in Berkeley.
it will be my welcome Home present to myself.

i’m sitting at my dining table, underneath the window.
the raindrops splash off the slats of glass and microdrops wet my shoulders.
i’m itchy and rub alcohol on my neck and back to cool.

tiny red ants have taken refuge in this messy house of mine.
i find them everywhere.
in bed.
in my ears.
in the toaster oven.

i’m still wearing eyeliner from going out last night.
mac: shit still looks good, even the morning after.
that’s come in handy a couple 3-4 times.
pampanga friends took me out to fancy dinner last night.
i didn’t even have to drive.
it was hard to sleep alone last night, after all the merriment.

today is my power moon day.
the moon and planets will be in the same position tonight that they were 35 years ago on my birth day. tonight, i will have a dream that will offer me a glimpse into what the year has in store for me. i remember the one i had last year…
an added bonus: last day of my moon today.
this must be some kind of triple whammy.

my house smells like rain, sweet cedar, and sage.
my skin smells like rubbing alcohol, sweat, and tears.
this is the new perfume of packing.

a tiger in the Lion City

2009-08-18T04:08:00.000-07:00

i’m on another plane.
this time from Singapore to Clark.
good to be going home.
(did park and fly; hope Pipsy starts.)
tho, i’ll only be home for a day.
(pray for sunshine; i have laundry to do…)
and then i turn around and fly to davao to visit betsy in makilala.
don bosco, Dra. Moon’s clinic, paradise island, aldevinco, marang, and mangosteen… here i come.

i enjoyed my stay in Singapore.
with new friends.
friends who, quite literally, i only met a couple of weeks ago.
we met in palawan at Pi and Lisette’s healing space.
we were slipping around on red mud; riding down bumpy, dusty roads in jeeps and trikes; riding boats in dark caves and on underground rivers, pumping water out of the ground; eating our food off of banana leaves with our hands; cooking, laughing; playing guitar; meditating; dancing; healing; drumming…

in Singapore, i stayed in their swanky pad.
10th floor.
wi-fi.
fine art, from both established and emerging Filipino painters and sculptors.
leather chaises.
clean lines.
fendi throw pillows.
remote controlled air conditioners, in every room.
chic.

i’m acutely aware of my ability to move in and out of these two kinds of worlds equally well.
i’m grateful for that particular straddle ability.
flexy-bendy.

i’ll be taking outdoor showers at the farm of Betsy soon.
i am grateful for that.
even if there are yellow frogs stuck to the shower curtain.
(reminds me that i have to get batteries for my flashlight…)

my friend Dane, a fellow Fil-Am, played Singapore tour guide extraordinaire for 5 glorious days.

i went to all kinds of malls in Singapore.
it most certainly is a concrete jungle.
a strangely sedate one.
and an extremely clean one.

nicest and cleanest public toilets.
well stocked with a plethora of toilet paper.
and even toilet seat liquid antiseptic cleanser dispensers in each stall.
automatic flush that didn’t rush you or splash back.

i think my favorite part of the public toilets were the squat toilets.
i like those the best.
i wish they had those in the states.
i’m not sure why.
just seems natural to go like that.

there were free public hand sanitizer dispensers everywhere.
elevators.
escalators.
bathrooms.
mrt.

i was so curious about the prayer rooms i would see around.
there were separate ones for women and men.
i really wanted to peek into one; i didn’t tho.

i can’t even name all things that i ate.
i visited umpteen hawker centers and food courts.
Singaporean.
Chinese.
Indian.
Malaysian.
grabe.

eating and shopping are the national pastimes, and they take each one rather seriously.
nicest public library i’ve ever been in.
apparently, Singapore is one of the richest countries in asia.
no deficit, according to Dane.

i somehow managed to attend a lecture/workshop on essential oils and their therapeutic uses. also went to Malaysia for a couple of hours. right hand drive was funny. i kept looking the wrong way before crossing the street. played the lotto. i even went to ikea.
i liked how all the public signs were in 4 different languages. halal food everywhere.
mass transit easy and smooth. parang may konting konti gulo talaga.

i just realized how tired i feel.
all this zipping around.
someone asked me when i will rest.
i told them that the plane ride home to the states is 12+ hours…
malapit na.

for good

2009-08-16T16:37:00.000-07:00

in the last 2 weeks:
zarraga
caticlan
boracay
singapore
malaysia.

next 2 weeks:
davao
dumaguete
baguio
sagada

september 1:
turn 35
birthday/despedida party

september 8:
climb on a plane in manila
and twelve hours later (or so),
land in san francisco
drive across the bay bridge
to berkeley
back to Center
to begin again.

Being human*

2009-08-05T07:07:00.000-07:00

alternate title:
the ransomed, the shephard, and the witness

From Jae G’s facebook status the other day:
"None of the ransomed ever knew/How deep were the waters crossed..." A friend shared this verse with me eight years ago. He found it written in his dad's diary. The context was martial law and the ensuing revolution. Cory's death triggered the memory. It was written by Elizabeth Clephane in reference to the biblical story of the shepherd and the lost sheep.

my 4am response:
perhaps, it is the rain. or in my case, the gusts of wind that just now woke me up (blowing in the rain!). it's also because of Tita Cory. i am reminded that i am one of the ransomed; i am also the shepherd. and gratefully, i am also the witness to myself and others being both. i'm experiencing the heartbreaking awareness of the exquisite joy and sorrows of what it means to embody my full humanity. i am amazed at the depth and breadth of our capacity. it's a tremendous responsibility AND opportunity.
such a privilege!

right down

2009-07-24T20:35:00.000-07:00

am at Bahay Kalipay, using Pi's wittle ittle computer.
precarious and tempermental little cutie (the computer, that is.)
it's ergonomically challenging to use it.
one false move and the cord LAN line gets disconnected.
just look at it cross-eyed, and you'll see.
the power cord is plugged into an outlet above my head that likes to fall out of the socket and bonk me.

aray ko.
and, i'm sitting on this narrow bamboo couch, contorting 'cause why again...

kasi, naka-adik na ako sa facebook.
and i wanted to check my gmail.
and i wanted to check fares to iloilo (next trip).
and, and, and.

got this Junot Diaz quote from my friend Michelle's fb status:

'Immigration is a process that tends to self-select certain kinds of people, which is a way of saying that immigrants tend to be superhuman already. To leave everything behind takes a superhuman act of will, even for those who did it accidentally or flippantly.'

i get this one. right down to my bones.
i think about my parents and all they've endured.
i think of me and all that i've endured.
immigrant.
yes, i am an immigrant.
it's a label that i've eschewed for most of my life.
part of my decolonization process has been reclaiming it.
not celebrating it or abhoring it.
not embracing it or pushing it away.
just accepting it.
letting it in finally...
to take her rightful place.

it should be noted that my process in accepting it involved celebrating it and embracing it as well as abhoring and pushing it away. the only way i could find the middle was, first, to define the boundaries. or does the middle define the boundaries. sometimes. and, in this case, in particular, i did it baliktad.

i think about finding Home.
what home is.
what Home is.

i think about my Path.
and how a lot of it has been about renunciation.
not in a derelict or violent way.
or even showy or martyr-flavored.

all the labels and identities need to be put down, so that it is clear if they are meant to be taken up again.
even how they are to be taken up again.
it's been an interesting journey.

i realize that i have been somewhat influenced by this insidious misconception that this 'annihilation' of sorts is violent and somehow final.

it's not.
nothing lasts.

i have to be willing to put it all down.
so that i know what makes sense to pick up again.

what i pick up i can re-shape, re-imagine so that it is more useful and intentional.
this kind of tinkering implies a deeper process of knowing myself, knowing the stuff i'm made of. knowing what i inherited. knowing what i developed. knowing what is actual and useful and actually useful. and knowing what is just drama.

what a big, big learning.
what a shift.
what a life.

New Light Church

2009-07-20T05:48:00.000-07:00

i dozed off this afternoon during the afternoon rain.
i woke up, and i heard gospel music.
i thought i was in Berkeley.
there is this church next to the Center called New Light Church.
on Sundays, the minister there rocks it out.
and, i woke up earlier thinking it was Sunday in Berkeley.
strange.
i'm here in Sta. Rita.
the singing i heard was a neighbor, across the street, singing videoke.
for the second night in a row.

jeep to Guagua

2009-07-20T05:46:00.000-07:00

for my big adventure, i took a jeep to Guagua today.
i had to get money from the bank to pay for rent and things.
it’s been raining, so i expected it to be a little flooded.
BAHA.
i was walking in water that came up mid-calf.
i threw up in my mouth a little when i thought of the raw sewage and hepatitis that MUST be swirling around in it. i hated the feeling of floating plastic bags lingering around my ankles. i hated looking down at the murky brackish water and seeing the rainbow slick of oil on top. ewww.

brown low top converse.
i may leave those behind when i leave.

i continue to unpack.
today would have been a good day to do laundry, if i had my act together.
i so don’t have my act together.

i’m thinking of going to manila tomorrow.
need to get some plane tix.

nainis ako kanina.
Sherwin was asking me for money to help pay for repairs for my car that he wrecked 6 weeks ago.
grrr.
Pipsy is still out of commission.
nainis ako talaga.

it occurs to me how much i dislike packing and unpacking.
blech.
i’m getting better at not overpacking.
sort of.
everything i own is wrinkled at the moment.
i just threw things into my suitcase all haphazard when i left the states.

roosters crowing.
yes, i missed that in the states.

grey outside ulit.
the afternoon rain is coming.

unpacking...

2009-07-19T11:03:00.000-07:00

a little gecko, about an inch long greeted me hello in the spoon rest, next to my stove in the kitchen this morning.
a kind of love and appreciation swoll up in me as i entered my apartment yesterday.
Rowell.
he cleaned.
perhaps, it is the Virgo in me...
coming home to a clean space is one of the best gifts ever.
today, he came over and we ate Fatima’s thighs.
i am convinced they taste like we are licking pink rose petals.
i did some unpacking today.
figurative, that is.
the literal is still strewn about my (ahem, clean) place.
i am eating this stale Trader Joe’s trail mix.
(i gotta stop.)
yesterday, first thing, i went to the palengke and bought load for my cell phone and computer. then, 2 carrots, a cucumber, a bunch of lemongrass, a huge hunk of young ginger, and 6 eggs. oh, and 2 fresh buko. set me back p130, which is less than $3.
it’s 1:37am on monday.
and i am acutely aware that i’m being antisocial and sleeping during waking hours and waking during sleeping hours.
my door is closed, so folks can’t peek in.
i brought no pasalubong home except for Fatima’s thighs for Rowell.
i just finished bathing with my bucket and tabo.
i used Rashmi’s amber soap.
i love that i can smell her here.
she and Pete got married here after all.
i inhale sharply the skin on my arm and i imagine her hugging me.
it’s a bit of comfort amidst all this unpacking.
i have this vague feeling that i don’t belong here anymore.
i don’t know if it is real or not.
am i creating it so that it is easier for me to let go?
is Inang Bayan saying, “go na, Anak,”?
i can hardly say.
time will tell i think.
i don’t know what time it is if i don’t look at my phone or this computer.
it’s grey for most of the day.
it rainy and cool.
i have to unpack literally soon.
i just remembered a wet bathing suit somewhere in there…
no, wait, i washed it.
phew.
been writing and sleeping.
and sleeping and writing.
like there is no other thing.

tightness

2009-06-26T06:40:00.000-07:00

i woke up an hour ago.
psoas tight.
knot in my throat.
wanna sob.

home here.
home there.
Home everywhere.

a fellow Healer died a week ago.
our lives intertwined.

desperate need for integration time.
feeling desperate.

release.

Dolores and the toxins

2009-06-11T02:55:00.000-07:00

i’m about to live yesterday all over again.
which may not be necessarily a bad thing.
(like a do-over.)

we just crossed the international date line.
and according to the screen thingy, only 5 hours and 3,042 miles left ‘til we land in san francisco.

and, in case you are wondering, we are cruising at 37,000 feet with an outside temperature of -67 degrees Fahrenheit, with a true airspeed of 537 mph. an airplane is a hellava place to detox (more on this later).

perhaps i really needed this kind of altitude to properly get some perspective on how these last weeks have unfolded.
(i just had a flash of Pi climbing his coconut trees. what a view!)

before i go further, i’d just like to say whoever named PAL coach the “fiesta class” is a rather sardonic, ironic type. and i’d like to smack him around a bit. the only fiesta-like thing about coach is how we’re all crammed in here like it’s barrio fiesta. i should know, because sta. rita just had our fiesta time. in “fiesta” class there are no yummy things to eat. no shiny banners. nor tuba players. nor parades. and for me (and the rest of unfortunate row # 61), at least on PR Flight No. 104 on the 9th of June, MNL to SFO, there is no overhead reading light, no flight attendant call button, no sound, no movies, nor crappy airline radio. the panels are busted.

and, rest assured,i will be writing a strongly worded letter to PAL after this (titani homage to jack). maybe i can get a service upgrade or some mabuhay miles.

i hope i get something.

because for 12 hours, i can’t read nor write nor watch the movies nor listen to pinoy pop, nor j-pop, nor broadway favorites on PAL radio. thank goodness i really had no interest in the movies offered (pink panther 2, B cop movie, hotel for dogs, and one other that i forget.) if it had been the reader or some sappy tagalog romance, i might of transformed into the ugly American. and thank goodness i had Poddie ni Muki with me, so i could hear some sounds.

other saving graces have been the lola and lolo sitting next to me, to my right.
and the chubby toddler sitting in front of me.

the lola and lolo are immigrating to the states.
they look to me in their 70’s or nearing them.
when Lola Dolores told me they are moving to the states, i unexpectedly felt a deep sadness. her tone of voice suggested excitement. her facial expression din. but her eyes reflected a deep sadness. like everything was trying to convince her eyes to go along. i glimpsed it tho. i had just read earlier somewhere today that the eyes are the window of the soul. i’ve heard that before, of course. and, i don’t think i quite understood it like this. i could be spinning it any which way, coloring this experience with my own thoughts and feelings, but, i don’t think so. those dark glistening eyes of hers showed me something, for a moment, in a moment.

Lola Dolores had just gotten off the phone with her relatives in Nueva Viscaya.
i heard her saying to her apo, “Anak, dapat mag-aral ka mabuti. listen to your Ate. Love you. Love you. Love you so much. Love. Love. Love. See you.”

when she said, “See you,” i could hear in her voice that she didn’t really believe herself either.

she calls me “Anak” through the flight.
i help her open the packets of coffee creamer and fill out the forms we have to fill out when we enter the US. i show her how to unlock her cell phone so that she can properly turn it off.

i like being called “Anak” by her. it’s soothing, in a way, to both of us. kanina, her husband dropped his ring on the floor in the middle of the flight, and with no lights, it wasn’t much fun trying to find it. but, we found it.

i wanted to ask her why they were moving to the states.
they are past working age.
the daughter that they plan to live with is single, with no children, and no plans to marry.
how does she feel about leaving the Philippines?
what does she anticipate?
what are her expectations?
why, why, why?

but, i was shy.
and something in her eyes asked me not ask.
or maybe that’s just me.

the chubby toddler in front of me has such a round face.
and the cutest straight little white teeth.
he shows them all off when he smiles at me.
which, i am happy to report, is often.
he must be 3 going on 4.
his dad looks Korean or Japanese.
his mom is Pinay.

before i got on the flight, i decided to get a massage at the airport.
mahal (by Philippine standards), very inexpensive (by US standards), AND so worth it, imho.
i had this really, super duper, skilled massage therapist.
he worked me out.
in the last two weeks, these wicked muscle knots have taken up residence in my shoulders.
strange.
this hasn’t happened in like 2 years or so.
and, i’m reminded, that i am cleansing.
i completed my Level II Reiki training a couple of weeks ago.
and lately, i’ve been doing a lot of Reiki healing with myself and with others.
so, i’m clearing, and i guess that’s where those things are coming from.
i drank so much water after that massage to help flush the toxins.
no joke, i must have gone to the bathroom 20 times on this flight.
(it’s all about the aisle seat…)
a couple of times, i got really nauseated and almost threw up from air turbulance and who knows what else?
prolly that crappy little sandwich i ate in the mabuhay lounge.
and, yah, maybe the toxins.

swine flu

2009-06-09T06:10:00.000-07:00

i'm sitting in the mabuhay lounge at ninoy aquino airport in manila.
arroz caldo (yum) and dry bread-soggy filling sandwiches (blech).

all of these rich kid pinoy types to my right.
mestizo looks.
hipster clothing.
american accents.
floppy hair.
latest apple computers and PSP thingys.

older folks to my left.
paring chinoys.
matching luggage and garment bags.
sitting quietly.
arms folded.

someone's cell phone has the same ring tone as me.
it confuses me.

there are some people wearing surgical masks.
swine flu.
there was talk of delaying the start of classes in manila because of the swine flu.
jodie texted the other day saying that everyone is panicking about swine flu.
i texted back how we are rather excitable, as a people.

i haven't been infected with the hysteria.
i think it's because i haven't been watching tv.
(i don't have one.)
also, i haven't been listening to the radio.
(i don't have one of those either.)

so, i hadn't heard.

Pips

2009-06-05T14:03:00.000-07:00

it’s 2:29am, and i was awoken by lightning. or some kind of flashes of light.
some outside of my window. some in my bedroom. some in the sala.

i don’t know what they were.
if they were in my dream.
or if they were ‘real.’
curiously, i’m not feeling scared.
or even really wanting to know what they heck they were.
anyway, i’m awake.
and, i’m following the impulse to write this.

it’s the 5th straight day of rain.
i’m a little stir crazy.
i’ve gone out just once to fetch water and go to the palengke.
otherwise, i’ve been home.
cleaning.
spending too much time on facebook.
mentally packing for my trip on tuesday.
watching movies on my laptop.
reading.
writing.
cooking.
i made sopas yesterday.
i used the bones from the lechon manok i bought the night i came home from baguio to make chicken stock.
i bought carrot, celery, onions, and garlic from the palengke the other day.
i had evaporated milk and macaroni in the pantry.
and just for kicks, i added a beaten egg to the whole thing.
yum.
it’s perfect soup weather.
and pan-toasted pan de sal.

i made pancakes, too.
there’s this chain of stores here called ‘healthy options.’
there’s only like 7 of them in the whole country. 2 are in Pampanga.
it has all of these organic products from the states.
soymilks, nutmilks, paul newman stuff, red mill stuff, kettle chips, dagoba chocolate, real maple syrup, Jason beauty products, couscous, homeopathic remedies, etc.
it’s pretty expensive, even by US standards, and i am grateful that there exists such a place; i gladly plunk down my money when i need a fix.
i bought this 12 wholegrain extra chu-chu fiber pancake mix some months ago.
it’s almost gone na.
and i made 3 pancakes for dinner last night.
i have enough mix i think for 3 or 4 more pancakes.

for morning merienda, i cut up an apple.
and ate it with peanut butter.
and not Ludy’s or Lily’s. too much sugar.
i had this peanut butter i got at rizal dairy when i went to visit Jodie that one time.
no sugar. just peanuts.
it’s fairly thick because i keep in the ref.

all my spoons and forks and knives i use here are made of bamboo.
some were given to me by Simha before i left. some i bought when i was in Japantown last year during one of the many visits i made to the states.
i remember the surprise when one morning, this peanut butter snapped one of the knives.
i was so sad and i remember thing, “o, sayang yung $2 ko.”
so, i know to use the sturdy bamboo knife with this peanut butter.

i haven’t spent this much time at home here for a long while.
even when i am home, i go to san fernando or angeles for something or another.
usually to my favorite yogurt place. (they also have free HIGH SPEED wi-fi.)
and i get to drive on the megadike road to get there, which is my favorite road to drive.
or i go to sm.
or northwalk.
basta, i get in my car, Pipsy, and we drive.

i haven’t been able to do this since i got back from Baguio.
i haven’t been able to do this because…
Sherwin wrecked Pipsy.
that’s why i was so upset the other day.

why i was:
angry
rageful
okay
accepting
tearful
sad
homicidal
fine
numb
worried
nauseated
ek
ek.

Sherwin is my neighbor.
he is the son of my landlady.
when i’m gone, he watches Pipsy for me.
and, i’m gone a lot.
Rowell says when i am gone, he sees Pipsy all around Sta. Rita.
that was fine.

but, the day that i decided to reluctantly descend from Baguio, i had the unfortunate experience of being called by Sherwin at 5am, telling me that he had gotten into an “accident” with Pipsy. i asked him if he was injured. he was fine daw. i asked him if anyone else was injured. he said no one else was involved. i couldn’t take in any more information than that. he said he was waiting for the tow truck. i sighed heavily; then told him we would talk about it when i got home. he kept repeating, “‘Censya na, Karen. ‘Censya na talaga.” i hung up my phone and was like, “well, that was a shitty way to wake up.” then, i tried to convince myself to try and sleep pa. that there was nothing really useful i could do about what had happened. but my mind was whirring.

what the HELL happened?
why did i trust Sherwin?
Pipsy! are you really gone?
are you totaled? beyond repair?
repairs. how much will they be?
i’m broke.
i just spent like P10,000 on registration, getting a tune up, fixing a tire rod end.
i’m so sorry i left you with Sherwin.
Pipsy! are you really gone?

2 days prior, i had an intuition that i didn’t want to leave Pipsy with Sherwin while i was in the states for a month. i texted my friend, Ella, and asked if i could leave her with them. we were in the middle of arranging the logistics when this happened.

and this really happened.
of course, i couldn’t sleep after i received the news.
i woke up.
and did distance reiki healing for Sherwin.
and Pipsy.
and then i did reiki on myself, because it was dawning on me how upset i was over this.
i think i was in denial as to how upset i was.
i’m still not really sure why.

i wanted to scream.
at who?
for what?
did i really want to scream?

i was so sad.
i think i even cried a little as i pulled my malong over my head.

immediately, i felt this guilt.
why, oh, WHY didn’t i listen to my gut feeling to NOT leave the keys with Sherwin.
i wasn’t going to.
i was only going to be gone a week.
Pips would have been fine without being started.
but then the Ate Shella, the sister of Sherwin was getting married while i was gone.
and, it would be helpful to their family, if they had a car to use.
it was fiesta pa, and she was parked all crazy because there were so many cars parked on our street.
so, against my better judgement, i left the keys.

i had many things to do before before coming back down to Sta. Rita, which would have been fine, if i weren’t feeling so crazy about what had happened with Pipsy.

i still had to visit my family (again) before i left to say goodbye (again).
(it was a funny last minute request from Tita Eddy that i decided to honor, because well, she asked. and she’s 75. and, well, you just never know…i might not ever see her again.)

i still had to pack up all my crap that was strewn all around the room i was staying in.
(ten ilocano blankets, alfajor, strawberry jam, ube jam, maps, books, clothes, etc.)

i still had to go to easter weaving room to buy last minute pasalubong.
(never did make it up to banaue and sagada, so i couldn’t buy the bags that my Teacher was requesting. so, i decided to get something kinda similar at easter weaving and hope for the best…)

i still had to write a thank you card to grace for a fantastic visit and letting me stay at her place, even when she was went to manila for 4 days.
(grace, true to her name, was a gracious hostess and excellent tour guide. we saw so much and ate so well. i had copies made of some of the pictures that we had taken together EVERYWHERE in Baguio. i couldn’t wait to give them to her. i bought this cute card made of flower petals and i had been drafting the words of how to express my gratitude for days.)

i still had to climb onto a genesis bus with all of my crap and ride 8 hours (traffic) from Baguio to Sta. Rita. i SO did not want to deal with this situation. that’s the crux of the thing right there. i felt blindsided. this was so NOT part of the plan.

and Pipsy, my poor sweet Pipsy.

perhaps this is a good time to explore these feelings that i have about this car.
yes, i realize it is a car.
a thing.

and here it is.
we have a relationship.
Pipsy kept me safe.
and sane.
we would have conversations together on our many long drives from one place to another.
she was my partner in crime.
especially when i lived in the clinic, she was the one safe place that i could climb into and feel…free. no clients could get at me. no crazy boss. no crazy relatives. no crazy friends. not even loneliness. Pipsy and i would ride out into the sunset. 75% of the time, her radio would work and i would rig up Poddie ni Muki, my ipod, and we would sing and drive.
and sing.
and drive.
we would go exploring together.
we would get lost together.
we would get found together.
we survived many near misses together.
we survived crazy weather.
we survived flat tires, dead batteries, oil leaks, etc.
we took care of each other.
when Sherwin said that he wasn’t injured, i thought, “well, it’s because Pipsy is a really good car and she protected him.”

i saw pictures of her after the accident.
it was a fucking miracle that Sherwin wasn’t injured, wasn’t killed.
he was driving drunk at 2am.
he hit a patch of water on the way home from guagua and skidded.
he swerved to avoid hitting a tricycle and slammed into an acacia tree.
daw.

that’s the whole sordid tale.
ah, not quite.
thankfully, Pipsy is fixable.
i’m not sure how.
but, she is.
and Sherwin’s family is able to pay for all of it.
it will take about a month for all of the repairs to be completed.
so, by the time i come back from the states, sana, she will be done.

i think, in the beginning, it was difficult for me to accept that i was so upset over a thing.
it was more than a thing tho.
it’s about relationship.
Pips and me.
Sherwin and me.
etc.

two nights ago, my phone rang.
my phone ring sounds like crickets chirping.
and, it’s not uncommon for me to think my phone is ringing when i hear actual crickets chirping.
and something should be said about how rare talaga it is for me hear my phone ring, let alone actually “talk” on my cell phone.
super duper, uber ultra, to the nth rare.
i use my cell phone primarily to text and keep track of dates.
and, lately, when my phone has been ringing, more often than not, it is after midnight, and more often than not, it has been because a certain crazy ilonggo boy just won’t stop.
but, anyway, my phone was ringing two nights ago, and i was sure it was this crazy ilonggo boy, but it wasn’t!

it was Jodie!

and we talked for well over an hour.
i had to plug in my phone.
there was this moment when i was listening to the sound of my voice talking.
it sounded strange because i realized that i hadn’t talked this much in days.
Rowell came over a couple of times. late, so we didn’t really talk too much.
i would greet my neighbors everyday, people on the street, as i walked.
my conversation with Sherwin about Pips was brief.
so, it was strange to hear my voice so much.

i always enjoy my conversations with Jodie.
they are always entertaining, enlightening.
and deep.
she is a good mirror.
and she is magical.

i’ve been noticing that i’ve been having trouble with verb tenses lately.
forget past participle, nominative case, etc.
i am just talking about simple past, present, and future tense.
i’ve been speaking and writing in present tense, even when i am referring to the past or future. it’s kinda strange because i’ve not really had trouble with that ever before.
and, i’ve had to edit this blog entry several times to get the tenses right.
weird.

i hear the rain again.
Gayia comes on sunday.
and we will go to the monastery near Madapdap to hear mass in latin and Gregorian chanting. then eat yummy food at Azur and C.
my place is 75% clean, thanks to my being home so much.
another 25% to go.
Mang Ado came over yesterday and we finally hung my bamboo blinds and got some art on the walls. this enlisted drill bits and concrete hanger thingys and a couple of hours. but, my place looks great. hard to believe that i’ll be packing it up in 2 months.

well, i’m here now.

bed weather

2009-06-03T23:10:00.000-07:00

has been a useful exercise to re-read all the entries from this blog.
as i read, i flashback to the places i’ve written about.
where i was physically, emotionally.
what it smelled like.
what i ate that day.
even what i was wearing.

bed weather continues here.
no blue sky for 4 days.
ventured out this morning to fetch water and went to the palengke.
p200 later, i have enough food to last me until i go the states on tuesday.

and, YAHOOEY!
i’m going to the states on tuesday!
i’m honestly so looking forward to it.
it’s an odd feeling.
i’m actually giddy.
will be landing in sfo, instead of the usual vegas.
i’m paying for this ticket myself.
my parents didn’t get it for me.
my Center didn’t get it for me.
Me.
that feels good, too.

two years

2009-06-03T03:04:00.000-07:00

i’ve been enjoying some mighty fine bed weather.
may bagyo sa Zambales. kaya umuulan dito sa sta. rita buong araw.

i’ve seen Rowell twice since i came home from baguio.
the night i came home, he met me at the intersection to help me carry all my stuff.
then last night he came over and promptly fell asleep on my bed while i played guitar and sang.

today, i was on facebook way too much, watched some movies, and finished “Pareng Barack” by Benjamin Pimental.

i also spent some hours reading all the entries from this blog since it’s inception in june, two years ago.
how far i’ve come.

two years of my life has been spent here in the Philippines.
hard to believe.
i’ve learned so much.
and i’m readying myself for my return to the States.
soon.

i look around my apartment.
i see a lot of books.
and lots of trinkets and art.
i can name where and when i got each piece.
i flash forward in my mind already mentally packing boxes to be shipped ahead of me.

what a strange thing that i’ve done.
it is perhaps the best gift i could ever have given myself.
there is writing that is percolating in my head.
pieces that are waiting to be born.
i flash forward to the babaylan conference in april 2010.
will be here soon.

last night, Rowell asked me again, when i was leaving.
September.

you won’t be here for my birthday.
no, friend, i won’t.

then we both just looked at each other.
then he turned over and dozed off.
i continued playing my guitar and singing.

still many things to do before i return to the States.
acupuncture apprenticeship with Benjie in Davao.
visit Betsy in Makilala.
visit Nonet in Aklan.
maybe Bunso in Boracay.
Pi and Lisette in Kalipay.
Drs. Turalba in Los Banos.
GCI in Zarraga.
Banaue and Sagada.

back and forthing.
back.
forth.
Home.

Trust

2009-06-02T00:39:00.000-07:00

i cycle faster than i used to.
before, i could get caught up in my emotions for days, weeks even.
before that, months.
years...

i am discovering new things about myself.
new ways of living.
of being.
of Being.

choices made.
making choices.
choice.

it's so interesting to observe it.
this process.
to live it.
to see it, instead of unconsciously bungling my way through it,
inadvertently bulldozing all that used to lay in my path.

i can still do that.
i still feel the impulses to do it even.
but, i don't.
i choose not to.
that's the perhaps hardest part.
when i choose not to indulge in a certain ingrained pattern of behavior.
it's not the relinquishing that's the hardest.
it's the not knowing what to do instead.
it's when i feel most vulnerable.
where i can i easily get distraught.

and i know a Trust is being forged.
a Trust that i am being held.
that if i agree to keep stepping out into the Unknown,
it becomes Known.
and manageable.
and not so scary.
and it doesn't take very long.
and it's not so bloody, as it once was.

strange.
and true.

sweets

2009-06-01T15:43:00.000-07:00

i know things happen for a reason.
and i know, more often than not, i won't understand that reason until way after.

i know i am the sum total of those kinds of moments.

the liminal space.
the space in between.
between the thing and the understanding of the thing.

i'm there.
and i hate it.
it's painful.

i want to scream my house down.
and hit.
and clench my fists so that my nails dig into my palms 'til they bleed.
anything but be in this moment.
and feel this pain.

the person i am and am becoming knows to exhale.
and freeze frame.
and not hit.
and not self-mutilate (literally and figuratively).

i will do my best to stay present to this pain.
to this impending grief.
this actual grief.
in a good way.
in a useful way.
in a growthful way.

surrender.
i surrender.

and it's most curious that my thoughts turn to you, sweets, during these kinds of moments.
i'm not sure why they do.

and they do.
every time.

i wonder if it is another form of distraction.
distraction from the present.
because you were so my past.
especially this version.

perhaps a grain (or two) of truth in that.

and...
when i look thru my biography, you were there the most in hard moments like this.
and i realize the value and preciousness of that.
the rarity.

having someone present that gets it.
that shares it.

it wasn't every time.
'specially near the end.
but it was enough for me to appreciate.
and learn to love.
myself.
you.

i wonder if i am forever ruined.
searching for this intangible thing.
waiting for it even.

is it comparing mind?
maybe.

i am forever ruined.
and i'm glad for it, sometimes.
most the time.
but, i can't settle now.
that's the drawback.

few are like fine tempered steel.
few can stand the heat of the fire that purifies.

and, i live in this fire.
i live in this fire.
alone.

there are moments when i share this space.
it's fleeting.
either they can't stand the heat.
or i can't stand them.

yah.
ruined.

Santa Rita

2009-05-21T23:57:00.001-07:00

Santa Rita is the patron saint of the impossible.
i don't suppose that it is mere coincidence that i've made my home here...

even when i lived in the clinic in Madapdap, i lived on Sta. Rita Ave.
she is all around me.

the church smells like roses.
kulay red.

weary v. tired

2009-05-21T18:19:00.000-07:00

tired goes away after you rest.
weary doesn't.

either i haven't rested enough or
i'm more weary than i thought.

i haven't been resting well these last weeks.
'tis true.
and still.

i'm feeling a bit muddled.
and lonely.

there's another one: alone vs. lonely.
i haven't the heart to qualify them now.
suffice it to say,
i don't mind alone so much.
lonely, i do.

how is it that i can burn so bright.
and then...not.

there is something about sustainability here.
i don't think i am tending the fire evenly.
i'm learning, i guess.
i realize that my tendency is to stay rather inward.
that it is, to varying degrees, a great summoning of will to go and stay outward.
and, it is easier, at times for me to maintain outward, depending on some things.

the mix of folks.
my mood.
the subject at hand.
the impact and consequences of staying in.
what's at stake.
am i withholding the Dharma?
the impact and consequences of going out.
my energy.
how well i've been caring for myself...

these last 4 days have been rather intense.
lots of connections.
different types of people.
me speaking out...
living, leading, loving...
from the heart.
steadying my quavering voice.
steeling my failing nerve.

courage is born when i cannot bear things staying the same.
in the in-between space.

i'm tired tho.
and weary.

i woke up to the sounds of exuberant marching bands.
the rumbling of the tuba.

it's fiesta time here.
i don't feel like being around people.
or celebrating.
or even talking.

so, i won't.
until i do.

and i won't 'til it's absolutely called for.

not quite the last

2009-05-21T03:31:00.001-07:00

i'm not quite working my last nerve...
but, i tell ya, i ain't that far off.

whirlwind last 3 days or so.
is it 3?
they are blurring together.

i'm on my way home na from manila.
spent some time in weird makati.
reconnected with some innerdancers.
met some new ones.

i'll be home in sta. rita for one day.
(it'a all about laundry!)
then back to weird makati to dance on saturday.
then sunday, i have reiki level II.
then sunday night, dinner and spend time with tesa in paranaque.
then monday, climb onto a bus and head to baguio.
and then grace for couple of days.

then banaue.
then sagada.
and alone time.

thank
the
Goddess.

roused from sleep

2009-05-18T12:16:00.000-07:00

who is pulling my energy?
roused from sleep again.
it's been like this like for the last 8 days or so.
not every night, but maybe 5 of 8.
2:30ish, i wake up because i feel someone calling my name.
is it you?
what is it that you want?
it's more than missing me.
what is it?
it's someone(s) in the states.
i've texted the usual suspects and they say 'nopes' or 'just a little.'
this feels bigger.

i feel like that part in clash of the titans when andromeda's astral body gets up every night and goes into that gilded cage thingy of that horrible vulture and is flown to calibos every night.

i'm tired, friend.

i wish i knew who you are.
and i wish you would contact me directly so that we could talk.
and we could lay to rest whatever it is...

wrenched

2009-05-16T20:22:00.000-07:00

i’m listening to this playlist i made called wrench.
many of these songs are lifted.

behold the magic of music!
our whole story is in this playlist.

i really should start charging you rent (again).
something in me still needs this pain.

the first time i saw you, i loved you.
when i hurt you, i wanted to give birth to you, give birth to you.
i made love to you.
i made love to you.
the great Goddess had us blessed.
the last time i saw you, i fought with you; i fought with you.
i didn’t mean to.
i didn’t mean to.
the next time you’ll see me, let me say sorry.
the next time i see you, i love you.
i’ll be sweet to you.
i’ll take you to my healing room.
o, we both know how loneliness goes.
everytime i see you, i want you.
i want you.
the more i do, you hate me, too.
but the great Goddess has us blessed.

you’re so far away and what can i say.
‘cause i can’t be the one you wanted me to be.
so tell me how does you feel?
it’s so confusing.
so what are we saying?
our Eden’s a failure?
a made up story to fit a picture perfect world?
and we are made for each other is forever over now.
i hope there’s forgiveness in the distance between us.
can we make what lies ahead of us a better place to be?

have you seen?
have not, will travel.
have i missed the big reveal?
do my eyes, do my eyes seem empty?
i’ve forgotten how this feels.
i’ve been high.
i’ve climbed so high.
but now sometimes it washes over me.
have you been?
have done, will travel.
i fell down on my knees.
was i wrong?
i don’t know; don’t answer.
i just needed to believe.
so i dive into a pool so cool and deep,
that if i sink, i sink
and when i swim, i fly so high.
what i want, what i want is
just to live my life on high.
and i know
i know you want the same.
i can see it in your eyes.

all your ways and all your thunder,
got me in a haze, running for cover.
where we gonna go from here?
where we gonna go from here?
700 places
700 faces
in fact, your eyes look like my mother’s.
when we talk, you’re like my brother.
where we gonna go from here?
where we gonna go from here?
it’s bigger than the ocean, bigger than my design.
all your ways and all your thunder,
got me in a haze, running for thunder.
now, i’ve waited, and i’ll wait some more.
won’t see me knocking on another door.
but, all this is crazy and amazing.
‘cause only one half of us that i’ve saving.
so, i’m praying just to let it go.
watch from a distance just to see you glow.
700 places
700 faces

am i faithful?
am i strong?
am i good enough to belong?
your vision of romance is cruel.
all your expectations bury me.
don’t worry.
you will find the answers if you let it go.
give your time some time to falter.
don’t forego knowing that you are loved no matter what.
everything will come around in time.
i own my insecurities, try to own my destiny.
i can make it, break it if i choose.
you take my words and twist them round.
‘til i’m the one who brings you down
make me feel like i’m the one to blame for all this.
you need everybody with you on your side
know that i am here for you
but i hope in time
you’ll find yourself alright alone
you’ll find yourself with open arms
you’ll find yourself
you’ll find yourself
in time
a riot in my heart decides
to keep me open and alive,
i have to take myself away from you.
‘cause i can’t compete
i can’t deny
there’s nothing that i didn’t try.
how did i go so wrong in loving you?

it could all be so simple.
but you’d rather make it hard.
loving you is like a battle
and we both end up with scars
tell me who i have to be
to get some reciprocity
see, no one loves you more than me
and no one ever will.
is this just a silly game?
that forces you to act this way
forces you to scream my name
then pretend that you can’t stay
i keep letting you back in
how can i explain myself
as painful as this thing has been
i just can’t be with no one else
see i know what we’ve got to do
you let go
and i’ll let go too
‘cause no one’s hurt me more than you
and no one ever will
no matter how i think we grow
you always seem to let me know: it ain’t working.
it ain’t working.
and when i try to walk away, you’d hurt yourself to make me stay.
this is crazy.
this is crazy.
this is crazy.
care for me, care for me
you’d say you’d care for me
there for me, there for me
you said you’d be there for me
cry for me, cry for me
you said you’d die for me
give to me, give to me
why won’t you live for me?
where were you when i needed you?

forgive.
sounds good.
forget.
i’m not sure i could.
they say time heals everything.
i’m still waiting.
i’m thru with doubt
there’s nothing left for me to figure out
i’ve paid a price
and i’ll keep paying
i’m not ready to make nice
i’m not ready to back down
i’m still mad as hell and i don’t have time to go round and round and round
it’s too late to make it right
prolly wouldn’t if i could
‘cause i’m mad as hell to do what it is you think i should
i know you’ve said
can’t you just get over it?
it turned my whole world around
and i kinda like it.

if i fall along the way, pick me up and dust me off
and if i get too tired to make, be my breath so i can walk
if i need some other love then, give me more than i can stand
and when my smile gets old and faded, wait around; i’ll smile again.
shouldn’t be so complicated
just hold me and then
just hold me again
can you help me?
i’m bent.
i’m so scared that i’ll never get put back together
keep breakin’ me in
and this is how we will end
whether you and me bend
and if i couldn’t sleep, could you sleep?
could you paint me better off?
could you sympathize with my needs?
i know you think i need a lot.
i started out clean but i’m jaded.
just phonin’ it in
just breakin’ the skin

so she woke up, woke up from where she was lying still
said i gotta do something about where we’re goin’
run from the darkness in the night
sweet the sin
bitter the taste in my mouth
i see 7 towers
but i only see one way out
you gotta cry without weeping
talk without speaking
scream without raising your voice

hit the ground babe
it’s all right now
hit the ground baby
take your veil down
see your eyes in mine
leave the rest behind
hit the ground
‘cause i want to love you now.

i’ve been waiting for you
i’ve been waiting for you
never found anything else but waiting for you
i’ve been calling your name
i’ve been calling your name
never found anything else the same, nothing’s the same
you can kill a lot of time, if you really put your mind to it
or leave it all behind and never really have to go thru it
i keep hearing your name
i keep hearing your name
nothing else sounds same, as hearing your name.

i’m a liar.
it’s my secret no one knows.
i’m a liar.
yea, i know it doesn’t show.
no, i don’t miss you anymore.
no, i don’t think of you.
it’s such a game to seem adored.
no, i don’t love you anymore.

no earthly church has blessed our union.
no state has ever granted us permission
no family bond has made us two
no company has ever owned commission
no debt was paid
no dowry to gained
no treaty over borderland or power
no semblance of a world remained
to state the beauty of this nuptial hour
the secret marriage vow
is never spoken
the secret marriage can never be broken

girl you are rich even with nothing
and you know tenderness comes from pain
it’s amazing how you love
love is kind
love can give
and get no gain
it’s down a rugged road you’ve come
tho you had every reason, you didn’t come undone
somehow, you made it to the other side
you didn’t suffer in vain
you forgive those who have trespassed against you
and you know tenderness comes from pain
it’s amazing you love.

you are the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen
you shine just like sunlight rains on a winter snow
i just had to tell you so
your eyes sparkle as the stars
like the moon that glows
your smile could light the world on fire
or did you know?
your mind is full of everything that i wanna know
i just had to let you know
i just had to tell you so
you’re my butterfly.
fly
fly
fly
fly

don’t let me down
don’t let me down
don’t let me down
don’t let me down
nobody ever loved me like she does
and if somebody loved like she do me
i’m in love for the first
don’t you know it’s gonna last
it’s a love that lasts forever
it’s a love that has no past

set myself on fire
only thing that’s in your head
don’t deny this
burning from the things you said.

i drink good coffee in the morning
comes from a place that’s far away
when i’m done, i feel like talking
without you here, there is less to say
don’t want you thinking i’m unhappy.
what is closer to the truth
that if i lived til i was 102,
i just don’t think i’ll ever get over you.
no longer drink to drink strong whiskey
i shook the hand of Time and i knew that
if i lived til i could no longer climb my stairs,
i just don’t think i’ll ever get over you.
your face it dances and it haunts me
your laughter is still ringing in my ears
i still find pieces of your presence here even, even after all these years
don’t want you thinking that i don’t get asked out to dinner
‘cause i’m here to say that i sometimes do

slowed

2009-05-16T01:07:00.000-07:00

it is a most curious kind of laziness that i feel.
i have this feeling deep down that it is so entirely on purpose.
tho, i confess, i’ve no understanding how come or what for.
industrious Virgo wants to rebel and DO something.
some THINGS, actually.
PLEASE.
(written list flutters to the floor)

the chief Phlegmatic, smiles sleepily at Virg, yawning rather showily.
ah, will you ever learn?

i have many thoughts and ideas of what to write about, and the strength and effort that is required to actually formulate and put said thoughts to paper is beyond me.
frightfully so.

the big hand isn’t holding me down, per se.
but, she is keeping me on a short leash.
blogging is the most strain that i can put on my brain, at the moment.
(this is really a stretch.)

why?
(a more rhetorical question has nary existed.)
(i know i won’t get this answered until it is well within hindsight.)

Jodie says that Moon in Aquarius.
could that be it?
all things hang on the stars?

low energy.
the heat.
too much travel, back and forthing from here and manila.
supposed to go to a thing tomorrow.
doubt i will.

supposed to go on wednesday.
pick up cosmic book from UP Dilliman, blessings.
pick up cosmic spiral bracelet from Unang Panahon.
crash at ‘Tay’s new digs in makati.
see Pi and Lisette, et al.

maybe subic on monday.

i just feel like a great big lumpy sloth.
my brain cannot string any pearls of logical thought to save her life.
and there are heaps of pearls in my house.
i see them all, scattered all over.
and even the effort to plunge my fingertips in their bowls, just for texture sake, is effort i do not have.
even though, i do love to feel their coolness and their roundness on my fingertips.

i caught myself caught up in some serious wistful thinking earlier.
and reading of old hurty emails.
and gazing upon some photos, almost all of which were stolen.
none, save one, were really mine.
i was sad for this.
and also happy, because it is information.
let this one go, Dear.
for all our sakes.

perhaps this releasing needs me to stay put for today.
as i write this, i notice the gnawing ache in my heartspace.

oh.
hello.

let me make some room for you.
just understand, this is just a visit.
you no longer have permission to stay as long as you like.

even though

2009-05-10T08:08:00.000-07:00

i just finished almost burning my tongue on a seafood cup-o-noodles.
there was one left over from the other night, when rowell and i went on our all- day date. after a full day of adventures, he was craving soup. on the way home, we stopped at the mini-stop (the one next to mary the queen college), and he bought cup-o-noodles and ice cream. i had a pinipig crunch. when he asked me what flavor cup-o-noodles i wanted, i replied, “seafood.” that was Lola’s favorite flavor. turns out it is Rowell’s too. and now mine, by default.

with all of the fasting and cleansing and biodynamic chu-chu i’ve been doing, i can’t believe i’ve been reduced to this. reminds me of college when i ate my fair share of top ramen, potato buds, and rice-o-roni. i remember one day when i thought to myself, “i actually don’t have to eat this crap.” and i started making meals from scratch.

my mind is swimming lately.
much has happened.

i completed my teacher training. will lay that to rest for now and trust that the i’ve prepared the soil enough for the seeds that were planted to germinate and grow.

pretty much straight from the 3 week training, i attended an anthroposophic conference for 3 days in manila. more learning and connections. brilliant lecturers. new friends. old friends. lots of synapse fire.

have had some warm reunions with some long-lost and wayward friends. that has been thrilling and a little nervewracking. takes energy to extend and extend. and extend. it’s good to witness my own growth. and it’s a very good feeling, indeed, for my own witness to be enough.

i go to manila tomorrow to buy my plane ticket to go to the states next month for another visit. i’ll be attending the annual sesshin at my Center. was a big decision for me to go. i’m mindful that i’ve given myself a precious few months left here in the Philippines before i move back to the states. there are many places yet to visit and re-visit. at the end of this month, the cordilleras. will stay with grace in baguio, then off to banaue and sagada, sola.
there’s also batanes (sana) before the rainy season starts, and perhaps tuguegarao. also vigan, palawan, davao, makilala. los banos, tagaytay. and also back to Iloilo for classroom observation at GCI and cheese sticks at mango tree.

and then there’s the money factor. it’s a thousand bucks for airfare alone. the deciding factor ultimately came down to a question. after it is all said and done, i asked myself, “would i regret NOT going?”
the quiet voice said, “yes.”

and that was that.

well, that and my knowing that the annual sesshin is one of those Practice reference points, especially when considering that i return to the Center this year. when someone says, “remember at the last sesshin when…,” i want to be able to say, “yah, that was...”

so…thank goodness for credit cards.

oh, and Pipsy, my car, has been acting up. repairs (now, i know what a tire rod end is!) and renewing registration and insurance and gas… it’s all adding up. and, man, driving is truly a privilege. when i go back to the states, i will be car-less, and i’m thinking that may be the way to go…

i drop off Pipsy at a shop in san fernando tomorrow morning at 8am, and then i’ll commute to manila. it’s been awhile since i’ve taken the bus, and i’m kinda looking forward to it. let someone else do the driving and toll-paying and parking!

it’s been raining a lot here lately. two typhoons in the last week or so. the last one hit Zambales. Guagua is flooded. as i type this, i hear the distant rumbling of thunder. another storm coming. my right shoulder has been aching for the last week or so. i thought it was related to my moon, but, no, i’m afraid it’s a touch of arthritis!

last night was the first night that i actually felt afraid to sleep alone here. Rowell has been sleeping over a lot, so maybe i’m used to that na. but, last night, the rain was so loud, it woke me up from sleep. it was so loud, i thought, “my gosh, it’s gonna soak thru the roof!” it was so loud, i couldn’t sleep for the racket it made. i saw strange shadows and things dart around out of the corners of my eyes. it was the full moon last night, too.

i’ve done an apparent about-face re: facebook. i went from reluctant to neutral to skeptical to full blown addict. i like the stupid quizzes. (just not the really stupid ones.) i like feeling connected to people that i care about, especially in the bay. i know it’s not as good as an in-the-flesh connection, but when i’m all the way over here, it fills a certain void.

i had big plans for today. for cleaning. for yoga or running. for going to mass. for going to the palengke. i did none of it. early in the morning, a friend shared some upsetting news about recent life choices made by another friend. it’s like a train wreck about to happen. and i feel powerless to stop it. there’s nothing for me to do, except love her through this train wreck. and hope she survives it. she’ll survive it alright; she’s one of the toughest people i know. she’ll be so busy surviving, in fact, she’ll forget what it feels like to thrive. and she was just beginning to thrive, really thrive. i’m heartbroken over this. sayang na naman.

so, i spent some time crying and cursing. and slapping the wall, shaking my fists. and wishing to hit things and certain people and wail.

rageful. i was feeling rageful.

my facebook status says that i am making friends with rage.

it’s been 3 days now, and we’re still at it.

rage is like, "dude, glad you calmed down enough to see me, instead of reacting..." then, she's like, "can't you see my gift?"

me, i'm like, "yah, i know you're bringin’ sumthin'. and i even know it's time to look at it, receive it in a good way. forgive me tho, i’m still afraid to peek under your skirt."

she shrugs and sighs and crosses her legs. crosses her arms. and waits.

rage, i say, i can see your gift.
you invite me to look underneath.
it is not enough to stay surface and run amok.
the juice is at the root.
the opportunity for living Freedom, in every moment, begins at the root.

it’s the pain of looking underneath.
the being okay with not knowing why.
the agony of letting go.
the discernment of knowing when to speak up and when to hold it.
the discomfort of seeing someone i love make a very, very bad choice…and then in turn, remind myself to love her through it.

even though.
even though?
even though.

unconditional, Muki.
this is the agreement.

i opened a window earlier, and a tail-less gecko jumped in and scurried away.
like a reminder.

unconditional, Muki.
this is the agreement.

fuck.
this is really hard stuff.

smiling underneath

2009-04-12T19:58:00.000-07:00

things that i swore i couldn't let go of are in the process of being let go of.
things i wouldn't let go of are, gradually, slipping away, going their own way, because i have found a way to loosen my grip.

it's a strange feeling.
i'm having one of those hazy moments, where i'm like, "totoo ba ito? is this really happening? is it really just the difference of a moment? a shift in perception?"

really?

i feel like i got shot at repeatedly, and there's just no way that i didn't get hit.
i frantically pat my body all over, looking for blood or holes or guts or even pain.
and there is none.

it's a strange feeling talaga.
i don't know quite what to make of it.

things that i have used, in the past, to define me suddenly don't fit.
like i had the locks changed overnight.
or maybe i had them removed.

this is a quieter part of the maze.
and, i'll enjoy the newness of it.
and thoughtfully create a space of curiosity about this newness, this new place.

it really is so strange.

genuflection

2009-04-10T19:49:00.000-07:00

there is this deep rattling in my chest.
something wants to come loose.
get out, you thing.
get out, you old things that makes me wheezy.

because i’ve done this back and forthing as much as i have,
i know that when i come back from the states, i come back to the Philippines all wheezy.
it’s happened every single time.
i consider it a kind of cleanse.

this kind of asthma that i experience is mostly obstructive, rather than constrictive. i wheeze because the air passages are blocked because i am coughing up some ancient goop.

i’ve come to know this goop as ‘grief incarnate.’

i remember it making so much sense when my friend, Vassi, told me, some years ago now, that in chinese medicine, it is believed that we hold grief in our lungs. and since, most of my health problems, as well as my family’s health problems, stem from all things respiratory, i know we hold a lot of grief-personal, familial, cultural, and ancestral.

this time around tho, this goop, this ‘grief incarnate,’ has a different quality.
it is less in volume and more tenacious, harder to clear.
to me, this means, i’m gettin’ down to it; i’ve cleared so much already.
so, this stuff that i am clearing now must be super duper old.
and…it’s gotta go.
go, please!
thank you!

so, i guess this means i am triple cleansing.
moon.
goop.
master.

i’m almost there in accepting that it’s just not in the stars that i do things, one thing at a time anymore.

Rowell is sleeping in the other room.
and it makes me happy to see him rest.
(and, this must be shared: i am resisting the urge SO HARD to morning chatterbox him. i acknowlege that this is a particular tendency of mine. i happen to think of it as endearing. i’ve gotten feedback, however, more than once, from, ahem, different pea-op-lays, that it is decidedly not.)
(*insert innocent looking, slightly incredulous shoulder shrug here*)

i snuck into the kitchen to do my saltwater flush.
then quietly did my morning sit.
he slept right through it.
sadhana postponed ‘til later.
as well as liturgicals.

today, my plans are to get my house right.
i still haven’t unpacked all the way from my last trip (i do this.), and i’m fixin’ to go on another in 2 days. so, i’ll unpack all the way today. and survey the laundry situation.
it’s summer here, so no real worries for a “rain delay” to affect laundry drying plans.
and, i note that i am not really looking forward to doing laundry.

i wish it were a matter of just throwing it in the washing machine and calling it a day.
pero, my washing machine is my two hands and a washboard. and a little baby stool that squat on while washing. and a big plastic wash basin (rinse cycle), a medium plastic wash basin (wash cycle), and a bucket (spin cycle with softener) i really make sure my clothes are good and dirty before i decide to wash them here. and, i’ve noticed that this practice has carried over to how i do my laundry stateside as well, even with all the gadgetry.
that’s good.
that’s growth.

fortunately, i don’t have so much cleaning to do besides that.
windows and floors mostly.
and i have to refill all the dehumidifiers i have stashed in my closet and under the kitchen sink.
(they’re full again! ah, moist tropics!)

and, i want to get my altar in order before i go off again.
(it’s looking kinda bare. and for the life of me, i can’t seem to remember where i put that wooden Buddha of mine, the one with the slightly stooped posture. and i want a santo of Sta. Rita made.)

OH, and i have an altar!
Mang Ado, finally, came thru.
i’ve been patiently waiting for 3 months.
he’s been too busy planting rice and building new apartment units to build me the furniture i’ve been asking him for.
namely, my altar and a shelf for my kitchen things.

when i came home last week, i was double surprised.
i had some new furniture…
and my house was arranged and clean!

Rowell cleaned my house while i was away.
like top to bottom cleaned.
he took a bit of poetic license on where stuff went, for which even my persnickety Virgo shut her mouth wide open because…i didn’t have to sweep or mop or clear rusty water from pipes or wash dishes or wipe down counters or change sheets, or anything of the sort, when i got home. prolly the best gift i’ve ever gotten. a very good way to come home.

i think i’ll ask Mang Ado, later, if he can help me hang my bamboo blinds in the big window and my mirror, too. (which means i’ll have to decide, once and for all, where that thing goes.) and i need some nails where i can hang the walis and mop, too. oh gosh, wait, i have some art, too. (on second thought, i’ll wait on the art.)

oh, and i want to dust and reorganize my bookshelf, too.
my bookshelf is the anchor of my place. it’s like 10 feet high and 8 feet wide and chock-a-bock full of books. and other random tchotchkes. Rowell said that was the next thing he wanted to organize/clean in my place, and i’m secretly relieved he didn’t get to it.

my books are so…personal.

and i do have them grossly arranged.
tho, to the untrained eye, it would be, perhaps, imperceptible. the higher shelves are for oversized books, books that i’ve read already, or books that i don’t have any plans of reading soon.
the tippy top shelf has different sized bayong boxes full of art supplies.
the very bottom shelf has another set of bayong boxes full of spare bathroom things.
the eye level shelves have the books that are up near the front of the reading list queue.
the second to the bottom shelf is all things yoga, where my yoga bolster, blocks, mat, strap, and eye pillow live.
the rest are all books, books, and books.
there are also some piles of paper and old conference nametags and old credit card hotel keys and receipts and empty guitar brand match boxes (future art project) and boxes of incense and small piles of different colored rubber bands mixed in there. and… i noticed some cobwebs…

this should keep me busy
so, laundry may wait until tomorrow, but at least i’ll get it sorted and soaking by tonight.

i don’t think that there is anything going on at the church today.
this is prolly why Rowell is still sleeping in the other room on the couch/bed at 8am.

ah, correction.

he just got up from said couch/bed, sleepy shuffled to my room, made sleepy face good morning grin towards me, and, after some computer power cord adjustment, promptly fell asleep, on his belly again, next to me, as i write this.
i really do love this one.
Agape.

yesterday, i went to mass at 3pm.
we sang the Pasyon in Kampampangan.
afterwards, Among Gene said a homily.
then, Among Gene started giving instruction, and since it was all in Kampampangan, i didn’t really understand any of it except form two lines, genuflect, and exit the same side you came in.

what the heck was happening?
i had no idea what to expect.
then, i noticed that the huge double doors of the main entrance of the church were wide open. there were people jam-packed, spilling out the doors.

then, about 35 men sweating and huffing and puffing carried in a huge wooden cross, with great difficulty, to the front of the church, towards the altar. people sitting in the pews near the center aisle, were asked to move in so that they would not get hurt, as the men shuffled in with this enormous cross and carefully set it down level on cut tree stumps, about 2 feet in diameter, about 2 feet high.

i think my mouth hung open the whole time they were bringing it in.
it occurred to me that this was a life size cross.
i had never seen one before.
(i am reminded here of the value of direct experience…and how cerebral the US is and how visceral the Philippines are.)

the cross was 8-10 inches thick, maybe 9 feet across, 12 feet long,
it was prolly the very same kind that Jesus, the man, was crucified on.
there were at least 35 men struggling to bring this in.
heavy, heavy.
their process of working together in this task was infused with humility, bayanihan, and kapwa.

i realized that this cross was made and brought into the church on Good Friday, so that we could each kiss it and genuflect before it, as a sign of our gratitude.

maybe this is a good time for me to come out of the closet.

i love Jesus.

there i said it.
i would have never, ever have thought that i would say such a thing, much less mean it as much as i do.

but, i do love him.
and, i’m happy to be getting to know him.
in my anthroposophical studies, in particular, i’ve been hearing about and doing some reading on the Cosmic Christ and the inner Christ. i’ve listened to Caroline Myss speak about the way Jesus held and kept his Sacred Contract, despite not understanding it fully. in addition, it is holy week and all, so i’ve kinda been steeping in some serious Lenten tea.

AND, in the PAG-ASA talk i attended last week, Fe Mangahas reminded us that Jesus, was a radical.
he was an activist.
he was crucified for his beliefs.
and his beliefs challenged the power structures of the day.
that the thieves who hung next to him on crosses were bound by ropes, and that he, only he was nailed.
because to question the validity of a corrupt power dynamic, the over-arching structure much like the Matrix, which pervades practically every facet of daily life and that is as easy as breathing to collude in it, is dangerous.

Jesus threatened the establishment by daring to question.
and his questions led to his actions.
and his actions pointed a Way.

a different Way.
a better Way.
a humane Way.
an integral Way.
an aligned Way.
a way to Freedom.

to say he died for our sins does not contextualize it enough.
what the hell does that really mean?
and i realize that all these years of hearing about Jesus, i had been missing that context.
and now, that i have it, i am in utter awe of this person and the way he chose to live.

i was writing to my friend, Simha, earlier this week, where i first professed my love for Jesus.

i love that he was human.
the qualities and concepts that i associate with him include humility, warmth, acceptance, Truth, Service, a deep love for humanity, conviction, alignment, compassion, surrender, and sacrifice. these are not unique just to him. they are actually ALL available to ALL people ALL the time. like Buddha-nature, we have these things in us already.
and the difference, the remarkable difference, is choice.

simply put, it is a CHOICE we have to express these qualities in every thought, word, and action that we do.

to quote the Warrior Spirit Prayer for Awakening, perhaps my most favorite of anything written by my Teacher,
“…may i exercise the precious gift of choice and the power to change that makes me uniquely human and is the only to true path to liberation…”

it is a CHOICE.
it is a CHOICE.
it is a CHOICE…
to be Free.

so, yesterday, i fell in line, and genuflected and touched my forehead to the enormous wooden cross. and i whispered, “thank you” to Jesus for pointing a Way. and i whispered, “thank you” to all others who do the same.

tears were flowing down my cheeks as i did this, as
tears are flowing down my cheeks as i write this.

and, i think it is my most fervent wish that everyone have the experience of freely choosing to make it non-optional for them to steadily peer inward and really love what they see. and in that loving, their actions are guided towards loving others just the same: no separation. and in that loving, there will be more to point a Way.

kalamansi and Agape

2009-04-09T20:02:00.000-07:00

my mind is racing.
so much keeps happening.
how to keep up?
(subtext: why do i feel compelled to “keep up?”)
(more subtext: what exactly am i trying to “keep up” with again?)

i specifically didn’t sked anything major for myself for the time between coming back from the states and going off to the last block of the Waldorf teacher training. i thought 10 days with nothing really major scheduled would be good for me. (i am reminded that i still need to write a pentatonic song for recorder; that was a personal goal of mine before the 3rd block. but, i don’t think that counts as ‘anything major’ scheduled.)

in theory, it was a good idea. in practice, the days filled up a bit.

well, at least i’m improving. i used to give myself like 3 days after returning, if that, before i was charging off to do the next big thing. and then it was a week, but i scheduled all of these major things to do, everyday, or when i was feeling ‘kind,” every other day. i did that a couple three-four times. and, i am grateful for a particular gchat exchange with my friend Sundaresvani where she reminded me that i can actually make my schedule so it’s not so unreasonably ridiculous. (my words, not hers.)

at the moment, i am in the midst of a dwindling-faster-than-i-would-like-10-full-days.
AND, i am grateful that i’ve done this back and forthing enough to learn some valuable information about myself.

like, travel takes a lot out of me.
particularly international travel.
crossing all of those time zones and date lines.
saying goodbye. (again.)
saying hello. (again.)
being up in the air for the better part of a day.
realizing that the concepts of “day” and “night” feel so contrived.

arriving on the other side of the freakin’ earth, at the end of it.
in another land.
with a set of different rules and customs.
and languages.
and climate.
and money.

it’s crazy.

don’t get me wrong, i appreciate the magic of airplanes.
i agree wholeheartedly with comedian, Louis CK, when he said that we all should be shouting “wow!” the whole time we are flying up in an airplane…because
we are “sitting in a chair…
in the air.”

WOW!

AND, i know there is a way that i feel scrambled up after doing this back and forthing. it’s like when my physical body arrives on the other side of the earth, my etheric body is trying to pick up the rhythm of the new land and adjust accordingly, my astral body was already there and is like, “what took you?”, and my spirit is scattered throughout, encapsulating all of it and, perhaps, still mostly at the other place and on the way. it takes awhile for everyone to get synchronized again. and all four of them are like, “dag. she’s doing that back and forthing thing again. attention everyone: REGROUP!”

i AM getting better at it tho.
and, it’s a lot.
perhaps it is necessary, this discombobulation.
i mean, there should be some kind of felt impact, right?
some kind of marker that a long ass journey has occurred.
give props.

it’s holy week here, and perhaps that factors into the discombobulation.
intensity is in the air.
yesterday, i drove to angeles to my favorite frozen yogurt place.
(it was a kind of last supper gesture before the master cleanse.)
and on the way, i must have passed at least 50 hooded young men, walking barefoot on the hot, hot asphalt, beating their backs to a bloody, pulpy rawness. their backs are so red with blood, i don’t think it’s real. like it’s Hollywood. and, i note, that there is something in me that wants to shield myself from this truth: these men, for many reasons mostly unknown to me, have chosen to take up this practice every Lenten season.

and, it is really hot nowadays.
summer in pampanga is rough.
the sun is intense, relentless.
and it’s only early summer at that.

i took Tita Fely, Rowell’s mom, to mass at the san fernando cathedral this morning. she asked me to take her when we were walking in the holy week procession last night. we were behind the San Pedro. she wanted to go because there was a special mass where all of the priests from all over pampanga were all going to be there to receive a blessing from the bishop, anoint some oils, etc.
also, Rowell was singing.
that’s why i wanted to go.

the whole mass, in it’s totality, was quite a to-do.
all the pageantry,
all the robes,
all the pomp and circumstance.

my favorite part was the processional of all of the priests dressed in identically beautiful ecru robes. i was sitting near the aisle, in the second to the last pew, right side, and i could see the details of their costume. all the layers, collars, and sash thingies. so fussy! perhaps all priestly robes are like this. i remember helping dress Paco Sensei for ceremonies last year and thinking, “what’s with all the fuss?” all the pulling and tucking and straightening. and then i remember seeing my Teacher, the first time, all gussied up in her ‘specially made white bamboo cloth juban and the way her black sheer robes hung ‘just so,’ wearing the rich, cranberry red kesa that we all sewed for her, and i was like, “oh! THAT’S what it’s all about.”

i liked witnessing the priests’ camaraderie. the way they shook hands and hugged and greeted each other like old friends, like old army buddies. like ones that have been in the trenches and seen combat. i like the way some of them hung on each other. the sometimes slight and sometimes overt homoeroticism. (i am so sensitive to that…)

i liked how they all smiled and joked with each other. there were one or two intense ones that seemed appalled at all of this chatterboxing. (hi.) then there were the quiet ones who smiled and kept mostly inward. (hi, too.) mostly, they all seemed genuinely happy to be there. (hi, three.)

i liked looking at all the different shapes, sizes, ages, and colors of them. some had to be younger than me. and some were in their 60’s. and some had really cool hair, like done up or spiky. one of them had this kinda corny, pasted down looking page boy cut that looked anachronistically medieval. some had facial hair, and the tita that i was sitting next to whispered to me that she thought it should be bawal, or forbidden, for priests to have facial hair. i smiled at her because she was so earnest in her conviction. some priests wore make-up, like lipstick!

some were really good looking. (thorn birds!) and some were not so much. i would see one, and i would say to myself, “whoa. he looks like my friend Maui from cebu. and that one looks like, Rolly, that one nurse. and he looks like that guy who fixed my car that one time.” someday, i’ll look into that idea of the different archetypal ‘looks’ of hu-mons. it’s caught my interest because it’s a pattern i’ve always noticed, ever since i was small. and, i’ve noticed it cuts across race and culture. those universality, connection things really do grab me.

i appreciated the ritual of this mass and even some of the pageantry.
And, i am reminded that i don’t like too much pageantry. perhaps it is my pragmatic Virgo that asserts herself. somewhere this morning, i felt a line was crossed from ‘acceptable indulgence’ (to mark the specialness of the gathering) to just plain overindulgence (ego masturbation). perhaps, it is a finer line than i previously thought.

i’m not exactly sure when i felt the line was crossed. i’m curious what were the contributing factors. maybe, it was the preachy homily given by the bishop or the lipstick or the way the choir sang so high that there was no hope for the congregation to sing with them. maybe i’ll peer deeper into this someday. or maybe not. i think i will tho, for it would be useful. it’s good information for me just to know about myself, how i hold ceremonies, and something about the importance of the overall design of ceremonies to be accessible and relevant while maintaining an appropriate level of pageantry.
ba-lahns-say!

i’m in this cleansing mode.
it has a lot to do with getting this physical vessel of mine stronger and better able to keep up. (there’s that phrase again.)
i’m getting to this point in my evolution that i am quite strong and flexible in my emotional, spiritual, and psychic health. and in the interest of true alignment, and if i am truly to be a vehicle for Freedom and “point a way,” i best get my physical body up to speed.

‘cause we’ve got shit to do.
and good shit, too.

so, i’m looking at my relationship to food and eating
and its relationship to nourishment.
and its relationship to culture.
and the ways to flex it.
and the ways to not.
not quite ready to write about this yet.
but, soon.
(or not.)

i did a bowel cleanse for 5 days.
i never did have much trouble in this department.
i go at least once a day. (sorry, if this is tmi.)
when i am in the Philippines, mostly twice, sometimes thrice.
i think it’s the heat.
among other things.

i had to mix up a teaspoon of this intestinal formula #2 with 6 oz. of juice and 6 oz. of water, shake it up in covered glass jar, and drink it down 5 times a day. it wasn’t bad, the taste, i mean. for the first day and a half, i didn’t have juice, so i just drank it in water. that wasn’t so good, for the grit. ugh. i found through trial and error, i like mango nectar the best for this cleanse. it has just enough body to hold the grit but still the smooth drinkability factor. jyess. grape juice, not so good. carrot juice not so good either.

i found i ate less because i was drinking this all the time. 60 oz. of fluid is kind of a lot. and i found it challenging to drink it the full 5 times each day. i think i did it only 4 times on two of the days. anyways, all was good in the hood, because i started going like 5 times a day after this.

now, i’m master cleansing for the next 3 days.
it’s been awhile since i did this. may 2007 was the last time, during sesshin.
i’m happy to report i’ve indigenized the master cleanse.
lemons and limes are expensive here.
they are imported from god knows where, and impractical for me to get (i have to drive 20 minutes away to the big supermarket to get them).
kalamansi, the native lime of the Philippines, on the other hand is plentiful, local, and relatively inexpensive. i paid P100, that’s like $2.10 for a kilo of them this morning at the palengke. a kilo of kalamansi will make enough lemonade for me to cleanse for 3 or 4 days, so i’m juicing those.

it’s a little more tedious juicing kalamansi. they are small, like the size of a good peewee marble, and they have big seeds. so, it takes like 25 or so to make ¼ cup of juice.
i brought organic real maple syrup, grade B, from the states. (Trader Joe’s!) i can get it here, but it’s super expensive, something like $20 for a small glass bottle. brought cayenne from the states, too. the water i pump from the ground, outside the gate of my compound.

i’ll break my cleanse on Sunday by eating Indian mangoes and brown rice. Indian mangoes are aplenty now. oranges (like lemons and limes) are not. besides, Ate Melds, my neighbor just gave me a sackful. they are all green and cute. and shiny from the treesap. they are sitting in a basket on my table, patiently waiting another 3 days.

i started the master cleanse this morning and elected not to saltwater flush before going to mass. we left at 6:30am for the 8:00am service. the hassle factor of going to mass is so high already: traffic; parking; heat; lack of bathroom; might be a bathroom but it likely being janky: for sure no toilet seat, nor toilet paper, likely no regular flusher, no soap, etc; dodging pedestrians, dogs, street vendors, and hooded men beating themselves. i didn’t want to worry. (sidebar: after mass, i noticed that the cars that were parked on the street by the church were all spattered with droplets of dried blood from the men walking past, beating their backs, while mass was going on. since i was sitting near the back of the cathedral, i could hear the steady rhythm of their lashings over everything else. i was SO grateful that a magic parking spot opened up for Pipsy right when we pulled up, a good ways from the splash zone. eww.)

by early afternoon, we got home, i dropped off the Titas, then had to run to Guagua to try and go to the bank. it was closed. gak. i am traveling early monday morning to Iloilo, and i need some cash. everything is closed for Good Friday here (the only day of the year EVERYTHING is closed), and banks are closed on the weekends. thought i was safe going on a thursday, but apparently, the bank had been closed the whole holy week.

i hate going to independent money changers because they feel somewhat seedy and janky. i illegally parked Pipsy on a sliver of sidewalk in front of an impromptu carinderia, and ran in. i think i don’t like these places because you can’t really see the person you are conducting business with. they are hidden away behind glass, behind metal bars. and the glass has all these random stickers and signage on them. and there’s all these signs admonishing you to count your money before you leave the counter, like it happens all the time that someone makes a horrible mistake. or some robber comes in guns ablazin’. it makes me nervous to count money out in the open. i get afraid someone is casing me, and then i’ll get mugged. and well, there it is. none of that happened. i survived it…again. and, writing this, i really think it’s time to drop that particular thought pattern. i have a powerful manifesting thing sometimes.

after changing money, i headed back to Sta. Rita, bought kalamansi at the palengke and a Ventolin asthma inhaler at the pharmacy because i am still quite wheezy from the states.

i was supposed to saltwater flush right when i got home. i got sidetracked tho, checking email and facebooking. then, i had a horrible headache that i kept trying to ignore. and ignore. and ignore. then i thought i wasn’t getting enough sugars. so, i kept drinking more lemonade. still, it didn’t go away. then i straight up took a swig of maple syrup. it still didn’t go away. then i realized, this must be a toxin headache. the lemonade was working it’s magic, and the toxins didn’t have anywhere to go. time to flush.

the saltwater flush is not my favorite thing to do. and, i‘ve noticed that if you chug it, it works better (and gets it done faster). i had this one roommate that use to sip it, out of a teacup. took her forever to finish the liter. Lord, it was like torture watching her do that.

after i took the flush, i layed my body down on my couch/bed. i was feeling particularly poorly. soon after tho, i felt some relief from my headache. i figured the hypertonicity of the saltwater was drawing the toxins away from my brain. (thank Goddess, and i am such a geek.) i even slept for 30 minutes. after my nap, the saltwater flush was… well, flushing. it used to take an hour or so to go through me. apparently 30 minutes here. 6 or 7 times later, i was empty. and my head no longer hurt. and i slept some more. i gave myself permission to ‘back off’ from sadhana today.

and you know, i am looking at this lemonade with some new eyes. and the saltwater flush, too. in Yoda tongue: powerful liquids they are. i remember last time i was home and we were doing fearless Yoga. my Teacher had been master cleansing, and for the 1ST time, she was touching her nose to her knee, BOTH sides, in seated forward bend. i could gage her amazement by the way she exclaimed, “toxins are real!”

toxins ARE real. and i’m curious and looking forward to sadhana tomorrow morning to see if i’ll have some more space in me, too. i’m a ways from nose to knee, but i’m convinced that it is the genuine striving that counts the most.…

the other day, i drove my ass all the way to manila to attend this talk on engaged spirituality and societal transformation. it was put on by PAG-ASA, so i knew maybe 10 of the 60 folks attending. nice to see some of them again. one of them (i named him in my Practice Period intentions) i’m working on reclaiming relationship with, and i was truly surprised to see him. (like jo kata surprised to see him). it has been awhile since we’ve connected. and, truthfully, at this point, i’m amused that i still get caught by surprise by anything and anyone who “just happens” to show up… it’s Divinely scripted, dear Muki!

so, with my PP intentions worn like my invisible rakusu (i miss that thing.), i worked diligently at reclaiming relationship. it’s a work in progress (like they all are), and much of it is done inwardly, not really requiring participation of the Other. ideally, i think mutual participation is best, but it isn’t necessary.

there will be no banners or parades or fireworks when this work is being done. there is no clear finish line, nothing to “get.” there are no award ceremonies nor is there even a guarantee that a broken friendship will mend nor rebuild. instead, a quiet steady acceptance of the history and the moment ensues. and somehow, that becomes enough. after the grasping is done, really done, it becomes the most grown up word, “enough.”

it has a lot to do with effort and release, extending, honoring boundaries, getting back up again after falling (again), all-around forgiveness, grace, humor, gratitude, awe, humility, following the out-breath, truthfulness, fierce compassion, fierce Love, self-love, expanding especially when wanting to contract, and creating, maintaining, and sustaining warmth. not to mention a good deal of pacifying, enriching, and magnetizing. good stuff. good Practice. (I hear Simha’s voice, “Practice, Practice, Practice.”)

i also spent time with my friend Jodie that day. we met for a meal at the green halo at cubao x. then, we attended the lecture together. we also got lost on the way; her sense of direction is slightly better than mine, and that ain’t sayin’ much…

i love my friend, Jodie. i like the story of how we met. i attended a panel discussion on decolonization and reclaiming indigenous chu-chu at the I-hotel in san francisco last may. it was just after the sesshin. there were maybe 15 or 18 of us in the audience. Leny was there. Mildred was there. Venus was there. Videl was there. me and my bald head were there. and Jodie was there.

Jodie was one of the speakers, and i loved her personal narrative and how she delivered it. she is hilarious for one thing. and wicked smart. and articulate. and warm. and did i say hilarious? Leo rising, i think. so, a true performer. my cheeks and belly literally ached from laughing and smiling so much that night. house of nanking is a couple of blocks away from the I-hotel, so we all went there after to eat delicious, albeit somewhat msg-laden, food. and by the time the evening was over, our bellies and hearts were full, our pocketbooks empty, and the BARTs had stopped running. it was the night before Jodie was to board a plane and move to the Philippines to teach preschool munchkins in her Tita’s school in Antipolo instead of working retail at the Gap or Forever 21. and, in the dark of that night, i drove her home to Hayward, and made a new (old) friend.

it’s funny because a few weeks before i met her in the flesh, i stumbled upon her blog. Leny had posted a link to it from her own blog. Jodie had also graduated from Humboldt State, though, something like 10 years after i did. in her blog, she mentioned a local hang out spot, Don’s Donuts in Arcata, and i was just so tickled. i had prolly gone into Don’s Donuts maybe 5 times in the five years that i lived in Arcata, so it wasn’t doughnut magic. it was a different kind. a simpatico magic. a fellow Fil-Am radical woman of color sister doing the good work….

i loved that we got to spend time together. i visited her only once before in Antipolo and met her family and her students. i’m in awe of how a lot seemed to happen in just one afternoon and night. it was like we traveled for 3 weeks. we were all over QC that night. cubao x, running red lights and miraculously not getting killed nor caught, getting lost in san juan/sta.mesa, finding PETA, hole in the wall sisig and pita pie at kebur, project 8 at 2am. meandering conversation, heartbreak and redemption, dreaming a Show, hope and fear, lots of laughter, and lots of wide-eyed looks, like “dude, it’s so awesome that we are friends and it’s kinda weird how we met”. we have a lot in common, and dude, i can speak American with her. AND taglish! i like that. it was a good afternoon/night/morning. and, i’m still trippin’ off it, all the stuff that’s come about from it.

it’s 3am here, and my friend, Rowell, is in the next room tossing and turning on the couch/ bed. he has run himself ragged…again. there are so many activities at the church for holy week. and they don’t just magically happen. there is a lot of effort that gets put into them. PA systems, programs, scripts, food, looking after Among, songs, choir practice, flowers, service, banners, etc., etc., etc. the church volunteers do an awful lot, and they do it so well, they don’t even make it look easy…they make it look invisible. really, i feel like everyone just assumes these activities and events just magically come down prêt-a-porter, polished and ready, from the Heavens. they so don’t. i know some things and stuff about this.

my friend Rowell is in “worn-out, weary, so-tired-i-wanna-just-sob-and-sob” mode, and because he is a friend that i specifically practice Agape, don’t-want-nuthin’-from-you-except-the-privilege-of-loving-you, unconditional cosmic Christ, Jesus love with, i welcome him, anytime, in whatever state he is in, and give him a soft place to land or a kick in the ass, whichever is called for in the moment. it’s mostly a soft place to land. he texted and showed up at my front door after being at the church all day and night.

one look is all it took. i got up off the couch/bed and let him have the whole thing. after asking some precursory general questions and receiving one word answers or no answers at all, i let him be. i gave him cool water to drink. and cranberry emergen-C. from time to time, i would come over and give him a few kisses on his head, touch his back or shoulder to let him know i was close by, and then, i just let him be. effort and release.

a voice inside told me that it would be helpful if he bathed, to help wash away whatever it was that needed to be washed away. i heated water and gave him a towel. i smoothed his hair while i quietly spoke just what the voice inside had said. he shook his no; he didn’t want to. “okay, friend,” i said, “if you change your mind, it’s ready for you.”

and then, i just let him be.

about an hour later, he bathed.

i made some lemonade. or in my case, kalamansi-ade and started writing this tome.

when he recovers “enough”, and not a moment before, i’ll point out this pattern that seems to play out, often, in his relationship with his Service, in the hope that he may realize that he is capable of finding a more balanced relationship with it.

he may.
he may not.
i won’t love him any less.

my Life is really good.
really good.
really full…
and really, really good.

.

reset

2009-03-31T02:53:00.000-07:00

there is an adorable photo booth picture of chandra and me on my desktop.
i really heart that photo booth application.
i recall that it was prolly the main impetus of my buying this black macbook.
that...
and it's black.

i took my computer to the apple store today because it has been running so very s - l - o - w lately.
i was all prepared for them to keep it for the next 2 days, but it turned out they fixed it in like 20 minutes.
cleaned out all the caches, reset some things, and did something else that i can't remember.
when it was all said and done, something like 13,429+ things were emptied out of the trash.

holy shit.
that's a lot of stuff.
instead of taking like 40 seconds for my computer to turn on and "get right," it takes like 10.
have a bunch of junk for me to sort thru and file away on my desktop, and the genius bar guy said once i did that, it would even run faster.
now, we're talking...

so, metaphorically speaking, this trip has been like this.
a reset.
a purging of things no longer needed.

where's my baggage?

a kind of clarity has descended, and i am grateful.

gave some talks at Sonoma State on spirituality and decolonization, upon invitation from my dear friend Leny.
(when did college students get so young?)
catching up; cosmic christ; delicious, nutritious, low salt meals; chi gong- my hands got hot like when i practice reiki; books!; a santo; babaylan conference on the horizon...

was invaluable to spend time with my Teacher and fellow Students.
center for transformative change, 27 days for change: Practice Period, urban retreat, chant leading, perfect intention, new liturgy, old liturgy, roles, observations, open house, memory, memories, getting lost, getting found, giving instruction, receiving instruction, knowings, being loud, social silence, truthfulness (phew, not continence), food, body, precision, warmth, baby children, JO KATA, dana, prostrations, the coarse hinderances (i have resolved to relax into these coarse ones. just thinking about the ones that remain hidden, for now, freak me the fuck out.)

connected with some pea-op-lays...
some on purpose, some quite by happy accident...
all divinely scripted tho, by the unfathomable Universe...
Mitra, mitra, chandra, Simha, Prema, Zochi, Leny, Cal, Sundaresvani, Suryanandi, Marie, Stan, Jim, Kim, Vassi, Jase, AGP, Miguel, Joseph...

checked out Rudolf Steiner College. drove way the fuck out there. worth the trip, if not just to satisfy the curiosity i had in my head about the place. glorious bookstore (i love books!)-they stayed open later for me, the campus was pretty much empty when i got there. despite this, was pleasantly surprised to have spied some folks of color. they were purty. spent time in the biodynamic garden and watched the master gardener and his helpers work. i'd like to do that some day. i sat on the bench near the vortex fountain, imagining. nice...

things shifting for me around my family, too.
(insert sigh here)
cuts close to the bone.
once upon a time, i had expectations of being understood.
then, after several lumps and bumps of the 'dark nights of the soul' quality, the expectations shifted to yearnings.
then the yearnings to longings.
now, i'm about ready to let go of the longing.
not quite yet.
haven't infused enough warmth in the process, so that i can send it off in a good way.
but almost.

let the Love remain.
let the Love remain.
let the Love remain.

where is my baggage?

there's no place like Home.

precision

2009-03-18T22:27:00.000-07:00

i associate precision with coldness.
cold precision.

cold.

precision.

what does warm precision look like?

can precision be friends with warmth?
(we already know that warmth likes to be friends with everyone.)

for me and my Practice, i'm fixin' to find out.

enlightening experience

2009-03-18T20:23:00.000-07:00

from astro.com:
(boy, howdy.)

Enlightening Experience ***

Valid during many months:
This influence will expose you to ways of looking at the world that are quite different from any you have known before. The alternate states of consciousness designated by this influence are not terrifying or confusing. Instead, you are much more likely to experience a widening interest in the greater depths of the universe and an increased ability to perceive them.

Your intuition will be enormously heightened at this time, and if you have any innate psychic talents, they will appear now. You will be increasingly interested in the occult and astrology, and these disciplines will give you understandings that you have never had before. It is quite likely that you will have an enlightenment experience - a perception of your true place in the universe - on some level that is meaningful to you.

Idealism is also part of your life now, but its nature is very abstract. You are much more interested in philosophical truth and absolutes than in practical reforms in the world around you. The exception to this is that you could become directly and practically involved with the plight of the underprivileged. You might work to reform conditions in a hospital or other such institution.

Another consequence of this influence is that you may become involved with a religious or spiritual movement that works for social reform - a movement motivated not by political doctrines.

The interpretation above is for your transit selected for today:
Neptune Trine Uranus, , exact at 23:06
activity period from middle of May 2008 until beginning of December 2010

a year later

2009-03-16T20:15:00.000-07:00

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope.
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
-T.S Eliot

friend, i just read this.
a year later.

i'm beginning to understand.

la reve

2009-03-12T23:47:00.000-07:00

the human body is amazing.
and beautiful.

just came home from watching 'la reve' with my sisters.
our parents' treat.

a new standard was born for me this night.
i want to be la reve strong.

all the kalbo men remind me of powder.
one of my favorite parts is when they all wore orange skirts.
muscles, muscles everywhere.

venus in retrograde

2009-03-12T11:09:00.000-07:00

my reiki teacher, Aisa, sent me an email about venus in retrograde.

a snippet:

From March 6 through April 17 2009, the planet Venus will be
retrograde. The retrograde motion of an inner planet is an apparent
phenomena as viewed from earth in which Venus appears to move
backwards in the sky. Every 1 ½ years, when Venus moves
approximately 29 degrees ahead of the Sun (in the astrological
ephemeris), it will begin to move backwards in the sky until it
reaches a point approximately 21 to 29 degrees behind the Sun.

When Venus is retrograde, it provides lessons in evaluating the real
worth and value of people and things in our life (Taurus-Libra
issues). With existing relationships, this cycle produces
experiences wherein it is easier to discern the relative worth and
value of these people in your life.

Discrimination is more effective. You become readily aware of any
problems, differences or unresolved issues. It is NOT a time,
however, to act upon any unfavorable awareness. It is purely a time
of evaluation rather than direct action. As little frictions and
disagreements crop up, they serve to remind you that the
relationship is not perfect. Under the retrograde influence, you
must assess the severity of the problem and the "cost-benefit" of
the relationship. Only after Venus turns direct should you initiate
any alienation if this is deemed necessary.

when i read this, it makes so much sense.
AND, hold onto your butts (again!)

change is a-comin'.
change is a-comin'.
change is a-comin'.
change is a-here.

as in, everpresent.
transition is the norm.
('member?)

relationships don't end;
they just change.

so, there is some major shifting going on in my relationships.
with pea-op-lays. (ooph.)
with places.
with things.
with concepts.
with things unseen.
with things felt.
with ideas.
and expectations.

of course there is.
I am changing.
again.

the world is expanding.
correction.
my view is expanding.
the world remains as it is.
it's a revolution, in every sense of the wor(l)d...

it's extraordinary.

ah, good.
'cause so am I.

revolution.
this may well be my new favorite word...

a forcible overthrow of the social order in favor for a new (presumably better) system

a dramatic and wide-reaching change in the way something works or is organized

a revolving (like another turn in the upward spiral!)

9 seconds.
('member?)

in this moment, i am feeling like 9 seconds is enough, after all.
that, perhaps, 9 seconds can contract and expand like everything else.

i will enjoy this time of heightened discernment.
I am resolute in my to intention receive all gifts of awareness with equanimity.

i will act,
not react.

the difference is a breath.
an exhale, to be more precise.

yum.

incense and tea

2009-03-11T05:20:00.000-07:00

roused from sleep at 4am this morning.
no easy feat; for the last week or so, i've been waking up at 8am, 9am, noon.

i'm luxuriating in this high speed internet at my parents' house.
it's just so...
easy.

i think of the times when i connect to the internet in my place in sta. rita.
it's like rotary phone dial up modem-dot matrix printer-that game lemonade-black strap molasses in a blizzard-slow.

i just got done talking to Rowell through skype.
the moon is already full there.
kyut daw ang buwan kasi paminsan-minsan may ulap.

i gave him the keys to my place before i left.
he said he's slept there the last two nights.
he lit incense.
and drank tea.
i'm a little surprised at how incredibly comforting this is to me.

i leave for the bay area on saturday for two weeks.
my mother seemed surprised that i was going.
i was surprised that she was surprised.
translation: she will miss me. i'll miss her, too.

i've been taking my turn caring for my baby pamangkin.
i love to kiss her, even her little pusod hernia
she smells like milk.

retablo

2009-03-09T08:46:00.000-07:00

noun.
a frame or shelf enclosing decorated panels or revered objects behind an altar.

i wonder, what are my revered objects?
i mean, in the veritable "church of myself," what is it that i hold dear?
i mean intentionally.

and what's back there that snuck in?
or i forgot it was there?
or that i learned to wield for survival?
or that i outgrew but i haven't released?
or was passed to me from my ancestors, from generation to generation?
or was from that cursed vine?

or if it isn't directly from the vine (master of insidiousness, that it is), then it acts like the most natural camouflage.

i think spending time with my family is my most painful mirror.
and, if i choose it, is my most helpful one.

i have that funny feeling again.
it's like a fluttery feeling that hovers in my stomach and throat.
that certain discomfort that i feel when i know, i know, i have been given another opportunity to do it better.

i pray that i don't let this opportunity slip by.
tho, in so many ways, i wish it would just go away.

ah, it's too big now to ignore.
and i'm scared.
and i know it's a gift.
and i feel nauseous.

all these wounded parts of me are screaming.

hello again humiliation.
hello again guilt.
hello again shame.

i see you.
moreover, i feel you.

you no longer run the show.

I do.

and really, really, THANK YOU!
you have played your parts beautifully.
i know that i have not sufficiently given you your due.
and believe me, i do intend to, in my time and in my own way.
because i know we can't really be friends 'til i do.
i will.
promise.
and perhaps, it will even be in a refined or genteel way.
i hope, at the very least, it will be in a way that actually reflects and honors what worthy companions and adversaries you all have been.

but for now, for now, get the fuck out of my retablo.

recent email to my teacher training batchmates

2009-03-04T10:01:00.000-08:00

halloo Dears,
whew, what a whirlwind...
have some interesting stories to share with all of you.

first
i was sitting next to a rather choleric person on my flight from manila to vancouver last sunday.
this person i was sitting next to was showing mostly the shadow side of the choleric.
he was impatient with the flight attendants. nothing was fast enough. nothing was good enough. it was all too this or too that.
he would swear and complain about everything from the food to the drinks to the temperature in the cabin to the service.
i was a bit worried about this, as it is a 14 hour flight to vancouver.
when we were served our first meal of the flight, he was not happy with it.
he was very vocal about it, too.

i could feel myself getting anxious and upset.
and i remember thinking, here's another opportunity for you to work with your difficulty with the shadow of the choleric temperament.
great. (insert big sigh here.)
and then i thought, "aha, here's a perfect time to practice the freeze frame exercise."

i tried.
and tried.
and tried.
and, for the love of Jesus, i tried.
and, i couldn't get past step one.

i forgot to mention that, presently, i happen to be reading a biography of Rudolf Steiner written by Gary Lachman.
on the cover, is a stern picture of Steiner.
actually, except for the picture that Peter Patterson showed us first block, i always thought all the photos of Steiner that i had seen were so intense and stern.

i bought this book in may 2007 before i moved to the philippines. i started it then, but couldn't finish it. so much went over my head.
anyway, after 2nd block, i took it up again and really have been enjoying it.

Rudolf Steiner is such a remarkable thinker...

anyway, i don't care too much for the cover picture, and whenever i set the book down, i make sure that the cover is facing downward or away from me.

i often feel his gaze is too intense for me.

well, i was getting frustrated with myself because i was failing miserably at getting past step one of the freeze frame.

i looked up, and i realized that i must have placed the book in the seat pocket in front of me so that Rudolf Steiner was staring right at me.

and i swear, i thought for a moment he gave me a little smile.

and in that smile, he reminded me that yes, indeedy, this was an opportunity for me, once again, to work with my difficulty with the shadow side of the choleric.

and in that smile, he reminded me that this was not an accident that i happen to be sitting next to this particular person, that it was scripted by the Universe for us to meet that day, and in that way.

and in that smile, he gave me encouragement, that i could rise to the occasion.

and in that smile, he reminded me that it was rather funny, this particular predicament that i found myself in (again!) and to remember to enjoy the experience.

so, i smiled back at him, nodded, and thanked him.

and then i imagined a white light and shining it all over me, as a protection.
now, i've heard of healers using a visualization of a white light before. this is the first time that i had ever used it with myself.
i thought to myself, "kawawa itong mama nito. he seems so unhappy. and that is for him to sort out. my business here is to learn how to work with this anxiety and fear that is coming up for me. i do not give him permission to negatively affect me anymore. he cannot harm me. he will not harm me. i protect myself with this white light. and i bless him on his journey that he may find peace."

after that, his tantrums didn't affect me so much anymore.
they still did, of course, but it was bearable.
and i consider it a real sign of growth that i didn't scream at him or smack him.

second
i'm on Day 30 of the thinking exercise.
woohoo!!
will of course still keep it up, as my thinking still needs strengthening.
but, i thought i would never get here...
and here i am.

third
my Tita Lettie flew in today from Chicago for my sister's graduation.
this particular Tita and i have had an interesting and somewhat tumultuous relationship, especially when i was an adolescent.
she is so different from her husband, Tito Ben.
they had one son; we are the same age, and we were raised together.
especially when we were babies, we were raised more like siblings than cousins.
when my parents and i immigrated from the philippines, we lived with Tita Lettie, Tito Ben, and Ronnie until my parents could afford to rent their own apartment.
Tita Lettie and i, for the most part, get along very well these days, and i was talking to her about my decision to change professions.
a couple of months back i even sent her a copy of the GCI teacher training brochure.
Tito Ben died when i was in college. both he and Tita Lettie were teachers. (she just retired last year.)
Tito Ben was so patient and kind.
he was so gentle and comforting. (Tita Lettie, my father's sister, is more choleric! go figure!)

anyway, Tita Lettie informed me today that Tito Ben was, in fact, a WALDORF TEACHER.

i had no idea.
none at all.
i'm crying as i type this.
because, he really was one of my favorite uncles.
and i knew he was a teacher, and i knew he worked with special ed kids.
so, he must have specialized in the curative pedagogy.

what i did know though that i always loved being around my Tito Ben.
that i felt safe.
and seen.

we were laughing because Tita told me stories how she would be so puzzled about his lesson plans.
they didn't make sense to her. she taught in mainstream, conventional school, in the esl (english as a second language) program.
she didn't understand this morning circle and recorder playing and string pictures stuff.

when i asked her how Tito Ben became a Waldorf teacher, she told me a most interesting story.
when she first came to the states she was working part time as a montessori school teacher and part time as a phlebotamist in the hospital.
Tito Ben was still in the Philippines, but would be coming to the states shortly.
there was a German patient that was in the hospital for a week, and every morning, Tita Lettie would be the one to draw his blood. they chatted and she found out that he was a co-founder of a Waldorf school in that area. when he found out that she was a teacher, he invited her to the school, thinking perhaps that she would like to work there. she really had no interest, but mentioned that Tito Ben would be coming in a month, and perhaps he would like to teach there.

so, when Tito Ben came to the states, both he and Tita Lettie decided to go to the school for an interview. part of the interview was observation.
and Tita Lettie knew right away that she did not want to work there. and Tito Ben knew right away that he did. so, they put him through a teacher training, and he worked there ever since.

it's a remarkable story.
so, it was never that far away from me all those years growing up pala.
i just never knew.

much Love,
Karen

fastly

2009-03-03T00:18:00.000-08:00

here in lost wages...
everything moves fastly.

i'm j-lagged, but not so very much.
got some homeopathic magnesite d6 from jake, my favorite anthoposophist homeopathic pharmacist, before i left.
took during the flight, and hanggang ngayon.
my mother thinks it's cocaine and is glad that i didn't get arrested for drug trafficking.
again, i think she watches too much tv.

sat next to this super choleric canadian man from manila to vancouver.
he was showing the shadow side of the choleric temperament.
apparently, i have still more work to do around this.
they keep showing up.
but not so much, meaning, it doesn't rattle me as much as it used to.
and it used to rattle me super duper much.
and it wasn't that long ago pala.
ah, growth.

my mother is so funny.
she was waiting, waiting for me to wake up this morning.
as soon as she heard me stirring, she was like, "Anak, hurry up and take a shower."
and then, in the same breath, "i know you must be jetlagged, take your time."
and then, "but, Anak, hurry up ha."
for the love of all things holy, this is so my mother.
she's gemini.
and she's a twin.
and after 34 years, i can appreciate this more and more fully.

my mother took me to eat lunch at her favorite local spot, buffet @ asia.
she is a regular there and knows all of the staff by name.
they thought i was my sister, Sammy, and were complimenting my "new" haircut.
nyek.

we were seated at a table near 3 olds.
they were jabbering on in kampampangan, and i smiled when i heard them.
instantly, i missed sta. rita.
and my friend Rowell.
i could get the gist of what they were talking about.
and, i asked my mom if she could understand them.
she shook her head "no."
i found this very interesting.

i've noticed this kind of regionalistic language barrier.
like when i am in negros or iloilo, i can understand the gist of ilonggo.
can even speak some simple phrases.
but, my tagalog friends are like, "wha?"

that's kind of a pattern for me tho.
jill (jane) of all trades, master of none.

which reminds me of a quote.
i think it was from caroline myss, said to her by her high school english teacher.
it was something like, "you must learn the rules like a master, so you can break them like an artist."

word.

in general, i don't like things moving so fastly.
but, i have to admit, this super fast internet connection is v. kewl!

gaze steady

2009-03-01T00:57:00.000-08:00

my flight is delayed.
i'm in manila...waiting, waiting.
i'm so sleepy.
didn't get much sleep kagabi.

Rowell came over last night to watch me not pack.
we did our ritual hang out before i take off and the requisite cleaning out of my fridge and pantry.
we ate the most random things.
seaweed flavored mochi crackers.
and seaweeds.
and choconut.
and garlicky guacamole i made the day before.
and taco shells instead of chips.
at 11pm, i was craving ice cream.
so, we drove to san fernando.
and the four places we went were either closed, ran out of ice cream, or were cleaning out their soft serve machine.
nainis ko.

so, we settled on hot chocolate at gloria jean's at northwalk.
well, i got white hot chocolate.
Rowell got some strawberry smoothie monstrosity.
this good looking pinoy guy came in that looked like Kyan from Queer Eye (according to Rowell).
he was wearing this t-shirt that said "EAT ME. i'm low carb."
what else is there to do except laugh?
i am reminded that these kind of t-shirts are all over the place.
it's not unusual to see a school age kid wearing a shirt that says "porn star."
i've seen this maybe 3 or 4 times in the last 2 years.

Rowell sleptover and he left at 3:30am yata because he had to play for mass.
i kept pressing snooze until 5am.
had so much to do.
had some echoes of the night, and i woke up with three things in my head.

first was the letter that benjamin button wrote to his daughter.
"for what it's worth, it's never too late, or in my case too early, to be the person you want to be. there's no time limit. you can start whenever you want. you can change or stay the same. there are no rules to this thing. you can make the best of it or the worst of it. i hope you make the best of it. i hope you see things that startle you. i hope you feel things that you never felt before. i hope you meet people with a different point of view. i hope you live a life that you're proud of. if you find you are not, i hope you have the strength to start all over again."

second was morley singing, in that clear, strong, beautifully throaty voice of hers,
"keep your gaze steady, my love. yours are the eyes that have seen God."

third was the image of the open hand. i started talking to myself this morning, saying, "extraordinary people know that only with an open hand are we open to both giving and receiving. extraordinary people set themselves free."

ugh.
the last one is a doozy for me.
i've been moving through some difficulty with forgiveness lately.
i know that the anger doesn't serve.
that it harms.
i know that it creates separation.
yet, i cannot let it go.
i see my clenched fist.
and plead.
and try to soothe.
and cajole.
even open one finger at a time.
it's hard.
this particular flavor of liminality is so difficult for me.
it's the wall that i often bump up against.
what is it in me that wants to hold onto this hurt?
(because underneath the anger is hurty hurt.)
what is it that i'm afraid of happening if i were to let this person go?
in order for me to rightfully reclaim the piece of my Spirit that he holds for me, i must let him go.
let him go na Muki.
let him go.

yesterday, i did the freeze frame heart exercise that Niconar shared with us during the 2nd block of our teacher training.
i asked for guidance around how to let go of this difficult relationship.
as usual, i did not get any verbal answers.
instead, i was led to a brief moment of innerdance.
then the big hand pushed me down and urged me to sleep, that i would dream what i would need.
so, these are the three things that presented themselves.

after mass, Rowell came over for breakfast.
i had just about finished packing.
(all the clothes i'm bringing are dirty.
just like my old college days...)

i fried potatoes in ghee and added garlic and thyme and rosemary.
sarap.
then we had kalamansi flavored tuna melt sandwiches on wheat pan de sal.
sarap din.
then we split a lovely young orange papaya that didn't even have any seeds.
ang tamis!
super sarap.

i miss sta. rita already.
Rowell gave me a lavender sta. rita cuaresma t-shirt.
now, i own something lavender.

my plane is going to board soon, sana.
i have to go through the final security check ulit.
i think the guy inspecting all the bags is going to flirt shamelessly with me again.
(hee.)
okay lang yun.
it's fun.
he thought i was 24.
(boy howdy, he's good!)
"kailan ka babalik?" sabi niya.
"april 2, and sori po, you're too young for me," sabi ko.
(and, for once, i actually meant it...)
okay lang daw sa kanya kung mas bata siya.
"hay, kapatid," sabi ko, "hindi okay lang yun sa akin."
'sakit ang puso niya daw.

nakakatuwa.

maraming salamat, Universe!
ang bait ka, talaga.

painful mirror

2009-02-28T01:37:00.000-08:00

as usual, i haven't started packing yet.
i fly home to the states tomorrow for a month.
have to leave here siguro mga 10 or 11am.
neighbor boy (sana) will drive me to manila and watch Pipsy while i'm gone.

have spent the last 36 hours or so brooding.
met a very painful mirror in manila the other day.
it was a chance meeting, and, of course, i was expecting someone else.

and, this is who the Universe delivered.
of course.

drop expectations, Muki.

been listening to "Sacred Contracts" again, by Caroline Myss.
nothing is really "by chance."
i'm looking at my archetypes.

the Mother.
the Guide.
the Divine Child.
the Victim.
the Storyteller.
the Judge.
the Student.
the Prostitute.
the Sabateur.
the Seeker.
the Wounded Healer.
the Vampire.

it's the last one that is tripping me up.
go figure.

lean into it, Muki.

anything that gets between you and your Freedom, lean into it.
that's what my Mitra said to me when i left.

okay.

ashes to dust

2009-02-24T21:28:00.000-08:00

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.
/|\

back to manila

2009-02-23T15:26:00.000-08:00

my flight back to manila leaves in a few hours.
as usual, haven't packed yet.
things strewn all around my hotel room.

have enjoyed this time in iloilo.
good to decompress after such an intense experience at the teacher training.

ate at some of my favorite places.
found some new corners to explore.
made a new flower friend.
let go of a forbidden one.

imagined myself living here someday.

dreaming of my house.
four levels.
capiz windows.
rooftop deck (for stargazing and moonbathing!)
studio for art.
hammock.
solar panels.
bookshelves.
movement.
meditation room.

it's exciting.
and so dang hopeful.
wow, so this is what that feels like...

good to know.
good to know.

i go back to manila today.
and the embassy to (sana!) pick up my passport.

then drive to my sweet little santa rita in pampanga.
Rowell, i'm coming home!
just in time for ash wednesday.
and it's the new moon tomorrow.

perfect.

then, on march 1st, to the states.

biodynamic

2009-02-22T15:40:00.000-08:00

a new (old) impulse courses through me.
i'm excited by it.
alignment, alignment.

i'm giving up all the fighting.
and kicking.
and screaming.
i no longer want to fit into the idea of who i think i should be.
who others think i should be.
i just want to be...
and be okay with who i am.

no separation.

during this teacher training, i've been looking at my biography.
i remember at age 18, i wanted to have a small farm.
and grow my food.
and make my clothes.
and live a very simple and interconnected life.

at 18, this kind of yearning was a bit alarming.
it didn't really fit.
i never grew up on or even near a farm.
i grew up in the northwest suburbs of chicago.
and by the beach in southern orange county.
deep southern orange county.
like laguna...

at 18, i never really considered this farm life a viable option for me.
never even let it draw any breath.
or see the light of day.
i remember the yearning tho.
and tucking it away in a dusty black shoe box, at the very back of my closet, filed under "never to open again. ever."

i could not make sense of this wish.
my small brain could not process this.
"does not compute," she said.
and more importantly...
what would my parents say?

extraordinary

2009-02-19T14:15:00.000-08:00

i woke up yesterday with the thought that i am extraordinary.
it's not the first time that i've thought this.
and, i've heard it at different times in my life, from different people.

last night i heard Niconar Perlas give his structure, evolution, and laws of the Universe lecture.
it is part of the self-transformation part of our Waldorf teacher training.
in the last three years, this is the fourth time i have heard him give this lecture..

and, finally, i feel like it has penetrated all four layers of my Being:

physical.
etheric.
astral.
I.

for the first time, i really believe this.
i am extraordinary.
to act as if i am anything less is, ironically, the worst kind of arrogance.

i am extraordinary, not ordinary.
i will never forget again.

Mitra, i love you.
_/|\_

moonlight

2009-02-08T20:58:00.001-08:00

the moon woke me up at 2am this morning.
she was brightly shining through my window.
she was so bright, i could read by her light, and i did, i think...about the 12 senses.

the moon woke me up.
or rather her light.
or maybe it was my full bladder.
or maybe, just maybe it was my astral body.

i woke up at 2am with some knowings.
some affirmations to go ahead with my plans to return to the states this year.
she said to go to a certain place to meet a certain person.
we will know each other again, me and my farmer, when we shake hands and feel the electricity.

no specific date or time.
just a place.
and a feeling.

at 2am, this glimpse forward was rather comforting.
the moon was in Leo last night.
again tonight.
perfect, as my Venus is in Leo.
and it's full moon tonight.
so, as usual, it is time for me to shed my monthly blood.

'tis a sacred ceremony...
that follows the moon faithfully,
especially since i've been finding Home.

spiral girl talaga

2009-02-04T13:29:00.000-08:00

all you have to do is gather data at this point, Dearest.
and, yes, someday you will have to make a decision.
and this day is not that day.
when you let your fear rule, you cannot see as clearly.
naku, Dearest, you even close your eyes.
how can you gather data like that?
honestly.
ikaw talaga.
sige nga.
tama na ito.

trust na naman.
and...

relax.

pluto in the 10th house

2009-02-03T05:03:00.000-08:00

it has been said to me that because pluto is in my 10th house, nothing short of complete transformation is required of me by the Universe, in the area of my vocation/career.

i got my first inkling that i wanted to be a spiritual teacher in 2006.

i never thought i would be a Waldorf teacher.
a Waldorf teacher is a spiritual teacher.

and, here i am...
a nurse in a Waldorf teacher training.
at Gamot Cogon Institute in iloilo.

i've been kicking and screaming.
parang i don't want this responsibility.
i don't think i am up to this task.
i don't think i want this.
it really requires a lot.

and then, at other times, i'm calm.
Muki, you don't know 'til you know.
soooo, 'til then, Dearest, relax.

i can get so caught up in the future.
i see my present, and i reflect on my past, and it seems like i've had some significant sign posts indicating that this is, indeed, my sacred task for this lifetime.

oh, no wonder, i've been scared shitless.

fire transforms

2009-02-02T21:54:00.001-08:00

and, i’m feeling the heat.
i can spend a lot of time wondering, “why me? why this way?”
(and, admittedly, i spend my fair share…)

but, i am wondering if it is more useful to say:

i don’t know why this feels so intense.
i don’t why this is unfolding like this.
i don’t like it.
i think it stinks.
i think it fucking sucks.
i hate it actually because i don’t understand it.
i hate it because i can’t control it.
but, what about if i just accept that this is the way it is…for now.
the cookie crumbled, and here it is.
the Universe has given me this.

so, now what?

ps. please Lord, let this fire burn away my arrogance and greed.

pps. reminds me of the verse of atonement.

ppps. here it is…for posterity’s sake:

All separation ever committed by me, since of old
on account of my beginningless greed, anger and ignorance,
born of my body, speech and consciousness,
I now atone for it all.

forbidden friend

2009-01-30T05:50:00.000-08:00

i don’t know where you went.
friend, anong nangyari sa'yo?
parang biglang wala ka.

hindi ko alam kung bakit.

my mind can go to this terrible place.
it often happens when i worry about people i love.
when they are super late.
or seem like they disappear.

what if you are injured?
or dead?

i hope you are just angry with me.
or found someone new.
really.

i just wish i knew.

celestial Cez

2009-01-27T23:06:00.000-08:00

the celestial gardener came back and visited me last night.
i had just finished replying to Leny’s comment on my last post.
i was upset, but not overly so.
disappointed in my President, mostly.
was contemplating my expectations of the Obama Presidency.
and my relationship to it.

had had a decent day.
got my hair cut shorter. (next step…shave it all off again!)
had shi-shi food at azur bistro earlier. (met the chef, nice guy. beautiful place. good food. gave me free panna cotta. kaso lang, mahal.)
took care of more passport renewal business. (according to the us embassy, i changed my signature too much in 10 years. had to email/fax a copy of my driver’s licenses to show my “real” signature.)
got a new battery for the watch that Lola left me. (it’s a Seiko. the old reliable indiglo timex was left to someone else.)
even did some homework for teacher training. (reading and digesting Steiner’s lecture, “The education of the Child: In light of Anthroposophy.”)
at the bistro, i had also read a “Treatise on Love,” by Nicole Daedone, sent to me by Ligaya. (rich. and beautifully painful.)

i was sitting on my couch and then…
i felt her again.
her two hands were inside me,again.
widening my heart space.
removing more vine.
clearing away what was no longer needed.
i lost my breath.

it hurt.
i can’t even explain the pain.
but, it was the same as July 2007.
maybe even more intense.
i’ll never forget it.

i reminded myself to breathe.
exhale first.
i wanted to cry, but i couldn’t even do that.
i wanted to cry out; i think i sort of whimpered.
i gripped the sides of the couch.
and tried to remember to breathe.

how long will this last?
i can’t stand this much longer.

please, this is too much for me.
i cannot bear this.
please.

a quiet voice inside said, “call Cez.”
i found my phone, and called her cell phone.
it rang several times.

i panicked.
she’s not picking up.
i told the voice, “she’s not going to answer. you said to call.”
the voice said, “patience. i’m almost done. she’ll answer.”

and then she did.
and in gasps, i told her, “Cez, it’s happening again. my heart is widening. like your crown of thorns in your heart story. it’s happening again, and i’m in so much pain.”

she heard me.
tried to rule out any medical things.
asked me where i was.
asked who was nearby to come.
she reminded me to breathe.
and reminded me to Love.
and reminded me that i was Loved.

and we prayed.
we prayed that i would endure it.
and that it would end soon.
and that we would understand.

we invoked Jesus.
angels.
archangel Mikael.
the ancestors.

with Cez’ witness, i was able to find my breath again.
shallow at first.
then deep.
and determined.

after about 7 minutes, the pain eased.
and i was left with a soreness in my chest.

after about 7 more minutes, the soreness eased.
and my body felt like it had turned to sandbags.
there was a heaviness, like my energy was zapped.
like whatever had just transpired, took everything i had to endure it.

i got off the phone with Cez.
sent a prayer of thanks to the Universe that i had a friend like her.
she’s the kind that we just pick right up wherever we leave off.
before last night, we hadn’t spoken since last april or may.

sleepily, i made my way to my bed.
i stumbled.
the big hand was pushing me down.
and telling me to rest.
She was done.

i got into bed and texted Cez to thank her again.
i knew i had worried her.
she texted Rowell to come and check on me.

he came 2 hours later, after work, and spent the night again.
he bathed.
and in the dark, i explained to him what happened.
and he listened.
then we murmured back and forth our expressions of gratitude…
‘til we fell asleep.

Cez also texted our friend Mae, a healer from Davao.
it was good to connect with her again, too.

these concentric circles.
these spirals.

i’m finding it hard to do much today, in the way of homework.
we cooked.
we ate.
we sang.
and played guitar.
found lost books.

Rowell just left for one his jobs in Floridablanca.

i’m still just taking it all in.
this may take awhile.

at last

2009-01-24T06:46:00.000-08:00

i just finished watching President Obama's inaugural address on youtube.
followed that up with the President and the First Lady dancing their first dance.

parang i'm mesmerized.
i didn't get to watch in real time because i don't have a television.
and i am, at present, feelin' the love for youtube and free wifi at northwalk in san fernando.

that's my President.
for the first time, i can say, "he can speak for me."
i trust his moral compass, his fortitude.
i trust that he gets it.
he understands the complexities.
he's willing to sit through the hard stuff.
he understands process
and cooperation
and decisive action
and kapwa.

it's strange to feel this.
i've never felt this way before about a President.
and perhaps it is a bit corny...
but, his Presidency is another compelling reason that i'm returning Home this year.
i'm feeling called back to my other Home,
in the states.
yes, i have another Home.
i do.

and
this must be said...

dag.

that Beyonce can sang.

the curious case...

2009-01-23T19:11:00.001-08:00

for what it’s worth, it’s never too late, or in my case, too early, to be whoever you want to be.
there’s no time limit.
you can start whenever you want.
you can change or stay the same.
there are no rules to this thing.
we can make the best or the worst of it.
i hope you make the best of it.
and, i hope you see things that startle you.
i hope you feel things you never felt before.
i hope you meet people with a different point of view.
i hope you live a life you’re proud of.
if you find that you’re not, i hope you have the strength to start all over again.

-benjamin button

all in all, a very good way to wake up and start a saturday, watching this.
bought this and 3 other movies from a hawker in san fernando two days ago.
yes, it's another movie about Love.
i found myself teary eyed at the part when benjamin says this to his daughter, in a letter.

what will i say to my daughter one day?
i read Leny's letter to her grandson.
also brought me to tears.

i want to get to know my parents.
i want them to know me.

warts and all.

Fatima's thighs

2009-01-22T23:28:00.000-08:00

there is something particularly sublime about Bach’s cello suite 1 in G major.
there’s this one part that i just want to eat, it’s so good.
like Fatima’s thighs…
it’s the build up i think.

which reminds me, i was boiling ginger this morning, making salabat.
and i looked down at the pot of water.
the molecules of water were sitting so still.
like lake placid
then add the heat.
and then you could almost see the build up.
or i imagined i could.
i imagined the little water molecules sitting as still as they could despite the building heat.
it’s like they are sitting on their hands.
praying for it to either stop or blow.
beads of sweat form on their foreheads, as they close their eyes, scrunch up their cheeks.
and then, the heat is too much.
and… it’s a free for all.
and they run amok like fervid berserkers,
rolling around each other, dancing wildly, naked and free.
the tea bubbles up and almost spills over.
my kitchen smells spicy.
i turn off the heat.
and the feeling passes.
mind, it’s still hot.
and can still burn.
but when the heat is taken down, decorum and propriety of boundary is discernable again.

a proverbial pause.

just one flick of the wrist tho,
the heat can return.
and it doesn’t take long before the water forgets herself again.

umuulan

2009-01-22T23:25:00.000-08:00

the big hand held me down again this morning, and i slept.
i only woke up to complete my passport renewal paperwork.
i’m expecting the courier. whether or not they actually show up is another matter entirely.

i was supposed to do my laundry today.
thanks big hand…
it’s raining in sheets.
it’s so hard that if someone were with me and we needed to talk, we would have to yell.
this is what my friend leo would call “bed weather.”

relief of the rain.
the air was heavy this morning, pregnant with wetness and anticipation.
i ventured out only to buy load for my computer, hurrying because i knew the rain was coming.
i’m getting better at reading the sky.

earlier, my new neighbors were blasting pinoy pop hits.
a decent selection, i must say.
now, i am blasting opera and cello adagios.
my little speaker is proving her mettle as she takes on the rain.

i see the sun shining despite the continued torrent.
and i feel the occasional errant microdrop that bounces off the window glass inward and lands on my cheek or my arm.

and i smell the wafting perfume of the humus in the soil, mingling with the air.
it’s the smell of wriggling earthworms.

i remember my room in the old Center in Oakland. it was in the basement, right underneath the zendo.
whenever it rained, the earthworms would wriggle underneath the gap between my door and the floor.
i’d come home sometimes from working a shift in the ER at San Quentin to find to 2 or 3, sometimes 4, dehydrated little worms who could not find their way out again.

i remember i taped a pink post it, at the level of the gap.
in brown ink, i drew a wriggling earthworm and wrote the words,
“turn back! there’s no earth here!”
i did notice that the number of earthworms did decrease after that.

my ribs hurt from coughing so much.
i’m taking lagundi. it’s from betsy’s farm in makilala, Mindanao.
if i weren’t already sick, i would go take a bath in this rain.

praise song

2009-01-22T21:44:00.000-08:00

Praise Song for the Day
A Poem for Barack Obama's Presidential Inauguration

Elizabeth Alexander

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other's
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what's on the other side.

I know there's something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,

picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.

Copyright © 2009 by Elizabeth Alexander. All rights reserved.
Reprinted with the permission of Graywolf Press, Saint Paul,
Minnesota. A chapbook edition of Praise Song for the Day
will be published on February 6, 2009.

living alone

2009-01-20T15:49:00.000-08:00

as much as i enjoy having my own space and living alone, i do miss being taken care of when i'm sick.

it's nice to have someone who could get you some water.
or something to eat.
or more tissue.

chocolate peppermint stick luna bar at 3am

2009-01-20T15:25:00.000-08:00

some things that i notice about myself when i’m nursing some kind of heartbreak, especially that of a somewhat deep and romantic persuasion, i:

1. eat chocolate

a. good thing i have so many generous neighbors with OFW’s in their families that keep them somewhat, albeit irregularly, stocked with little hershey’s miniatures (krackel! special dark!), chocolate kisses, Arabic chocolate, mini white chocolate toblerones, and mini nestle crunches

i. i always bring home some kind of pasalubong for my neighbors when i go traveling. it could be piyaya or mascovado from negros. or durian candy from davao. or otap from cebu. so, it’s a lovely exchange, or at least i think it’s lovely.

ii. i know. it’s cliché. and true.

b. good thing also that i have a stash of luna bars from trader joe’s for when i don’t feel like cooking or bothering with food at all

i. chocolate peppermint stick (my fave)

ii. nutz over chocolate

iii. they are a bit smushed and are past the “best by” freshness date, but they faithfully serve their purpose nonetheless

2. write

a. either in my journal, which is somewhere packed still in one of my suitcases and which is running out of pages. i neglected to buy another one when i was in the states because, for the love of God and all things Holy, a new black moleskine lined journal is $17.00.

i. they sell these in manila for like P1200, which is like $25.00.

ii. i will likely pick one up next time i’m in manila, which will be next week before i head back down to Iloilo again.

iii. note to self: next time, i will just shut up and shell out the $40 and buy two.

b. or i blog. obviously, you know this, if you are reading this.

i. i usually write my entries offline and upload accordingly. i have a prepaid wireless internet account and an excruciatingly slow internet connection.

ii. excruciatingly

iii. s-l—o-w.

3. reach for Liz Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love

a. i freakin’ love this book.

b. it’s about this American woman who is in her mid-30’s, who after a failed marriage and a dismal love affair, decides to leave her somewhat settled life in the states for a year and embark on a spiritual journey through Italy, India, and Indonesia.

i. yah, go figure i would love this freakin’ book…

ii. it’s not me…it’s the little narcissist in me.

c. i remember reading this book the first time.

i. i would bring it with me back and forth when i rode the BART to San Francisco when i worked at Glide.

ii. i would throw my head back and laugh at some parts.

iii. i still do that.

d. there are so many good parts.

i. like the concept of speaking American. (pg. 291) dude, do i get this. was just emailing Leny the other day that i missed speaking American English. really, what i miss is the clever banter my friends and i used to volley. at its best, it was a kinda Swingers style (the movie, not the lifestyle—not that there’s anything wrong with it), repartee that was peppered with quick wit and pop culture. i remember one time Vassi’s dog, Chai, wanted to look out a fogged up window. i don’t recall if we were in the car or in my San Francisco apartment. i think the car. but the window was fogged up, and she licked the glass so she could see through. Vas and I looked at each other, startled, amazed at the cleverness of her girl. i remember saying something like, “man, that is so Jurassic Park. Chai is like velociraptor smart.” that still makes me laugh. (never gets old.) but, that kind of thing doesn’t really translate well here.

ii. and the concept of soul mates (pg. 148) “like a dog at the dump…” when i find myself obsessing, which under the right circumstances and with the right subject(s) (person(s)), as i am wont to do, i re-read this part. over and over and over. again. and then again. and then one more time. after which i read it just once more. my copy of this book just naturally opens to this page.

iii. and conversations between herself and her higher Self (weaved all throughout) can relate to this. go figure.

iv. and her devotion to her spiritual Practice, the Teachings, and her Guru (especially her time in India). which reminds me that i’d like to go there someday. i will, i know. someday. sooner rather than later. which also reminds me that i miss my Teacher and my Community at the Center. the best dharma talks happened when we were sweeping the floor. or running errands. or getting Arizmendi’s. or chai at Crixa’s. oh… chai at Crixa’s! Fatima’s thighs at Crixa’s! oh Fatima’s thighs! Rowell knows about these, and i dream of the day that we can eat them together. to be sure, they are delish. but, perhaps it is the name that gets me, that grabs me. or maybe more it is the story that i’ve made up about this woman, the beautifully plump Fatima, and her lover, the baker, who engaged in the most unlikely and torrid love affair that, of course (of course) ended tragically. but, i digress…

4. watch movies.

a. i realize that i’m kinda limited to the ones i have on hand.

b. a trip to quiapo would cure that. or maybe guagua.

c. in the last 2 days:

i. The Notebook

ii. Sex in the City

iii. Love Actually

iv. V for Vendetta

v. almost popped in The Matrix today

vi. hankering for Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings (note to self: borrow from Rowell)

vii. Piolo has a new movie out; have date to watch it with Rowell on friday

viii. if i didn’t have to reset the region on my computer everytime, i would watch Once. and The Contender. and Finding Nemo.

ix. all of these movies are about Love, by the way, in case you hadn’t noticed.

x. i want to get twilight. i read the entire twilight set of books when i was in the states. that’s like 3,000 pages in 10 days. well, it was about love. and vampires. and wolves. and love. and love. and love. i dragged my sister, Sammy, to see the movie with me in Vegas. a group of pre-teen sensations were sitting in front of us. one of them yelled out, “i love you Edward!” as the lights dimmed. her friends giggled and shushed her, admonishing her and, i’m fairly certain, secretly admiring her bold declaration. she fended off their reproach by hissing back, “what? i do love him, and i want everyone to know.” oh brother. or should i say…oh sister? this girl wasn’t even pinay.

Other things that i’ve concerned myself within the last 3 days:
1. renewing my passport

a. apparently, you aren’t technically allowed to travel out of the country if you have less then 6 months before your passport expiration date.

i. mine expires in april

ii. no time to renew it while in the states. was only there for 10 days, most of which were holidaze…

b. i’ve turned into the ugly American when dealing with express 21, the courier service of the US embassy in Manila.

i. they have had annoyingly polite, yet utterly ineffective, rote, decision tree, no critical thinking skills customer service and have failed to deliver the renewal paperwork to me as promised. twice now. both times which they claimed that the makati Shangri-la was closed when they tried to deliver. wha?

ii. i notice i speak with a very American accent when i want to be the ugly American. i did this when i spoke with the supervisor. twice. i do notice that the other person tries to speak Tagalog with me, and i speak English back, with an even more pointed edge. ugh. not pretty. fairly ugly. and true.

iii. i worry that this is the company that i leave the fate of my passport renewal.

c. though, i’m loathe to do it, i have to complete this paperwork. find $75.00 cash. schedule another pick up with the courier. all tomorrow.

i. wish me luck.

ii. i’ll need it.

2. making curtains
a. i have all the stuff.

i. fabric--actually making my bedroom curtains out of tubao. 16 of them. a patchwork of sorts, i laid them all out, scrutinizing color combinations and different patterns. this while i was watching “love, actually” and waiting for the &?%$!@ courier.

ii. pins—i got these at the monday tiangge, here in sta. rita. about a month ago. and i’m beginning to get why people complain about stuff made in china and the difference in quality. these pins aren’t sharp. yes, i paid p10 for them. but, still, what the hell is the use? they are too dull for the pin cushion. ugh.

iii. sewing machine—i got one at the ace hardware for p3000. it’s little. and probably made in china.

iv. thread—kulay orange. i got it in one of the stores by the palengke. they have all kinds of thread. i remember the salesgirl was so interested in my twang. another failure at anonymity.

b. just don’t have the gumption.

i. i got as far as pinning two tubao together and realizing how dull the pins were.

ii. and then i decided before i actually use the sewing machine, i should read the instructions. (from everybody’s free to use sunscreen, “read the instructions, even if you decide not to follow them”)

iii. after all that, while watching “love, actually” and waiting for the &?%$!@ courier, i realized how dizzy and sweaty i was getting. and my nose was running like a leaky faucet. or a leaky cauldron, if you have harry potter on the brain.

3. nursing a cold

a. i have this irrational fear that when i get sick, i will stay sick.

i. that if my nose is leaking, that it will leak forever.

ii. if my stomach is hurting, it will ache forever.

iii. if i have diarrhea, i will be forever chained to the toilet.

iv. that if i am vomiting, same thing.

v. i think it stems from when i was going to college at Humboldt, and i seemed to have this perpetual sinus infection. it was like i didn’t know how it felt to be well. it seemed i was always going to the health center and taking antibiotics.

vi. i know this isn’t true. and i’m learning to trust my immune system. or maybe i should say that my immune system is learning to trust me. those years at Humboldt were the heyday of my arrogance in ignoring my body’s requests, pleas, and finally demands to care for her properly.

b. feed a cold, starve a fever

i. i’ve been feeding it.

ii. lucky for me, i had leftovers from my dinner with Rowell the night before.

iii. also lucky for me, i went to the palengke early in the morning. i spent less than P300 and bought enough food for 2 or 3 days. tanglad, carrots, lettuce, siboyas, bawang, luya, eggs, mangga kamatis, pan de sal. i even bought some sampaguita wreathlets, tho unfortunately, i can’t smell them.

iv. also lucky for me, it’s been 40 days since Tita Mameng’s mother died. they invited all of us to eat at their house yesterday for breakfast and lunch. siyempre, sarap ang pagkain nila. kampampangan sila kasi.

c. being grateful for my mother’s puffs

i. my mother hates the paper products here in the Philippines. manipis daw. she is always bringing her own tissue and paper plates and napkins whenever she comes.

ii. her favorite filler for balikbayan boxes, in fact, is boxes of Puffs tissue, especially if she is nearing the weight limit, but there is volume pa.

iii. so, i happen to have 2 boxes of premium, imported Puffs that i have been using for the last two days. they really are gentler on the nose than the other brands.

4. avoiding my homework for the teacher training

a. what resistance!

b. what’s the deal?

c. much to do

i. transcribe music

ii. learn scales and practice recorder

iii. daily transformative speech exercises

iv. daily concentration exercises

v. daily backward review exercise

vi. reading

vii. outlining the reading

viii. preparing discussion questions regarding the reading

ix. memorizing a poem to recite

x. prep for storytelling from memory (myth, fable, etc.)

xi. weekly form drawing

d. basically, i’m screwed.

i. i try and tell myself, relax.

ii. you really have been through a lot.

iii. birth

iv. death

v. travel

vi. passport renewal

vii. jet lag

viii. cold

e. why did i want to do this again?

i. just looked at the calendar. i have 11 days to get it together

ii. there’s time pala.

portrait of a scandal

2009-01-19T21:49:00.000-08:00

i’m sorry.

thanks for being a good friend.
thank you for being a bit of lightness and comfort for me, especially when i am there.
thanks for being so damn malambing.

i always felt safe in your arms.
and how i liked it when you bit my shoulder because you just couldn’t help yourself.
i loved it, how you held me tight.

our time in Iloilo…i’ll never forget it.
whirlwind romance.
like a fairytale.
swept off my feet and caught at the same time.
a soft place to land.
have i already idealized you?
oh dear, i have.
(doesn’t take me long…)

i wonder, if circumstances were different, if we could really endure a long term relationship.
maybe next lifetime.
from your text, “maybe we just met each other in the wrong time.”
for now, you remain my forbidden friend.

there are ways we don’t match.
and, in the end, i wonder how much of it matters.
the dreamer in me laughs at the question.
the realist says, “hell yah, it matters.”
time will tell.
time does tell.
and, i know the ways in which we differ do matter.
they would eventually be our undoing.

however,
it is a ridiculous ruse to call you friend and say i can’t see you anymore.
truth is, i desire you.
still.
and i don’t think i’ve ever felt so desired by someone.

it borders dangerous when we are intimate.
i lose myself,
and actually feel consumed by you.
the heat enthralls me.
and it’s like i actually don’t mind being devoured, annihilated.
curiously, a most delicious feeling.
i’ve never experienced it…quite like this.
and, i wonder why i enjoy it so much.
to be totally honest, it scares me a bit.

like a moth to a flame.

i laugh when i remember how we stumble through our conversations.
so much goes over our heads.
and we just let it go.
it’s frustrating not to be able to go deep tho.
in language, that is.

what will happen?

my mother lost her mind when she found out about us.
can just imagine the way tita daak spun it.

she waited until i got back to the states.

my sisters had already warned me that she received “intel” about us and that they, themselves had already undergone the third degree.
(they pled the 5th.)

i was the one who brought it up.
i told her that i was seeing you.
she actually tried to feign surprise.

i said to her, “Mom, look i know you know. and i want you to know that you can ask me anything about anything. please ask me first before you start driving yourself crazy with stories you hear from others.”

she didn’t ask me any questions.
instead, she said to me,
“you’re old enough, anak, and, i know, it’s none of my business. but, please, please, please anak. no one from binalbagan. no one has a future there. this one, he’s poor. he might be using you just to go to the states. i don’t want you to have a hard life, anak. hay, you know how people talk. think of your cousins, anak. they all look up to you. what will they think of you if you continue on with him?”

she said more.
but, i honestly don’t remember what else.

i told her, i wasn’t planning on marrying you.
that we were just dating.
that it’s not serious.

she looked so relieved.

in the end (and from the beginning), you wanted a girlfriend.
in the end (and from the beginning), i wanted a lover.

where do those expectations meet?

is there space in between?

and in that space, i can feel your hoping and wanting.
and it feels cruel to continue, despite my lingering desires.

i’ll never be able to give you what you want.

and you are a good man,
who deserves every happiness.
and you are the best friend of a beloved cousin.
perhaps it is better to release these energies you invest in me, so that you are free to find what it is you seek. good advice for me, too.

and, yes, i do love you.

i’m sipping tanglad tea.
i can hear you laughing.
don’t knock it ‘til you try it.
it’s not just for stuffing manok and lechon ha.

i love that you love to cook.
and that your sister works in the infirmary.
and that you take her to and from work everyday on your motor.
i love that you are a kagawad.
and that you are committed to serving your community.
i love that you were active in student government in high school and college and that you have a close barkada.
i love that you know stories about my family and know the history of Negros and share them with me.
i love your enthusiasm and your gentle way.
i love that you tell me jokes and text me when you’re eating.
i love that you ask me questions.
and care about the answers.
i love that you kiss the mole on my face, on my right cheek.
no one has ever done that before…
not with so much attention and intention, anyhow.

there is a picture of you and Lola Mameng on my phone.
her hair is in little pigtails.
she was cold that morning and was wearing a white sweatshirt.
you both look happy chatting away in ilonggo, and i remember that that was the morning that we were wrapping the Christmas presents for her mahjong classmates.
i remember that you asked Lola to make an extra one for you.
i remember laughing and thinking, “what would you do with a new lipstick?”

thanks for being so damn malambing.
thank you for being a bit of lightness and comfort for me, especially when i am there.
thanks for being a good friend.

i’m so sorry.

sta. rita

2009-01-19T16:35:00.000-08:00

last night, my friend, Rowell, came over.
it was a timely reunion, as we missed each other very much.
we took turns regaling the happenings over the last month.
we took turns crying.
and laughing.
and watching each other cry.
and just, basically, witnessing.
my heart opened a bit wider.
we cooked dinner like we do.
and inevitably, our dinner conversation flowed into the familiar territory of what we would do if we won the lottery.
we both laugh when we find ourselves there.
and relish our fantastic ideas of travel, business ventures, studies abroad.
where will we build our houses?
it's fun to name what we would buy each other.
i am reminded what a good friend he is and how grateful i am that he invited me to live here in his hometown of sta. rita.
he was born and bred here.
and he lives around the corner, and down the street.
when we walk down the streets together, he makes bati almost every ten steps.
i had a chance meeting with Lea Solonga in LAX this past december.
we had the same flight from manila.
she graciously gave me two autographs.
one for Olive, aka Mady, my pamangkin.
the other, for Rowell.
i told her that he was also a performer.
he loved the autograph.
i wish you could have seen the smile on his face.
Rowell and i sing to each other.
and sing together.
sometimes The Carpenters.
sometimes Wicked.
one time, as we rode bikes around and around Prado.
always laughing.
i played and sang Nathanel's song for him last night.
i'm not shy to play for him anymore.
it's only fair, as he is always singing for me.
he really does have an amazing voice.
i make song requests, and he sings them.
after dinner, i started cleaning up.
he fell asleep, as he often does.
he does too much.
running around from racket to racket.
and helping with the church.
i remember when he was studying for his teaching board exam.
i was a coach of sorts.
well, whipcracker, you might say.
for a week straight, we studied.
and i'll never forget attending his ArtiSta Rita performance the night before his exam.
and driving him to manila at 3am so that he could take it.
(he passed, btw.)
he left this morning at 4:15am.
the church bells woke me up for 5am mass, and i remembered him saying, "friend, i have to go," as he kissed my forehead.
i sleepily nodded, and heard the front door close gently behind him.
it was still dark out.
when i go back to the states, perhaps it is spending time with my friend, Rowell, that i will miss the most.

love from afar

2009-01-17T16:07:00.000-08:00

so, basically, going home to Negros fucks me up.
not just in the head
or the heart.
i literally go crazy.
and my body gets ill.
there is dis-ease.
and, it happens every single time.

every
single
time.

since 2005.

profound.

i think about the ways in which i have made myself vulnerable.
trusting.
hoping.
seeking.

and perhaps,
perhaps,
i’ve seen enough.

i treasure the memories of the sweetest fruit that i’ve gathered there.
and i marvel at the lengths to which i have
stretched,
broken,
endured.
i may never heal from these wounds.
and maybe that’s not the point.

no, i wouldn’t trade it.
because, the utter joy of that taste on my lips, my tongue, like liquid sunshine, the scent of just ripe mangga…
even if it was just the slightest feather brush of it, i’ve seen my family at their best.
so, i know it’s possible.
but that kernel, that lightness, that goodness, is wrapped tightly in a hard, hard seed coat of deceit and colonization, the worst kind of oppression.
it will take lifetimes for this to unravel itself.

i am to do no more there, not in the ways that i have done it in the past.
how i choose to interact with them from here on out is unfolding.
and slowly, at that.

i am not my mother’s protector.

it will be a long time before i can visit there again.
the risk, for me now, feels like it outweighs the benefit.
and the risk feels grave to me.
i can’t ignore this.
or minimize it.
i am in danger of killing my spirit, my highest Self, that says,

Trust yourself, Muki.
Listen deeply.

what is being of asked of you?
and by whom?
what does this situation call for?
where is the fierce Truth?

open your eyes.

keep your heart open.

wider.
yes.
now, wider.

yes, it does hurt.
now, wider.
and wider.

i hear you crying, Dear.
and asking for mercy.
and grace.
and guidance.

i’m here.

and,
forgive me,
wider.

how wide?

so wide, Dearest, that the anger and violence has no place to hide.
so wide, Dearest, that Wisdom can flow in and reunite with the Love that has always been there.
so wide, Dearest that your actions are borne out of this re-union, and you can live quietly, humbly beyond reproach and regret.
so wide, Dearest, that you can be truly Free.

yes, that’s it.
wider, still.
wider.

i wish there were a different way,
one not so utterly painful.
cry all you need to, Dearest.
there is much to mourn.

you’ve lost so much.
you don’t even know the depth of this loss yet.

but, you will, Dearest Beautiful.
because, in its depth is its exquisite beauty.

and your loss is proportional to that which you gain.

you don’t see this yet.
or perhaps you see it,
but you don’t feel it…
yet.

yet.

i’m here to remind you…
this is your Path.

this is the Way you have chosen to Transform.

rest, Dear

2009-01-16T19:18:00.000-08:00

this is what i want to say to you.
because you are too tired to think of this on your own.
and it is understandable, Dearest, with everything that you've undergone, everything that you go through.
the places you choose to put yourself...
it's more than most would do.

be kind and gentle with yourself.
i know it's tempting to check out.
and eat.
and fuck.
and drink.

but, don't.

rest, Dear.
i love you.
you are worthy of love.
if i could, i would come out from between these words on this screen,
and i would wrap my arms around you.
and i would pat your head.
and together, we would rock gently, into the rhythm of the wind or the stream.
and i would help you forget.

or rather, i would help you remember.
you are a child of the Light.

i know you are confused.
and tired.
and i know there are others asking you for help.
you must help yourself right now.

go Home to your place.
sleep in your own bed.
yes, it will be dusty.
you've been gone for a month.

wake up early tomorrow.
and clean.
and heal.

and cry.
and heal.

and heal.
and heal.

and heal.
and heal.

and heal.

may pagasa

2009-01-14T11:11:00.000-08:00

here's the lyrics of a song my friend nathanel wrote.
it comforts me, and i'm not sure exactly why.
well, it's beautiful.
i learned how to play it in my cold bedroom in my parents' house before i left for negros for Lola.
he emailed me the lyrics and guitar chords the night before i left the states.
and i stayed up all night packing and learning it by heart.

i tried to play it in negros on tito gerome's janky old, rusty guitar.
i was frustrated because i couldn't remember the chords.
then when i kinda remembered the chords, i could not remember the words.
and his guitar refused to stay in tune.
"it's not my way," it kept saying to me.
"will you love me anyway?"

the same guitar, sang a single note to me the morning of Lola's funeral.
i was writing my speech at 3am in the outdoor "dirty" kitchen of Tita Lita and Tito Fred.
it's in the back of the house and away from the flow of visitors and mahjong tables.
one of my relatives (forgive me, i cannot even remember her name) saw me crying as i wrote, and she wanted to comfort me.
i told her i did not want to talk right now. i needed to write. i needed to finish this.
she wanted to be helpful, i know.
i hurt her feelings, and i tried to make it up to her later.
but, she had her detached shield up, so i let it go.

while i was writing, it was cool outside.
the sun was not even near rising yet.
the mosquitos even left me alone.
there was no wind.
i don't remember what part i was writing when tito gerome's guitar played one single note.

i looked up at it, where it hung on a rusty nail, high up on the wall, facing me.
nothing around it.
just the reverb.
i thought, "hi Lola," and tried to think of all of the different scientific explanations why a guitar would seemingly sing one note at 3am while i wrote the eulogy for Lola. and well, i came up with some theories involving physics and weather front pressures.
in the end, science failed me.
and i know it was just Lola saying, "hello" and "just keep going, keep writing."

just hours earlier, all of the apo and great apo of Lola assembled in the back.
we practiced singing, "Sino Ako?" because that was part of the program for the funeral.
that was kinda fun.
and interesting.

most of my cousins on this side are older and male.
and most of them were drunk already or getting there when we were practicing.
somehow, there is always money for beer.

one of them, kuya langging, who is particularly obnoxious when he is drunk, crashed the van my mom rented while we were there.
i am disgusted with him.
he was drunk all that week, acting like it was fiesta instead of a patayin.
he took the keys and went with another cousin to buy more beer and backed up into a tricycle.
the rear panel of the van was all messed up with a sizeable dent and several scratches.
mercifully, no one was injured.

maybe the worst part was that the whole family went into panic mode and wanted to hide this from both me and my mom.
ang tanga.
it's like they didn't know how to tell us, so they tried to cover it up.
i found out tho, and i told my mother the next morning.
i thought it better that she find out that way instead of just seeing it as we piled in for the funeral.
she freaked out and then promptly hid it.
i was amazed at her ability to do this.

once again, my mom will bail out her side.
thank goodness the van was insured.
but, there's a substantial deductible to pay.
and this is not about the money.

my cousin never came to my mom and explained what he did.
he never said sorry.
or took responsibility.
he just kept drinking.
and also insisted he wasn't drunk at the time of the crash.
the next morning, i found him in a chair in the living room, with his eyes closed, head tipped back, mouth agape, drooling, and snoring, like the worst kind of sloth.

this is par for the course with this side.
and this is a pattern that repeats itself.
on one level, i'm mad as hell and feel like i could spit nails.
on another, i think, what kind of circumstances have led to this?
why would my cousin choose to be this way?
what example does it set for us, especially his 3 kids?
why would my family collude?
mom?

we're in bacolod now, in a hotel.
my mother is happy to sleep in a "real bed."
ako, i'm happy to be away from my family.
it's 3am, and my mom is snoring away next to me.
i recall the sting of my mom's scolding, telling me i'm "puro negativo," when it comes to kuya langging and his mother. i remember the pain in her eyes as she gave the sharp look.
it was like, "please, just go along with the ruse. please, anak."
but, i can't.
not anymore.
i don't have the stomach for it.
and i know that this is not mine to fix.
that somehow, i have to find my own relationship to all of this.
somehow.

"how do you do it, mamma?"
"i just don't think about it, if i do, baka nag-high blood na ako."
"but, how do you not think about it?"
then, she gave me the look.

i cried when i was alone.
cried tears in restaurant 21, surrounded by strangers and my solitude.
i realize i wanted my mother to protect me from all of this.
isn't that what mothers are supposed to do?
it is a most unreasonable expectation, in light of everything;
i realize that now.

i've been feeling uneasy all night, not able to rest.
i just vomited 3 times.
and have been on and off the toilet too.
and i started my period 2 days ago.
triple cleanse.
purge this Muki.
so much letting go.

more to write.
but i'm tired.
i know i won't sleep.
but i want to get this heavy, hot computer off my belly.

may pagasa
by nathanel
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=411274409

huwag kang mag-alala
tayo ay pinagpala
daming biyaya sa buhay natin

huwag kang matakot
babantayan kita
lahat ang bagay ay mababago

dumilat ka
huwag kang mahiya
dito lang ako
para sa'yo

huwag kang lumuha
meron pa magpapasa
walang hangganan ang pagibig ko

huwag kang matakot
babantayan kita
lahat ang bagay ay mababago

dumilat ka
huwag kang mahiya
dito lang ako
para sa'yo

another Lola

2009-01-09T17:29:00.001-08:00

Mendung Sabal has also transitioned.
i feel blessed to have met her last july in iloilo at the Kapwa conference.

bukas pa ay ang libing ni Lola.
also, it's the full moon.
it's perfect.

thanks again, Universe.
kiss Mendung for me.
my Lola, too.

Lola in the white house

2009-01-09T13:02:00.001-08:00

just read that Marian Robinson will join the Obamas in the white house.

buti naman.

my Lola lived with us for a number of my childhood years in illinois.
she and my Lolo and my other grandmother, Mama Big, looked after us when my parents were at work.

Lola would cook our breakfast and our merienda everyday.
she would look after us when we were swimming.
and fry cheeseburgers on white bread so that we could eat them,
dripping with grease,
in our wet bathing suits,
by our janky, old above-ground pool.

she and the other olds would watch as we rode our bikes up and down our loooong ass driveway and fly down "suicide hill," which as it turns out, is a gentle slope, measuring maybe 10 degrees.

the olds would watch as the Villanueva girls would put on enthusiastic gymnastics shows or song and dance numbers...on roller skates.

there was a small raised garden bed on the side of the house where Lola would harvest kamatis.
i can't remember what else grew there.
maybe talong.
i just remember kamatis.

the morning before we went on a long driving vacation bound for the arch in st. louis, i remember Lola picking her tomatoes before we left. there was this one huge green one that seemed like it was as big as my face. i remember being so amazed to find that it turned ruby red, perfectly ripened on the kitchen counter, by the time we came back. i thought it was some kind of magic.
(i still kinda do.)

ah, youth.

one of the things my youngest sister Sammy will always remember about Lola, daw, is how Lola always let her roller skate in the house when our mother wasn't home.

now, if that ain't some Love.
i don't know what is.

52

2009-01-09T05:58:00.000-08:00

i just woke up from a delicious 3 hour nap.
i haven’t been sleeping very well.
it’s partly due to all the fluorescence and the perpetual daytime, i imagine.
but, it’s also because this place hums with activity, 24/7.

Lolo Jr. and i are the first to go to bed around 10pm;
the mahjong tiles still clicking.
i wake up around 3am;
the mahjong tiles still clicking.

and, i’m getting more sleep than most around here.
there’s cooking to be done, as we are eating at least 6 times a day, counting merienda.
and Ilonggos, like Kampampangans, are particular about their food and like to eat (and drink) very well.
there’s also constant cleaning.
and buying of supplies and food.
and greeting of visitors.
copious amounts of visitors.

as usual, i get chased away when i try and help with the household work.
so, i mostly hide out in Lola’s room emerging to make a duty round of hello’s, eat, or check on my Mom.

this morning i went to the palengke to buy flowers.
and i drank native coffee and ate fresh puto with Tita Lita.
yum.
(and i’m not usually a coffee drinker!)
hmm, maybe this is why i have been having touble sleeping.

i also finally transferred the photos off my phone onto my computer.
that was surprisingly easy and relatively painless.
(maraming salamat, Bluetooth!)

i’m 95% done with Lola’s slideshow.
the music is not quite right, but it is good enough.
no one seems to know what Lola’s favorite songs were.
i wish i knew.
i have this recording on my phone of a conversation that we had last october regarding her favorites.

goes something like this:
“Lola, what is your favorite color?” sabi ko.
“whatever you like, i like,” sabi niya.
“Lola, what is your favorite thing to do?” i asked.
(long pause)
“i used to love playing cards,” sabi niya.
(nagulat ako. i thought for sure she would say mahjong.)
tapos, sabi niya, “you know when you get old, you like one thing and then in the next minute you don’t like it anymore. i don’t remember anymore what i like and don’t like.”
it goes on, and i listen to that recording every so often.
so, maybe even Lola doesn’t remember her favorite songs.

this particular morning, i woke up at 2am,
and in the wee early morning hours,
i came up with a brilliant idea.

i’ve been fretting a bit about my speech, and it occurred to me that it would be good to solicit input from all the apo and great apo of Lola regarding their relationship with Lola.
so, i spent a good chunk of time today texting and emailing all 52 of us.
imagine.
grabe.
nagulat ako, our number, like a deck of cards.

Tinanong ko sa amin dalawang tanong:

1) what have you learned from Lola Mameng?
2) what will you always remember about her?

i had to do some pretty crafty detective work in tracking down cell phone numbers and emails.
atsaka, ubos na ang load sa computer at cell phone ko.
i emailed and texted all over the world…
and it was so worth it.

the replies are trickling in…
and they are so moving.
although i’ve only received about 50% return, emerging themes, that echo my own experience with Lola, are apparent.
i appreciate the affirmation.

she is the tie that binds us.
i wonder what will happen to our family now that she is gone.

swimming

2009-01-07T23:10:00.000-08:00

i want to scratch my skin off.
it is so hot.
and the wind is still.

my mother is asleep, lightly snoring, next to me.
she played mahjong all night.
i fell asleep, as usual, to the clicking of the tiles.
they play just outside Lola’s windows.
cigarette smoke, people cackling and howling, others arguing strategy and lamenting.
and always…the clicking of the tiles.

Lola loved to play mahjong.
it was her p300 a day habit.
“swimming,” they called it.
and she played almost everyday.
“kept her sharp,” they say.
and she loved her “classmates,” the other olds that she played with.
i think there were 12 of them, enough for 3 tables.

for Christmas, she gave them each a new lipstick and a chocolate.
all wrapped in little envelopes made from pink minnie mouse wrapping paper.
i was here the morning when Lola was supervising the ceremonial wrapping.
it was quite a production, as i remember it.
the picking of the paper.
the exact measurements of the finished envelopes.
no waste.

Lola’s classmates come to her wake in groups of 3 and 4.
they huddle together, sit in chairs placed right next to Lola in her casket and quietly murmur and sometimes all burst out laughing, no doubt, when someone tells a funny story starring my Lola. i imagine that there are no shortages of those. my Lola was such a character. it just occurred to me that it would be nice to know some of those stories. maybe i’ll try and talk with them next time i see them. hope i don’t chicken out.

now, the hottest part of the day, i hear just one table outside.
i peeked and it is 3 of my Lola’s classmates and Tita Lita playing.
they are using the my favorite mahjong set, the pink tiles.

i have no desire to play mahjong.
it has caused such heartache in my family.
i’ve seen many of my relatives gamble all their money away.
and when they run out, they gamble other people’s money away.
and when they run out of that, they lie and cheat and steal to get more.

sometimes, i think i want to learn, just to “belong” or just to know.
there were times that my Lola told me that dapat marunong ako.
almost all of my cousins know how to play.
there are maybe 2 other odd ones like me.
and my sisters, they don’t play.
all my titas and titos, they know and play.

and all the family skeletons are coming out of the closet to say hello and dance around.
i guess it’s an inevitability, when so many of us are assembled.
all the family grudges and scandals are starting to re-surface.
long lost relatives are popping out of nowhere, everywhere.
thought i would never see them again.
but, we all gather for Lola.
and, maybe, redemption.
and, hopefully, healing.
well, if not in this lifetime…
perhaps the next.
or the ones after.

i marvel how plastic we can all be, for the sake of smooth interpersonal relations.
it’s hard to be here.
i can be plastic, too, i just don’t want to.
so, i hide away in the room of Lola.
and ponder...
how do i want to show up?
where is my freedom?
it is a constant vigilance, to choose freedom in each moment.

in the mundane, i have three assignments.
i need to refresh the flowers tomorrow.
it’s market day at the palengke, so i can buy more.
all white.
i have to transfer all the photos i have of Lola off my phone onto my computer, then burn a cd so they can be included in the funeral service. that will be tedious for me. i hate doing shit like that.
and i still need to prepare what i will say at the service.
hay.

the fluorescent lights outside make it perpetually afternoon, even in what’s supposed to be the dark of night.
at night, Lolo Jr. wakes up and asks me if it’s daytime yet as he nervously glances towards the window, like he’s missing something.
it looks like it is always 11am kasi.
this morning, he insisted on rising at 2am to take his coffee on the porch.
so, he wobbled out, and so he wouldn’t worry, i told him i would fold up his sponge bob for him. i bet he misses Lola, even if she used to boss him. i gave him another coconut shell necklace yesterday, kulay itom at mas dakot, as promised. he is happy with it and flashed me his famous grin this morning.

ah, relief.
i hear the rain.

re-membering

2009-01-05T22:43:00.000-08:00

there is a woman, that’s made up like a movie star, dressed in ivory lace, lying in a white casket, in the living room.
they say she’s my Lola.

no,
i don’t think so.

that woman is tall.
and her back is straight.
my Lola’s back is curved like a bass clef, or like a comma, from her scoliosis and osteoporosis. she stood 4’9” on a good day.
and she would never be so stiff, with her arms at her sides, hands hidden away.
she was always moving, restless.
like my own Mom, she can’t sit still for five seconds together.

her favorite position of comfort, or at least the one i saw her most in, was lying on her back.
her right arm up, right hand cradling her head, elbow casually pointing toward the window. ankles crossed, left over right, knees bent, ever so slightly, duster riding up (wow, legs!), right toes tapping to some erratic invisible music.
the fingers of her left hand picking at her cheek or stroking her chin, as if in deep contemplation.

she asked me once, out of the blue, in October, “Karen (pronounced KEH-rehn), is it apple picking time in California?”

i was lying next to her in her bed and sat up.
where the heck did that come from?
“yes, ‘La,” I answered, “tama ka. it’s apple picking season in California. bakit po? gusto mong kumain ng mga mansana?”
sabi niya, “only if it’s from California.”

she was always very particular with her food.
she loved laswa, isda, and all things gulay.
and Libby’s corned beef. (don’t try and give her any Filipino corned beef.)
and all kinds of sabaw.
and peeled seedless grapes.
she would only eat chicken if it was chicken inasal, or on rare occasions lechon manok, or sandwich from Snackee, the local fast food joint here in Binalbagan.
don’t try and give her chicken anything else or she would turn suplada, make faces at you, and send you away. and if she still had some strength and her cane was nearby, she would shake it at you as you left.

instead, bring her special siopao from Bob’s in Bacolod.
and their garlic bread, too.
and their cream of asparagus soup.
and their lechon kawali.
or bring her Hawaiian “pizza pie” (pronounced PEE-cha) from anywhere.
she loved to eat that.

i’m sitting on her side of the bed as i type this.
my butt is numb. the foam on her bed is maybe 3 inches thick.

last night my mother and i arrived from las vegas.
super jetlagged and uneasy.
parang, ayaw kong bumaba sa naming van.
heart in my throat, beating a thousand times a minute.
hot spit came out from under my tongue, filling my mouth; i wanted to vomit.
it was drizzling.
i looked outside through the dark tint of the rented van.
the sun had already long set.
traffic from Bacolod was terrible because they are fixing the roads. they are always fixing the roads. my cousins say they’ll be done by 2010, in time for the elections. it took more than 3 hours to drive to Paglaum, when it used it take a little over an hour.

outside, the funeral parlor erected a large green bamboo scaffold, fitting a gigantic tarp covering the front and side porches of the house of my Lola. long fluorescent lights blazed suspended from the tarp, making everyone and everything look garish and slightly blue.

there were several mahjong tables full of people, the clicking of the tiles a familiar kind of din.

men were talking, smoking cigarettes, and drinking beer.

there is a small podium by the front door that holds the book that people are supposed to sign when they come to visit.

a long table held picked-over food and snacks.
another table nearby, next to the water dispenser, held Nescafe packets, coffee mate, a jar of sugar, a sticky spoon, empty wrappers, plastic stirrers, and styro cups.

a palpable pause and silence as everyone stopped their activity for a moment as my mom and i came out of the van. i could feel their eyes appraising us, looking at our clothes, my mother’s jewelry, waiting to get their cue on how to act from the way we presented.
i didn’t like that feeling.
i don’t like that feeling.
why am i here?

then cousins and titas and titos and helpers started filing out of the house to help bring down the copious groceries we bought in Bacolod and the ever present cursed balikbayan boxes that we brought from the states.

beso-beso,
weak smiles,
a millisecond of our eyes meeting,
then the eventual look away.
look at me. PLEASE.
why can’t you look at me?
why don’t you ever look at me?
why can’t i look at you?
when will we really see each other?

inside, more bright fluorescent lights.
sobrang dami.
it’s hot.
and dazzling white.
and unnaturally bright.
like a movie set.
or a photo shoot.
it’s gross.
vulgar, even.
the place is full of faces that i don’t know.
i don’t like it.

i put down my backpack and went to see “Lola” in her casket.
“gwapa ng Lola mo,” they all said.

my throat was dry.
my eyes hurt from the lights.

i looked down at her
and said,
“hi Lola.”

then, i went to her room, to her bed, and layed down, leaving some space for her, in case she might join me. i stroked her side of the bed, imagining i was smoothing her hair, and told her that i missed her, that i didn’t want to be here without her, that i was sorry that i had so much hate in my heart for some of my relatives…still.

Lola was my haven when i was here.
if my relatives were being their crazy overbearing, manipulative, and/or money-hungry selves, i could always go to Lola’s room to escape.

she would joke with me and tell me stories.
or ask me how so-and-so is.
or ask the same questions over and over again.
or ask me to call someone for her.
or ask me for capital for mahjong.
or quote me exorbitant prices on how much i owed her for each kiss i “stole.”
masyadong malaki ang utang ko sa kanya.

my favorite times would be when we would nap together, holding hands, the fan blowing the lamook away.
the heat of the afternoon,
our lunch settling in our bellies,
the cries of the roosters,
the laughter of the schoolchildren across the street,
and the distinctive sound of tsinelas on the street.
all served as our perfect, private lullaby.

sometimes we would listen to the radio, the local Ilonggo station, and watch tv at the same time. sakit ang mga tenga ko. Lola liked it tho.
it was like she was afraid of silence.

every morning, sometimes as early as 3am, she would wake up and want me to turn on her old radio “for the news” and open the windows and open the curtains to greet the day. then she would be fumbling around trying to read what time it was on her faithful timex indiglo. then she would ask me again what time it was. then she asked again where her flashlight was. i would show her and then click it on and off to prove the batteries were still good. then she would get in her favorite position, quiet, until it was time to take her coffee.

most of her days, she would take her coffee on the porch, facing her youngest and only surviving sibling, Lolo Junior. Lolo is developmentally delayed and his daily household task would be to sweep the outside porch every morning. Lola would point to the places he missed with her cane. and he would shuffle, shuffle, like he does, sweeping the best he could. his gait is soooo unsteady and he only speaks Ilonggo. most of the time, i have no idea what he is saying, as he mumbles and code switching is something he cannot do. and Ilonggo is something i don’t speak…yet.

he doesn’t like to wear shoes because his feet are quite deformed; they hook inwards, and shoes hurt his feet. i was five years old, the first time i visited the Philippines since i left as a 5 month old infant. i remember feeling so upset with Lolo Jr. because he wouldn’t wear shoes. i remember stamping my own shoed foot and admonishing him, “YOU SHOULD BE WEARING SHOES!! WHY AREN'T YOU WEARING SHOES?!?!” in my five year old world, everyone wore shoes and didn’t sell them or trade them for talangka or tuba or beer.

during that visit, i remember crying because my bath water felt cold and i had to take a bath with a tabo and a bucket. i was bitten by a mosquito by my right eye, and it swelled shut (i was inflammatory, even back then). i had a silver front tooth. i slipped on some turkey poo when i was running on the dirt road in front of the house. i threw peanuts at the turkeys on the neighbor's roof. i must have been a handful. every morning, i would look out through the bars of the front gate, gaping at the school children as they walked past to the Paglaum elementary school, across the street. they saw my silver tooth and my swollen eye and made fun of me.

aswang!
one eyed jack!

Lolo Jr. shuffled after them and chased them away, no doubt yelling some Ilonggo curses after them. right then and there, i quickly forgave him for not wearing shoes. he saved me, too.

whenever i see him, i give him a bracelet or necklace made of native materials like abaca, coconut shell, or seeds. he likes them and wears all of them at once. sometimes 6 deep on each arm, if he doesn’t lose them, get swindled out of them, or trade them away. his toothless smile is the sweetest thing, that absolutely does not need translation.

for merienda today, we ate tuna sandwich on white bread with the crusts cut off, outside on the porch. i gave him water in his chipped brown mug. he was thirsty, as i filled it twice. he asked me for another necklace, complaining that the last one i gave him was too gamay.
sabi ko, “Sige Lolo, anong kulay gusto mo?”
he paused to think, and answered, “itom.”
“Sige po. kulay itom, mas dakot. Promise.”
he smiled, nodded satisfied.

kanina, i secretly watched him through Lola’s window for about 30 minutes as he shuffled back and forth from where his laundry was hanging on the line to the table where he elected to fold (and unfold) his clothes. he would fold, then unfold, then fold, then unfold, then finally fold and pile.

Lolo has kind of an obsession with his laundry. sometimes, he sits outside, even in the hottest part of the day, guarding it as it dries in the sun. someone must have stolen his clothes once. Lola would yell at him to come inside, out of the heat.

Then, she would say to me, “do not mind your Lolo Jr. he was born premature. he was supposed to be born August. He came June.” then she would make the sira ang ulo sign, with her pointer finger making spirals near her right temple. that always made me laugh.

i’ve heard stories where he would refuse to bathe for days on end, everyone pleading for him to clean himself. soon Lola would instruct Tito Fred to throw a bucket of water on him if he didn’t bathe willingly. He bathes outside by the pump, in his briefs, and is ecstatic if you give him a new bar of Dove soap.

when he was younger, like a homing pigeon, they say, he could always find his way home, even after going on a bender.

he was the one who saved my mom’s life when she was a baby infant. there were flash floods in her village, and she was already floating away, about to drown. and Lolo Jr. saved her.

hay, and Lola and he would sometimes get in the most spectacular fights.
i heard stories from Tita Lita.
they usually started when he would make comments on her losing streaks in mahjong.
she would shoot back saying it’s not his money she’s losing.
imagine two very olds shouting at each other.
she would “chase” him around the outside of the house.
she with her cane, cursing him.
he with his unsteady gait, shuffling for his dear life, desperate for a place to escape the wrath of his Ate.
Lola would get so worked up she would take Lolo’s clothes out of his small cabinet he kept in the kitchen and throw them outside.
then Lolo would yell, “stop, stop! those are mine! Adel sent those to me from the States!”

he understands that she died.
they say that towards the end, when Lola was no longer responsive, he would encourage her to eat so she could get strong again. Lola always was a good eater.

when Lola was served her food, she would not eat eat before knowing that food had given to Lolo Jr. too.

Lolo doesn’t have his own bedroom here.
at night, he usually sleeps on the floor in the living room on his folding sponge bob foam mattress. since so many people come in and out for Lola’s wake, he cannot sleep in the living room anymore.
last night, my mom and i slept on Lola’s bed.
Lolo slept on his sponge bob at the foot of the bed, and ever since Lola died, they say he is scared to sleep alone.
my mom played mahjong 'til the wee hours.
i was on the bed, working on my computer, and he kept sitting up and checking if i was still there.
i smiled gently at him each time and said, “i’m here Lolo. tulog ka na. babantayan kita.”
he would nod, groggy. then, settle back down to sleep.
i don’t know if he understood what i had said.

earlier, the people from the funeral home came by to add more embalming fluid to Lola. apparently, they do this every 2 days. i was in her room and instructed not to come out while they were “giving Lola medicine.” my cousin’s wife, Yvonne, was the Watcher.
everyone else waited outside the house.
strange.

it kinda bothers me that you can’t see Lola’s hands the way they arranged her.
they meant so much to me.
i held them and kissed them often.
her hands are gnarled.
and she has the most wicked hitchhiker’s thumbs.
and swollen knuckles.
arthritis daw.
but her skin was always so soft.
and cool.

i used to tell her, “alam mo ba, Lola, maganda ka. sobra.”
sabi niya, “hay, no good anymore. pangit na ako. ugly!”
“no, no. maganda ka Lola,” i would insist.
sabi niya, “why, you want to switch faces? i’ll look like you. you’ll look like me.”
“o? pwede ba? sige!” i would say.
then we laughed.

i am to speak at her funeral, on behalf of all the grandchildren (no pressure).
i have until sunday to prepare.
i still need to find something suitable to wear.

whatever will i say?
i wish i could say it in Ilonggo.
or even Tagalog.

there is so much.

and i can’t help feeling that this is such a gift.
there is an opportunity here, an opening to transform the anger and hate.
i can help my family heal.
i can help myself heal.

Lola, please help me find the right words.
there is still so much anger in my heart.
i see the geckos, enduring the heat from all the lights, above your casket, perched on the wall, making bantay. i know they remind me to keep my heart open.

on the plane ride here, to help prepare and disarm myself, i listened to three dharma talks given by my Mitra, during our 2006 sesshin.

freedom--beyond hope and fear

i am reminded that that was a particularly transformative time for me as it was one of the first times i felt seen, one of the first times i consciously revealed myself, and probably the first time i allowed myself to feel loved, warts (snot) and all.

deep bows.

absolute freedom is available to me, in every moment.
every
single
moment,
i have the choice to be free.

dito…here.
ako…me.
ngayon…now.

i love you, Lola.

/|\

C.R. Favila

2008-12-31T18:39:00.001-08:00

namatay na si Lola.
uuwi kami si mommy sa january 3.
parang numb ako.
babalik ako so negros ulit.
negros ulit na naman.

nagsindi na ako ng kandila para kay Lola.
kulay pula.

twilight

2008-12-31T01:42:00.000-08:00

it's 1:43am again.
it's like i don't want to get on a regular sked.

when will sleep come?

lola will transition in the next couple of days.
she stopped eating.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

smiling underneath

2008-12-30T22:53:00.000-08:00

ani d. does it again.

***

I don't mind waiting in line
no, no
I don't mind if the bills pile up and the work is slow
I don't mind the gas or the groceries or the grind
as long as i'm with you I'm having a good time

I don't mind the stoner waiter or the poorly cooked food
I don't mind little miss kitty or her knucklehead dude
I don't mind if every last person here is ugly and rude
long as I'm with you I got a good attitude
long as I'm with you

We could be stuck in traffic for over a week
with a car full of quintuplets who are all cutting teeth
and around my neck could be a flaming Christmas wreath
and I'd be smiling under
smiling underneath

I don't mind waking up early for a flight that's delayed
I don't mind our weeks vacation is chilly and gray
I don't mind the traffic cops or the TSA
long as I'm with you I'm having a good day
long as I'm with you

I don't mind spilling my hot sauce on my white shirt
I don't mind that twinge when I walk in that knee that I hurt
I don't mind my gums peeling back or my hair getting thin
long as I'm with you, I win
long as I'm with you

We could be stuck in traffic for over a week
with a car full of Quintuplets who are all cutting teeth
and around my neck could be a flaming Christmas wreath
and I'd be smiling under
smiling under
smiling underneath

musings on love

2008-12-29T22:22:00.000-08:00

i'm not as itchy or wheezy.
that's good.

i am restless tho.
i want answers.
i want answers.
but, i don't know them.

i'm in deep shit.
with...
well, with myself.
i've been horribly slack with my "homework" from my teacher training.

i attended the first 2 week block for this Waldorf teacher training that i am taking in the Philippines.
and, we have all this homework which i haven't really done.
it's daily exercises and activities.
ugh.
and it's not the kind you can fake.
not that i really want to fake it.
well, not anymore.

gotta get back up on the horse.

but, it's like this.
my life is chaotic.
well, if not chaotic, then certainly, um, what's the word?

unpredictible?
unconventional?
erratic?
unstable?

those all sound negative.

but, it's also
delicious.
not boring.
varied.
free.

i visited my sister and her husband and their new baby.
and everything is so settled with them.
house.
cars,
baby.
jobs.
retirement.
savings.
stuff.

there is a part of me that longs for this, um, what is the word?
security?
predictablity?
stability?
settled-ness?

and then, there's this other part of me that says, "No, Muki, you don't really want that. At least not now."
but, ano?
soon?

i think about all the people that i have loved.
the poet.
the drummer.
the artist.
the farmer.

i still love them.

and i think of the people i'm dating.
the musician.
the kagawad.

i love them, too.
but differently.

i'm seeing my patterns.
i have this great capacity for love.
and i am such a passionate person.
and i'm learning to wield this thing that i am, that i do, more responsibly.

i can be such a tsunami, even to myself.
especially to myself.
so much water in me.
cue that one mat kearney song,
"all your ways and all your thunder,
got me in a haze running for cover,
where we gonna go from here?
where we gonna go from here?"

i can get so caught up in the future.
i worry that i'm not doing what it is i'm supposed to be doing (sacred contractually speaking...)
i've decided not to worry about that so much anymore.
because, it's an energy leak.
well, at least i've made the decision.
it's one of those simple but not easy things.

and also...
i'm doing exactly what i'm supposed to be doing.
it's difficult for me because i feel so aimless.
but when i step back (that is when i remember to step back),
i realize i do have direction (however broad...)

freedom beyond hope and fear.
my Teacher gave a dharma talk about that once.
i'll listen to it again, with new ears, wiser heart.

i do long to feel settled, even if i never do.
i do want a child.
i do want to make a decision about my life work.
i do want to be in a healthy, spiritual, nurturing, growthful, passionate, steady, honest, loving, and equal partnership.
these things are all true.

so, i'll just keep keepin' on.
i'll just keep going.
and then, the answers will come.
and with the answers will come more questions.

like the tide.
like the moon.
like plants.
like the breath.
like the breath.

hives have hives

2008-12-29T02:16:00.000-08:00

i forgot how inflammatory i can get.
this happens when i come back to the states for a visit.
i get hives, especially when i am visiting with my family.
they are the painful kind, the indurated kind.
i get them all over.
my trunk, my legs, my arms...
even my eyelids, i think.

it is stressful for me to come back.
my rhythms get all messed up.
it's like i forget how to orient myself.
or maybe it's like, i can't find north,
or which way is up.

i'm so itchy.
this body is so wise.
she does this when there is something to look at,
when i am avoiding something.

my last year of nursing school, they used to call me "Hiver."
my yearlong healing (2004-2005) crisis time, my hives were rampant, relentless.
i would hide them with long sleeves.
i felt like scratching through my skin in a vain effort to stop the pain.
it would be so bad, i would force myself to sleep to numb out.

and i remember, visualizing a cooling energy that would soothe.
i can't breathe here.
i miss the Philippines.

there.
i said it.

i saw my friend Venus yesterday.
she asked me if i was going to stay in the Philippines for good.
"Ah, ah. hindi ko alam. tignan natin..."
backpedal, backpedal.
the commitment-phobe shows her stripes.
why is it so hard for me to say?

well, 'cause i don't know.
or i don't want to know.
still haven't decided.

i don't belong here.
not now.

advice

2008-12-25T22:27:00.000-08:00

today, i've looked at myself in the mirror several times.
right in the eye.
i even raise my right hand, pointer finger extended (for emphasis),
and i say,
" do not settle, Muki."

do not settle.
you are amazing.
and beautiful.
and extraordinary.

and your person is out there.
and, when it is time, and not a moment before, you will meet.

in the meantime, just keep going.

i realized today how difficult it is for me to be back in the states.
there are many painful memories of when i have settled.

perhaps what is most difficult is that i realize that i have been on the brink of doing it all over again.
this time, though, with a little bit more sophistication and more elaborate smokescreen.
i am in danger of repeating this mistake, and i must just stop.

just stop.

Mitra always said, "don't believe your own bullshit."
i so want to.

but, i'll just stop instead.
and with this little big act of courage, i inch my way closer and closer to Awakening.

i remember this quote from Chogyam Trungpa:

"when you walk into this world of reality, the greater or cosmic world, you will find the way to rule your world - but, at the same time, you will also find a sense of aloneness. it is possible that this world could become a palace or kingdom to you, but as its king or queen, you will be a monarch with a broken heart."

i have a feeling that i will be looking at myself in the eye several more times in the next coming months.

j-lagged

2008-12-25T02:44:00.000-08:00

it's so quiet here, sometimes, i can hear this high pitched tone in my ears.

no breeze in the trees.
no roosters crowing at all hours.
no smoke from burning leaves and trash.
no scraping of the walis on the pavement.
no sound of water sloshing in the bucket at the pump.
no rumbling of the tricycles riding past.
nor the acrid smell of sewage and greywater in the canals that line the streets.
i am hermetically sealed in this southern california townhouse that belongs to my sister and her husband.

there are these stirrings that i've felt lately, in the last few months, whose fire is so poignantly stoked by the birth of Olive.
Olive isn't her official birth certificate name.
it's the name that i call her.
it's the one that i had lea solonga write the autograph to, for her first birth day present, as we were on the same PAL flight from manila to los angeles.

i catch the whiff of domestication, here, stateside, especially.
it's like i breathe in a few molecules of it, and as soon as they hit the back of my throat....
i remember.
like it was yesterday.

i had a husband once.
and money.
and an apartment full of really nice things.
in san francisco.
i went out to fancy dinners.
and didn't worry too much about money.
i had a steady job, working in the hospital.
we had a dog.
and dreams of growing old together.
and kids someday.
and in-laws and holidays and family trips and long drives.

it was a relatively safe life.
and fairly predictable to boot.
the highs didn't get too high.
the lows didn't get too low.
something to be said about the dependability of mediocracy.

and the highs kinda started flattening out.
and the lows got lower...
and
lower
and
lower.

and this life almost killed me.
because this wasn't the life i was meant to lead, not like this.
and yet, there is this part of me that yearns for this "safety."

i want to have a child.
and this scares me a bit.
such a large responsibility.
will i ever find a suitable partner?
i hope so.

my rhythm has been off and my life chaotic since the first block of the teacher training ended.
afterwards, i went to negros.
then back to luzon.
then now in the states.
then...
then...
then...

sleep erratic.
eating erratic.
thinking erratic.
everything erratic.

will do yoga tomorrow to help stabilize.
and won't eat so darn much.
breathe, breathe.
out, then in.
then out.
then in.
over
and
over...

and
over
again.

i'll work my way out of this tailspin, i know.
it's just feels so dang hard.

birth day

2008-12-24T03:20:00.000-08:00

i'm a tita!

just met my new niece.
she was born two hours ago.
she's so beautiful.
and...
amazing.

actually no words describe this feeling.
it's a curious mixture of hope and heartbreak.

she came one month early.

Baby Dear, what world are you inheriting?
i'll do my best to make it a better place for us.
you'll help too, i know.

i have spoken.
welcome.

mob

2008-10-30T06:16:00.000-07:00

"There is, and most of us know it in our hearts, a valid test of a human defense: Is it also a human resource? Will it help us and at the same time keep our children growing? Are we sure that the doors to our future and our past are still ajar after we have used it? Or is it something that will improve our condition now but make further progress for us difficult, and perhaps impossible? Does it win the battles and always lose the war? Whether our defenses are "right" will surely depend on the answers to these questions.

But how hard it is, when we are struggling with fears, to think beyond ourselves and the present moment. Even the most responsible of us is not in a learning mood on those days, days which sometimes stretch into years, years when the quiet voice of reason is drowned out by the cries of the terrorized child within us. Time is meaningless then. How can we master it enough to swing our intelligence up and down the decades, the centuries, scanning them to see what marks our acts are leaving on them?

It is, of course, an impossible thing for an individual to do in times of acute anxiety. There may or may not be someone who cares enough to help him, to point the way, to ask the question that will set him back on the open road. If there is no one, the dead end is reached. The little security system that the child put together long ago just wouldn't work for his grown-up ordeals.

But fortunately for the future of the human race, not all of us are panicked by the same event or terrorized by the same voice. There are always some who can keep heart and head steady enough to hold the door open even when the mob rushes it; some who know and refuse to let the rest forget that improvement and progress can lead in opposite directions, and often do; that progress is not real, however much improvement takes place, unless it keeps men connected with that great reservoir in which human beings have stored the records of their wisdom and errors, discoveries and art, and triumphs and defeats, and dreams of God; unless it opens up more and more possibilities for growth and the enrichment of us as persons."

my friend Amy W. sent this to me some months ago. it’s from one of her (then) new favorite books, “The Journey,” by Lillian Smith. Amy W. has this uncanny way of emailing me right when i need to hear some timely words of comfort. and they’re not just any words, it’s her particular brand and flavor that i am grateful for. i have come to regard her as one of the steadfast in head and heart that Lillian Smith mentions, one who is able to hold the door, even as the mob rushes it, one who asks the question that urges me back on the open road. we don’t correspond frequently. maybe 3 or 4 times a year. and, it is enough.

i remember trying to read her email over and over when i first received it. it was in june or july i think, and my brains were freshly scrambled from my visit to the states, maian planet, the sesshin, the iloilo kapwa conference, finding a place to live, traveling to bacolod and dumaguete, getting over the flu, significant friend break-ups, resigning from the clinic, moving to pampanga, ek, ek.

i remember i couldn’t get past the first line. this happens to me sometimes, and when it does, i’ve learned to just set whatever it is aside. then i pick it up the next week or the next moment, or whenever the Universe plucks that particular string for me to pick it up again.

even today, i had to read force myself to read this quote thoroughly. my eyes wanted to flit and skip over words, get to the end, say it’s done, say i got it, next.

days which sometimes stretch into years…
time is meaningless then…
cries of the terrorized child…

where does this rabbit hole of mine lead?

i feel detached from my life in the states. the upcoming presidential elections, global financial crises, current events. i am vaguely aware of what’s happening. mind, i’ll cast my vote for Obama via absentee ballot, but beyond that, i really am at a loss. i’m somewhat embarrassed (or is it my inner virgo wringing her hands, distraught at my apparent lack of sobriety and groundedness?) i lack the motivation to “keep up,” and when people here find out i am from the states, they ask me to explain the mortgage scandal and political party rivalries and they seem genuinely surprised that they seem to be more in the know. well, they are.

lately, i’ve been concerned more with generational and intergenerational grief and grieving. lately, i’ve been pondering rage inheritance. it is a painful experience to be here in negros. precious to spend time with my lola. painful to witness the ways in which my kin wound and harm. alarmed as they mirror the parts of me i’d rather forget i have.

i think about sacred contracts and the wisdom of the Universe. and i wonder aloud, sometimes on my knees, why me, why now, why this place, why so hard, why this way? what is it that you want me to learn? why have i made these sacred contracts with these crazy people? aren’t i one of them? i want to separate myself, create more separation. i want to escape back to santa rita, to dumaguete, to eating, to sleeping, to fucking. anything to get away from this discomfort.

this won’t last.
yah, yah, i know.

and when i sit still and remember to exhale, the discomfort shifts.
it doesn’t go away (shit.) but it does change.
sometimes it gets worse.
mostly it just shifts.
and sometimes it lessens for a bit, until the next wave hits.

how do i move through this in a good way?
without harming?
without aggression?
with honesty
with integrity?
i stumble through this and wonder how my way measures in terms of this valid testing of human defense that Lillian Smith invites me to remember. for ‘tis true, i do believe there really is a valid test of human defense, i do know this in my heart. but, what the hell is it?

can it be quantified?
can it be qualified?

i am reading this book on catastrophe theory written by alexander woodcock and monte davis. it was published in 1978 and has to do with a qualitative theory of physics and mathematics that offers a different way of looking at sudden change. from the back cover, catastrophe theory also “makes measurable such abstract qualities as fear, anger, love, and hate.” i have no idea how this theory figures in the current state of the world, and i am only on page 12 or so, but something speaks to me about this.

it is difficult for me to read it. kinda like reading thru Amy’s email. i have to force myself to read it thoroughly, line by line. i have to control the urge to flit my eyes to the end and say i got it, good, next. in fact, i’ve started over reading this book twice now. i bought it used at green apple books or diesel books last time i was in the states. it was one of those purchases where i just added it to my pile just from glancing at the title or the cover.

i know i am healing and addressing generations of grief, grieving, and unresolved rage. i have no idea how to go about it, except to keep putting one foot in front of the other and to get back up when i fall down over and over and over and over and over again. lizards jump down from the ceiling onto my chest. they land heavy on my heart, startling me. then they jump down to the floor and scurry away. they remind me to keep my heart open even when i want to close it, hardened and hurting. they remind me to exhale. and after that way, the inhale just comes naturally.

diwali

2008-10-28T17:37:00.000-07:00

i celebrate the darkness and the light.
or at least i try my very best to.
some days i'm serene.
others i'm a complete failure, aggressive and unsure.
most days, i'm in between.
lately, i've been numb, afraid to feel.
but, i woke up this morning, and you were there.
present in my thoughts.
and in my heart.
i was surprised to see you again.
i thought i had closed the door.
only because you did first.
i'm here in negros, in the house of my lola.
she is dying of cancer of the blood.
though she is living mostly.
dying very little.
i try and appreciate this.
i'm surrounded by sharks here.
and i remember the soft place we used to share, that we used to make together.
did i imagine it?
was it really that soft, that safe?
was it co-created?
or just my own fantasy?
parts real.
parts fancy.
i long for that soft place, real or not.
i haven't been able to make it with others.
i've tried.
i've tried to make it on my own.
it suffices, but it is not the same.

happy diwali.
remember you are loved.
i'll try to remember, too.

lost horizon

2008-09-10T07:40:00.000-07:00

pg. 152
lost horizon
by james hilton

"For years, passions had been like a nerve that the world jarred on:
now at last the aching was soothed, and he could yield himself to love that was
neither a torment nor a bore."

i ask you,
does this really exist?

i realize that in matters concerning love, i tend, like any good hopeless romantic pinay worth her salt, to the tumultuous.
if it isn't torment, isn't it a bore?

i recall a gchat with my friend venus early last year.
i spilled my guts about a particularly tortuous torment.
and venus wrote,
"well, u deserve someone who can receive u as u r..... i don't feel relationships have to be so difficult, ya know."
(her words still startle me with their simplicity and Truth.)

someone who can receive me like i am?
i don't even do that with myself.
(well, not completely, anyway.)
learning, learning.

i also realize as i reflect on my past torments (hee), i am learning.
and getting closer to receiving me like i am.
and getting better at receiving others like they are.

i have to admit though:
i am afraid of hurting others...again.
i am afraid of getting hurt...again.

i've been doing a lot of thinking about this, and here's the thing:
it is practically a guarantee that we, as human creatures in authentic relationship, will hurt each other.

we do this.
it is what we do.

it is the ways in which we do this and also how we make amends for our misgivings that speak volumes about our character.
how do we move through conflict?
how do we draw compassionate boundaries?
how do we honor our commitments? to ourselves? to one another?
how do we bear discomfort in placing honesty above complacency?
how do we forgive?

so, the point is, not to be afraid of getting hurt, or causing hurt.
the point is to take good care that we are not reckless with our own hearts nor allow others to be reckless with them either.
the point is to take good care that we are not reckless with others' hearts as well.

how does one do this?
and as i pose the question, i realize that what i really mean is, "how do i do this without anyone getting hurt?"
(for me, it keeps going back to that hurt thing.)

me, i know i can withstand the hurt.
(as long as i can have a bit of solitude, a soft place to cry, nature close by, something to write on, sappy love songs to commune with, and peanut m&m's.)

but, i don't want to hurt anyone.
i really don't want to hurt anyone.
is it understood that as we enter any sort of relationship, particularly romantically inclined ones, that we assume the risk of getting hurt as part and parcel of the experience?
maybe this is the difference between mature and immature love.
or the difference between mature and immature me?

i wish (kind of) that there was some sort of trial edition or test drive option,
some kind of virtual reality try out when we meet someone new.
i feel silly even writing this.
because i don't want it, really, because it isn't real life.
and it just gives me a way to wiggle out of taking responsibility for my actions.
a virtual world has no blood, no guts.
theoretical inferences have nothing on real live experience.

still...

i'm reminded of this quote i saw written on the wall outside a store that sells fancy kitchen gadgets in makati.
it read,
"Cooking is like love--it should be entered into with abandon or not at all."

abandon, caution
torment, bore

i'm almost inclined to just sit on my hands and feign indifference.
almost.
i've never been very good at sitting on my hands.
and feigning indifference...well, those days are behind me, if ever they were in front of me.

no, i see that i will have to wade into the deep end for this.
i'm already waist high, pretending that i'm chest high.
maybe i should just get out and jump all the way in.
at least it's honest.

rip

2008-09-06T03:53:00.000-07:00

i have the equivalent of a lump in my throat in my fingertips.
there is much to say, and as my friend, erica, wrote recently,
"it seems the things that I want to tend to exceed my capacity to do so..."

ain't that the truth.

my mother left this afternoon.
we parted ways in the driveway of the shangri-la makati.
mang domeng, her favorite driver, took her to the airport.
me, i cried all the way to marikina in a hotel taxi.
it was an odd place to say goodbye.
and it had a certain ripping off the band-aid feel to it.
aray ko.

this time spent with her was so precious.
and i sense it goes even deeper than i can understand in this moment.
(hence, the lump in my throat, in my fingertips.)

it's like i want to say these things.
and the ideas burst forth in my head like rapid-fire, old-fashioned camera flashes, complete with soundtrack.
i remember a moment, or series of moments.
then i wonder, how do i write that feeling?
that memory?

there was this moment when we were swimming in the ocean at boracay.
these fish were circling us.
we got uneasy in the same way, even though they were wittle, ittle.
and we laughed later when we realized how scared we both were and how we tried to pretend that we weren’t.

there was this moment when we were swimming, and she didn't want me to leave her 2 foot radius.
i know this space…
just like when i was little.

it was actually revolutionary that she was swimming at all.
she does not like to be around water.
as a child, she almost floated away and drowned when flash floods hit their village.
at it was high tide pa when we were swimming.

i was snorkeling near her (2 feet away actually), keeping an eye on those imaginary barracuda, and after maybe 2 minutes she poked me urgently in the middle of my back.
"just checking if you are still alive, neng. you weren't moving."
i tell you.
precious.

our room number at the boracay regency was 342.
i loved this.
i turned 34 the day we checked in.
and it was just the 2 of us.
and for some unknown reason, we were upgraded to a garden suite overlooking the pool.
and that’s how we found ourselves in room 342.
(thanks Universe.)

my mother talks to herself, especially in the shower.
and she cannot seem to sit still for 2 minutes together.

she seemed to genuinely enjoy touching me when i asked her to put lotion or vco on my back. i don’t remember allowing her to touch me in that way for years and years. when she did it, i felt her remembering when she used to do that for me when i was a baby...
when i didn’t tighten up or freeze.

and when we were swimming together and i was floating weightless so close to her in the ocean, i thought, i’m in another womb with my mother.

oh, sure, we had our awkward moments.
but, the harshness is no longer there.
the sting hardly stung.
methinks, we’ve moved to a quieter part of the maze.
i’ll write about those awkward moments, too.
just not now.

now, i want to really celebrate seeing my mother, maybe for the first time in my life, as a fellow human creature, as a fellow sojourner.
she is one of the most generous people i know.
i am just beginning to understand this.

so, this lump in my throat in my fingertips is threatening to dissolve.
it melts with forgiveness
and humility
and understanding.

who did i see before?
i'm pulling down the veils that hinder my clarity.
it’s an interesting feeling…
equal parts devastating heartbreak and boundless joy.
freedom here.

ito ba ang totoong kalayaan?
baka.

take it away

2008-09-05T07:56:00.000-07:00

i remember this graphic that i ran across some years ago, on craigslist, i think.
it was of this little sad looking creature-monster, holding his heart, away from his body, in his extended hand.
there is a gaping hole in his chest where it was.
the caption read, "take it away."

i wish i could find that graphic.
i would set it as my desktop.
maybe it's on my external hard drive.
in that one black bag,
on the floor,
in the corner,
in the main room,
in my apartment,
in santa rita.

i hope i find it again.
it's how i feel.

maybe seeing it again, will help me move through this.
i'm just so fucking angry.

it's unnerving actually.
so this is what it feels like, this kind of brokenhearted.
haven't had this flavor before.
packs quite a wallop.
had no idea.
so, this must be how bitter is born.

i try to forget you.
and i can't.
when i see a beautiful space.
or eat some really good food.
you're there.
nakakainis.

it won't always hurt this much...
will it?

i mean, i know it won't.
it won't, Muki.
it just really, really, really does right now.

small spaces

2008-08-30T05:15:00.000-07:00

happy birthday dear friend.
maybe you thought i forgot.
or didn't care.
i didn't.
i do.

34

2008-08-29T20:09:00.000-07:00

in a few days, i will be 34.
it seems like one of those moments (or series of moments) that begs the retrospective.

part of me longs to do this.
part of me thinks it will be too painful.
part of me thinks it will take up too much time and energy.
(what is too much? it's more than i am willing to expend at the moment.)

my friend Leny said to me a couple of months ago, "my gosh, Karen, your life is so wide open."
yes, it is.
and, at times, i am perfectly fine with this.
then there are those moments that i am so anxious over this.
it's like i find myself in the old tape loop saying:
you can't do that.
you shouldn't do that.
what are you going to do for money?
what are you doing with your life?

i've been traveling with my mother and sister these last few weeks and have been playing the hapless tourist.
well, not quite hapless.
but, it's like i am playing a part in this strange balikbayan movie.
and it's a role that i certainly know how to play.
but i don't want to anymore.
it doesn't fit.
but i want to spend time with my mom and sister.

we've gone to many places.
and stayed in the finest resorts and hotels.
it's been quite decadent actually.
one day, we had breakfast in davao, lunch in cebu, and dinner in bacolod.
crazy.

i find myself wishing for my solitude again.
my little place waits for me in barangay san vicente, sta. rita.
there is no breakfast buffet, with people tripping over themselves to fuss over my teapot.
there are no white fluffy towels and valet turn-down service at night.
there is no air-con or l'occitane bath toiletries and products.

i wonder if Mang Bernardo is done making my kawayan furniture.
i wonder if the screens are installed in my windows.

and then i wonder how much longer will i be here?
if i had a dollar each time i got that question, i wouldn't have to worry about money.
it's a question i am not comfortable with.
or perhaps it is the answer that i am uncomfortable with.

i don't know.

i really don't.
i won't know until i know.

my sister graduates from nursing school in march.
my other sister will give birth in january.
i'll go back to the states in february for a visit.
and then back here again?

i think to myself, will i finally feel settled here in the philippines and then leave it all for the states?
the thought of living in the states is not appealing, at all, to me right now.
though, i have to admit, that the other morning as i watched CNN coverage of the time leading up to Barack Obama's acceptance speech at the DNC, i actually found myself missing the states. i was actually moved to tears thinking about how my peeps in the bay area must be abuzz with energy and excitement.

i wonder how the landscape will change when Obama becomes president.

i wonder also how i will live into this life i am creating.
i think i put great pressure on myself.
that my life is supposed to be big.

i am such a reluctant healer.
and i loathe to think of myself this way.
but, it's true.
the responsibility scares me.
what if i can't live up to it?

my reiki teacher, Aisa and i recently visited an orphanage for special children in cavite.
we stayed for two days.
the first day, we did a healing ritual for me.
the second day we shared reiki with the kids.

the Universe challenges me to rise above my own fear.
thankfully, She is patient with me, as i fumble and dig my heels.
i have been asked to settle myself, to fix my place how i want it, so that my vision can become clearer.
after my mother and sister leave, this will be done.
my heart beats a little faster and my breath quickens because i know i am systematically painting myself into the corner of Awakening.

my Ego is running for her life.
poor thing.

i'll turn 34 flying to boracay with my mother.
i think i'll just enjoy this decadence while it lasts.
Because it won't last!

helios, heel. heal.

2008-08-26T15:14:00.000-07:00

the sunrise doesn't hurt as much as it once did.
what a relief.

a confession:
at my most petty, i had already added this to our list of mutual disappointments and resentments...

you fucked up the sunrise for me.
forever.

at my best, it's just a very slight pang, the lightest tug on my heartstrings.
a reminder that you were once close.
(not closed.)
that i let you in.
that you still exist.

and the sunrise is so beautiful.

despite everything, you have a place in this heart of mine, should you wish to claim it.
who am i kidding?
even if you choose not to claim it,
it's there.

confounding.
and annoying.
and true.

perhaps the ebbing of pain abides for understanding.
with it no longer causing me to close my eyes to bear it,
or have tears blur my vision,
or have it take up so much damn room...

i can find my generosity again.

it's around here somewhere.
buried deep underneath the anger,
just beneath the hurt.

reflections

2008-08-25T04:39:00.000-07:00

i see myself in my mother.
i see myself in my sister.

they are here, visiting from the states.
we have been traveling all around.
bacolod.
cebu.
bohol.
davao.

mannerisms.
habits.
viewpoints.
idiosyncrasies.

i think i am equally surprised at how much we are alike as we are vastly different.
it's so much easier to see my rough spots when they are mirrored back to me.
catches me like velcro.
grr.

but also, i get all warm and gooey inside when i see where i get my best qualities, too.
catches me, though not like velcro.
it's like i am retraining my mind to take note of the positive as well.

appropriate relationships

2008-08-21T01:18:00.000-07:00

from astro.com
***
Valid during several weeks:

This influence signifies a time of severe testing in your relationships with others. The demands of your work or the demands of your personal life will force you to reevaluate which relationships in your life are worth keeping and which are not. If you do not face this challenge consciously, the pressure of events will force you to do so, because people who have been with you for a long time will leave against your wishes.

There is often a strong tendency to build a wall between you and others without even realizing it. The only way you will know is that suddenly you will feel alone and out of touch with everybody. You may feel that you have no support from others, even loved ones whom you have counted on in the past for love and support. This may represent a temporary state of affairs or a passing mood. Or it may represent a serious breakdown in your relationships because of misplaced priorities in the past or because of associating with people who were wrong for you in terms of your personal goals and needs.

In the case of misplaced priorities, perhaps you have paid more attention to getting ahead in life than to giving and receiving love. Or perhaps in the past, fear of your own inadequacies or fear that you are unlovable has made you withdraw from others. Now the consequences of these problems are emerging, causing you to feel alone.

In the second case, the problem is that in terms of your direction in life, the people you associate with are a distraction or are actually opposed to your interests. In this case, no matter how much you love them, walls will form between you and them, and you will have to begin a new life without them.

With this influence several significant relationships will inevitably end. But if you have a clear idea of where you are going, this will not be a great disadvantage. Whatever remorse you feel will be quickly displaced by a new sense of freedom, because you are no longer wasting energy in trying to maintain inappropriate relationships.

The interpretation above is for your transit selected for today:
Saturn Square Ascendant, , exact at 09:48
activity period from 13 August 2008 to 29 August 2008

okay...
so this pretty much sums up what i've been working with for the last couple of months.
some significant break-ups have transpired.
lessons learned.
let go, when it is time to let go.
hold on, when it is time to hold on.
i'm learning.
i'm learning.

nine

2008-06-20T11:54:00.000-07:00

Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless in facing them.

Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the heart to conquer it.

Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield but to my own strength.

Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved but hope for the patience
to win my freedom.

Grant me that I may not be a coward, feeling your mercy in my success
alone; but let me find the grasp of your hand in my failure.

Rabindranath Tagore

fastly

2008-06-20T11:40:00.001-07:00

things are moving faster and faster.
is it things...or me?
so many people to connect with.
so much to learn.
so much to see.
so much to experience.
so much to taste.

i've been to this place before, where i feel like my schedule is running me.
i don't want to do it like this anymore.

i've been in the states for the past 5 weeks.
and i've been going, going.

i return to the Philippines tomorrow.
and i'm feeling so relieved.
though, i'll be attending the Kapwa conference right after i land again.

Muki, time to do it differently.
after this conference, and visiting Negros, rest.
rest.
write.
do nothing.
eat raw food.

will spend first part of july finding my own space.
pampanga.
laguna.
mindanao.
baguio.
sagada.

who knows where i will end up?
i don't.
just a small corner where i can find solitude.
and rest.

kalayaan

2008-05-22T23:51:00.000-07:00

warrior-spirit prayer for Awakening

may all beings be granted with the strength, determination, and wisdom to exitinguish anger and reject violence as a way.

may all suffering cease and may i seek, find and fully realize the love and compassion that already live within me and allow them to inspire and permeate my every action.

may i exercise the precious gift of choice and the power to change that makes me uniquely human and is the only true path to liberation.

may i swiftly reach complete, effortless freedom so that my fearless, unhindered action be of benefit to all.

MAY I LEAD THE LIFE OF A WARRIOR.
/|\

mangga

2008-04-29T19:13:00.000-07:00

it's mango season here.
i bought a kilo (2.2 lbs!) of baby indian mangoes at the talipapa yesterday for P10 (about 25 cents!)

i just ate three.
breakfast-snack, after doing my laundry.
mass amounts of laundry.

lots of good ideas come to me when i do my laundry.
it's also because i do my best thinking in the morning.
and i do my laundry usually in the morning, so that it will have all day to dry.

one of my favorite things to do is eat fruit at the beach.
went to camayan beach at subic with rowell a couple of weeks ago.
we ate prado mangoes, grown from seeds that reimon got from jolo.

juice dripped down my arms, wet my cheeks.
sand stuck to my arms, my cheeks and chin.
i went into the sea and washed myself clean again.
it's such a nice feeling...
and i really do love fruit.

eyes resting

2008-04-29T01:22:00.000-07:00

eyes resting on beauty.
i look forward to this.
got back from mindanao two days ago.

was so good to see pi and lisette for a couple of days.
and "meet" makilala.
was joined by sony, livia, and alicia, a shaman from canada.
powerhouse group.
also met the wonderful betsy and nono.
we danced and laughed and hugged and ate.
and cried.
and healed.

biodynamic farm.
biodynamic rice, veggies, fruits, yogurt, cheese.
delicious.
outdoor showers.
yellow frog in the curtain.
i really love to bathe outside.
i really love farms, too.

we went to sacred spots.
bits of earthsongs came to me as i swam under waterfalls and sat in the hotsprings.
i sang them into the ears of the mountain.
mt. apo.
they were pleased to hear them again.
they were the ones who gave them to me after all.
i saw a lake that was so hot the water was boiling.
i sang there too.
and danced.
and inhaled deeply the sulphuric steam.

eyes resting on beauty.
it was my Teacher who said that to me.

went also to a 7 day anthroposophic conference, titled "the total art of healing" in kidapawan.
met anthroposophic nurses and doctors, biodynamic farmers, waldorf teachers, art therapists, artists, and musicians.
learned much and met many fine folk.
befriended 4 other nurses and will be doing work with them in the future.

many people have been asking me what i am going to be doing next.
i don't have anything lined up.

and thank goodness.
i'm going to the states in a couple of weeks for the New Dharma sesshin and jukai (again!).
will stay a month.
then, i'll come back and see what arises.

since i've resigned, many opportunities have come up for work.
i really am lucky.
and the Universe is testing me again, to see if i've learned my lesson.

will travel around a bit when i get back.
so that my eyes can rest on beauty.
in baguio, iloilo, palawan, negros, cebu, sagada, banaue, batanes, maybe.
tignan natin.
maybe even throughout southeast asia.
we'll see.

in the meantime, closing out my work at the clinic...
and
still have to file my income taxes in the states (gak. thank goodness for extensions!)
and
4 day food and arts festival at Prado starting thursday.
will be baking cookies and helping with the school age kid activities.
and
despedida with estong and michelle tomorrow night.
will videoke and drink and be silly.
and
last day at the clinic is may 6.
and
will fly out to davao with troy on may 7, first flight!
will be attending another convergence of healers there at the maian planet til may 13.
and
will attend my friend krystal's play at UP, entitled "Marisol" on may 16.
and
will fly out to the states on may 17.
phew.

i lead a full, full life.
swerte ko talaga.

healing conversation

2008-04-14T17:12:00.000-07:00

from astro.com, for me, today:

"Under this influence all forms of healing and being healed are especially favored. This influence is also particularly suited for every type of operation on body and soul, whether you undertake this on another person or on yourself. With people who are close to you, you can have deep conversations about those sore points which we all have and which make us react very sensitively to some things. It would be only too human to avoid this situation for fear of the pain connected with it. But, of course, you should not do so, as healing and becoming whole demand certain preconditions which are not readily to be found, but which are, during this time, especially favored."

The interpretation above is for your transit selected for today:
Mercury Conjunction Chiron, , exact at 08:29
activity period from 14 April 2008 to 15 April 2008

thank you Cosmos.
/|\

wilder

2008-04-05T23:28:00.000-07:00

i resigned my position at the clinic.
perhaps it was the little laura ingalls in me that was so attracted to doing what i've been doing.
it was such a big part of this identity that i created for myself.
it became almost rote.
almost.

"i'm a nurse volunteer, here from the states. i run a clinic for toxic waste victims, children with cerebral palsy, in pampanga."

as if that is my main identity.
it's not.
not that the clinic work isn't noble or worthy.
that's just not how i wish to identify myself, yet i did it. a lot.
(the scarier question for me is... if i didn't want to identify myself like this, in this limited way, WHY did i do it? ugh. not now.)

the clinic is a converted house in the middle of a resettlement area.
i set up the clinic, and the systems that run it.
i made connections, organized, and helped empower people to recognize their gifts.
part of me, i think, was so curious to see if i could even hack living on my own, in a very different kind of lifestyle.

well, i found out that i can.
i can even do it well.

that's good information for me to have.
it's the thing that i now measure all daunting things against, and then they don't feel so daunting.

i've said it before.
the clinic is my cover.
cover for what, Muki?
why do i even need a cover?
why was it again that i decided to come here in the first place?

it wasn't to run a clinic.
it was to reclaim my wholeness.
it was to help other fil-ams reclaim theirs.

there are parts of my soul scattered all over the Philippines.
buried in the earth.
swimming in the sea.
mingling high up in the wind and mountains.
parts of me are hidden in the pause before the dawn breaks, the moment before it rains, the moment right after it stops.
parts of me live in the place where the sun goes right after he dips below the horizon.
i'm in the rice and sugar cane fields.
i'm in the bird's songs.
parts of me live in the spaces between the feathers on their wings, spread wide as the fly.
i'm in the breath between sentences spouted off in kampampangan, taglish, english, tagalog, ilocano, ilonggo.
parts of me live in the silence of solitude, in the sound of my footsteps as i walk alone on this sacred earth.
parts of me live in the camaraderie of intimate seekers, especially old, old friends who have not yet met.
i am hidden in the dance, the ancient dance, the innerdance with no music, no guru.
i'm in a candle flame.

no wonder i couldn't find them at the clinic.
i have to be traveling or in nature to find them.

somehow i lost my way. and fortunately, the Universe has directed me back onto my Path.
or at the very least, she has highlighted, very sharply that i'm in dire need of a course correction.
as my dear friend Leny recently wrote, "there are always markers."
perhaps the Universe did not want me to miss this particular marker, because it's shaken me to the core.

it's like i didn't realize the misalignment all that much at first.
it's like when your alignment is off in your car, and when you are driving in a straight line, your trajectory is only a little bit skewed in the beginning. then you continue driving straight and it isn't until you go driving for awhile that you notice how way off course you've come.
this is where i stopped the car and was like, "whoa. i am so off course. how did this happen?"
then a week's worth of solitude and reflection reveals this seemingly small misalignment in the beginning of the journey, the justifications and excuses i made up to cover it, and how with time, the trajectory angle became so obtuse that it got harder and harder to keep up the facade. and that my relationship with Mayora became increasingly more painful and difficult to navigate was significant to my recognizing that i was living misaligned, that i was choosing to live misaligned.

i had this image, this idea of what my life here was supposed to be, what it was supposed to look like.
and even when it was doing it's very best to show me what it really was, i could not see it because i chose not to.
as my dear Teacher recently wrote, "the precious gift of choice."

it's hard for me to try to articulate all of this, especially as i stumble through it.
and, it's kind of embarrassing.
i'm heartbroken because of what i've done, the repeated choice not to see.
(or is it most heartbreaking that i saw and chose to pretend that i didn't see?)
the impact i have, especially because of who i am and who i am becoming...
i am gaining a deeper and deeper understanding of this, and i wish to wield it more responsibly from now on.

i'm humbled because i understand myself more fully now, and that helps me move through the embarrassment that i feel.
am grateful for this depth of understanding.
and awed by the strength of my ego.
somehow, i feel like this has been a strange kind of princess and the pea syndrome.

ultimately, i can't regret this experience.
no doubt, this has also been part of the Divine plan for me.
this indelible, lived experience.

i forgive myself for being reckless with my spirit, for living willingly with the misalignment.
i can understand where this choice originated from.
and this deeper understanding has left a significant imprint on my brain and heart.
every cell in my body, actually.

but now, it's time to create my Life.
meaning that it's time to name and call out to the Beings and circumstances that are indeed aligned with the next part of this journey.
i sing to them my sorrows and grief, and i'm ready for them to come and teach and guide me, in a more aligned way.
i thank them for their patience and this painful initiation.

starter holes

2008-03-31T04:43:00.000-07:00

hammering nails into concrete is difficult.
just spent the last hour or so doing it.
hung up some bamboo window coverings in my bedroom.
discovered the beauty of the starter hole...

these last few weeks have been difficult to say the least.
have really been going thru the wringer.
i spent the better part of holy week at a workshop on life work at ginhawa house.
a very intense three nights, three days.

much healing happened.
clarity reclaimed.
sacred contracts discovered.
perspectives shifted.
perceptions, too.

went to some really painful, shadow places...
and came out the other end...
more whole...
more me.

was an interesting parallel, and the symbolism that it took place during holy week is not lost on me.
in fact, good friday, was the hardest day for me.
full moon, too.
i think this is the first time that i really understand the significance of Easter.
befitting of a christ year, if do say so, myself.

have realized that i'll likely be here in the Philippines longer than i thought..
i thought i would be a year.
then it was a year and some.
then two.
now, i'm thinking, i'll be here until i am supposed to be somewhere else.

has been quite difficult for me to claim that fully.

during my inward time at the workshop, i received some powerful insights regarding my future that i attribute as being messages from the spirit world.

as i type this, i wonder how to share this, if i should share it.

how do i hold this kind of information responsibly?
do i regard it as "real"?
that is, do i actually base my life decisions on it?
does it really just speak to my innermost desires and wishes?
the ones that i am not yet able or wanting to claim as truly mine?
or is it merely symbolic?
and then if so, am i distorting the message by taking it so literally?

this line of questioning comes directly from my own experience.
i know someone here that last year received some powerful insights from the spirit world regarding the future.
she chose to share it with me and others.
she spoke of it as if it were so real.
like there was no alternate future.
in her words, "a done deal."
she expected me to fastly make some pretty major life decisions based on the info that she gave to me.

i made (and make) my decisions based on the gamut of information available to me.
i am also guided by my instincts, my higher Self, my intuition.

her insights did not come to fruition, and i am so relieved that i did not get too "carried away" by them.

and, because of this, i have learned an important lesson about trust.
and discernment.
and impact.
and responsibility.

mt. arayat

2008-03-18T16:06:00.000-07:00

i saw the sun rise three times over mt. arayat this morning.
i cried it was so beautiful.

been talking to that mountain lately on my frequent trips on the nlex, back and forth from manila and prado.
been meaning to google his story.
he is such a handsome mountain.
the mountains here speak to me.
makiling last year.
makilala next month.
mayon last year.
now arayat.

i locked myself out of my room last night, right before i was supposed to meet maryan for dinner in clark.
grr.

i couldn't find a locksmith.
it was already 7pm, so even if i did find one, they would be closed...

found some wire leftover from when they installed internet, and tried to pick the lock for half an hour.
was doing a poor imitation of what i'd seen in movies.
no luck.
am thinking that this is a skill i would like to have.
another thing to google.

i had my car keys naman.
just not the clinic keys nor the padlock for the gate.
had to make the decision to leave the clinic or stay.

bought a new padlock for the gate and sent a simple plea to the ether to keep the clinic safe while i was gone.
paki-bantay lang po.

met dita and maryan at zapata's.
it's this mexican food place that transports me back to california, whenever i'm there.
when i'm there, i can be in a taqueria in san diego or l.a.
decor, taste...
complete with white folks even.
weird.
and a little disturbing.
that's something to get used to because of the proximity to clark.
lots of foreigners here paired up with young pinays.

anyway, the food IS good.
not quite la taqueria on 25th and mission in san francisco or that other place i used to go to near gilman in berkeley.
but, pretty darn good.
best i've had here.
just don't get the fish tacos.
trust me on this one.

after zapata's, we headed to the swiss chalet and ate again.
:)
i love kampampangans.
honestly, the most common way i'm greeted, especially when i'm in prado, is "kumain ka na ba?" (have you eaten yet?)
at swiss chalet, we ate beef fondue and rahmschnitzel.
long meandering, and at times, very animated, conversations that flowed from kampampangan to taglish to english to tagalog on topics that ranged from jun lozado, love lives, callings, parenting, tv shows, relationships, family...
kept up, me and my 75% comprehension.
revealed to them that i was once married.
that's always a good conversation...

it's so interesting to go to these restaurants.
always a mixed crowd.
very close to the red light district in angeles kasi.

at 2am, we dropped off Dita at her house in villa teresa.
Maryan invited me to stay the night at bale dutung.
woke up the next morning early, early.
as usual.

as i drove home, the sun was rising.
along the macarthur highway, i passed groups of young men dressed in maroon robes and barefoot.
they were carrying huge crosses on their backs, their hands tied.
there must have been at least 50.
i also saw barechested men, flagellating themselves as they walked along side.
their backs were still whole, not yet bleeding.

so many feelings get churned up for me around this holy week.
i've certainly not experienced anything like this before.
filipinos know suffering.
is this the suffering that leads to more suffering?
or is it the suffering that leads to freedom?
turning this over in my head and heart.
i have such a strong reaction to the physical pain.
i remember feeling the same thing when reading parts of Katrin's kapwa.

the other day, when i drove into madapdap from prado, there was a young boy with a cross strapped to his back. he was surrounded by 30 or 40 other little boys who jeered at him as he fell. it was heartbreaking to witness. and i was in Pipsy, protected, somewhat safe. i would prolly cry my eyes out if i were actually on the street with them. the heat and dust. the sacrifice. the energies.

does this child understand who he is, what he does? do the boys around him see that they are also playing a role? these are the little boys in my neighborhood who shout and run and climb the tree by the elementary school by the iglesia ni kristo. they are the ones that play this game where they throw and roll p5 coins. and walk with their arms around each other's shoulders as their tsinelas drag on the hot asphalt. they are the ones who buy cold water in plastic supots for 1 piso across the street at the bakery and drink them down by biting the corner of bag and drink as if they are nursing. they are the ones who draw their names in the dust on my car.

the pasyon is sung in kapampangan all night.
holy week is such an intense experience.
especially for this christ year of mine.
i knew there was a reason that i found myself locked out of my room last night.

it triggered another profound series of events.
i never thought i would see the sun rise 3 times.
first time red.
the second orange.
the third yellow.

thank you Universe.
/|\

panyo

2008-03-15T04:46:00.000-07:00

took me like 15 minutes to fold a handkerchief kanina.
the corners wouldn't match up.
had a hard time just letting it be.
letting it go.

did my laundry this morning.
it's a kind of meditation, and i appreciate the process.

i sort my dirty clothes in piles.
pants, t-shirts, little things, towels, malong, etc.

i like to rotate what i wash.
(mostly because my arms get tired.)

pants (big thing) first.
then underwear (little thing).
then t-shirt (medium thing).

or sometimes medium, big, little.
depende sa mood ko.

as i wash each item, i remember what i did the day i wore it.
then, my mind spins off into another place.

after it's rinsed and partially wrung out, it soaks in water with softener.
then, wring, wring wring.
hang it up, inside out.
alikabok kasi.

drip, drip, drip.
the water is hard here in madapdap.
and a bit rusty.
my clothes are a little stiff when they are dry.

then folding.
sorting.
i sniff them as i fold and pile.
earlier, it was mixture of downy and cigarette smoke from a man smoking in front.

i actually have an iron.
i hardly use it.
way back in the day, i remember ironing my nursing uniforms while watching The Matrix.
seems like such a long time ago.
ages.
lifetimes.
it's only been about 5 years.

funny, cause when i think about it, i was actually in the matrix, as i ironed those uniforms.
wasn't long after that i unplugged.

i remember when i first saw that movie.
my eyes got all round and big.
the matrix is real.

now, i live in the real world.
and sometimes i wish for a bite of that steak.

especially lately.

funny also because even when i give myself permission to have a bit of that steak, it doesn't taste as good as i remember.

it's just familiar.
and predictable.
and, therefore, safe.

nowhere to hide lately.
Universe is shaking my cosmic tree.
anything in the way of my clarity, my freedom, my awakening is being shaken loose.

again.

will ride my bike to the monastary tomorrow morning.
palm sunday mass for my christ year.

pinatay

2008-03-10T09:15:00.000-07:00

my neighbor died last week.
i didn't know her.
i didn't even know she died.

when i came home on saturday, there was tent set up next door.
many, many people milling about.
they stay all night.

Pipsy is parked in front of the clinic.
once, i looked out the window, and she was covered with kids.
what to do?

i've been away for the last two days.
i want to go over and pay my respects.
and i am shy.

want to bring over some food.
but what?
maybe some hopia from the bakery across the street.

i am feeling a moderate amount of resistance in going over there.
i know i will regret it if i don't.
shy and resistant, i will go tomorrow morning, before clinic.

inward

2008-03-10T08:01:00.000-07:00

have been feeling a bit inward lately.
the din of manila is diffficult for me.
am really wanting to limit my time there.
been feeling so sensitive and sensitive to energies lately.

this Awakening...
have been finding solace in music.
have been wearing out some songs lately.
saw the movie "Once" the other day.
good one about karmic relationships.
and the soundtrack has been playing ever since.

"falling slowly
eyes that know me
and i can't go back..."

my fingers are sore, as i've been playing guitar lately.

"you have sufferred enough
and warred with yourself.
it's time that you won..."

was in manila on friday.
met with Aisa, and received the level I reiki attunements.
unable to really write about it right now.
still integrating kasi
afterwards, i slept at the ginhawa house.
spent time with my friend Leah saturday morning.

saturday evening back at madapdap.
organized my kitchen.
finally.
bought organic goodness a number of different places.
Pipsy and i traveled all over.
apparently, there is one place in all of manila that one can buy filo dough.
(Santi's btw, in makati)
bought some for sunday.

Simmi donated her fridge when she left to go back to canada.
having a ref has changed my life!
kinda like having Pipsy.

have been craving spanokopita.
gathered up all the ingredients, packed them with ice.
and headed to prado.

before prado, met Claude, Maryan, and Reimon at the famous Everybody's Cafe in san fernando for lunch.
i love kampampangan food.
hands down.
those three could very well be my favorite eating partners.

what didn't we eat?
sinigang.
fresh lumpia made with green papaya.
grilled tilapia with the mustard leaves and fermented rice sauce.
crickets adobo. (i know...crazy, but i loved this.)
murcon with the drippings. (naku. my fave.)
paksiw ng bangus with chicharon and claude's special toyo concoction. (a winning combo.)
stuffed frogs. (i know, again.)
crispy duck.
chicharon bulaklak.
fresh mangga.
and chocolate, ah.

what a feast.

then a quiet sunday at prado.
taught Manang and Ate Winnie how to make spanokopita and hummus.
that was fun, and we laughed and laughed.
discovered Rilke's letters to a young poet.
dear Mr. Kappus...
gorgeous.

will be traveling back and forth to manila again this week.
not really wanting to make the trips, but i understand it is my choice...

am a bit behind in my paperwork.
both for this Center and my other one.
will be a productive week, i hope.

the sunken cathedral

2008-03-10T00:25:00.000-07:00

three weeks ago i attended a workshop at prado on the 12 Senses.

Cha played this Debussy piece on the piano and told us the story behind it.

i can't remember it exactly, and when i google it, the legend of Ys comes up.

the story i remember from the workshop is different.

there was a very unique cathedral, situated in a town, near the sea.
and at the same time of day, everyday, it rises up out of the water.
and at the end of the day, everyday, it sinks back down into the water.
for whatever reason, it does this.

the cathedral is beautiful.
and ornate.
and catches the light.
it is an integral part of the community.

as Cha and Reimon told the story, i drifted off into my own thoughts and imagination. Cha began to play and when i heard this haunting piece of music, i was lost in another world.

in my mind's eye, i saw this cathedral rise up, up, up out of the water.
saw how the water gave way, spilled out of the door, high windows, and belltower.
and the fish always knew when to scatter.
heard the underwater scraping noise as the bedrock groaned, as once again, it made this journey upwards.

i saw a small brown girl who loved this place.
her parents were charged with its upkeep.
and everyday, her father and mother would go to the place were the cathedral would rise and patiently wait.
when it had risen, her parents would meticulously clean and dry all of the pews, paying special attention to the alter.
the floors must be dried.
any errant seaweed would be removed.
any sea creatures hidden in the corners, would be tossed back into the sea.
as an infant, the girl was strapped to her mother's back, as her mother arranged the alter cloth.

as a toddler, she would sit on the pew that was dried first by her father.
everyday, she would be allowed to pick which one would be first.
she would ask her father questions about birds and fishes, while he worked.
her chubby legs would swing to and fro as she prattled on with her questions.
when she sensed her father was tired of her asking and asking, she entertained herself by singing songs about rocks that she would make up on the spot. or would think of the flowers they passed in the morning. or would lay down for a nap, as it was so early that they had to wake up every morning. the saltwater had long worn away the varnish on the wooden pew. the waterlogged wood was swollen, yet smooth. and it smelled like the sea.

the townspeople knew to wait until both doors were opened wide before they could enter to pray.
and as soon as the girl was strong enough to push them open, this was her job.

there was no priest or preacher.
and there hadn't been one in a very long time.
the townspeople got along without one.

for whatever reason, the girl does not accompany her parents to prepare the cathedral for it's daily sinking.
and she has many questions as to why the cathedral rose and sunk everyday.
she asked her parents.
she asked her neighbors.
she asked the elders.
none of their answers satisfied her.

she loved the cathedral so much.
it was so beautiful
and so special to her.
she was in awe of its ability to rise and fall, every single day.
she wanted to know what happened to it after it sunk.

where did it go?
why did it go?
was is lonely?
did it miss her?
does it have to sink everyday?
will there ever be a time when it will not rise again?

no one could answer these questions.

so, the girl stole away from her parents, one early evening, just before the cathedral was to return to the depths of the sea.
everyday, her parents would make sure that everyone was cleared out at least one hour before the sinking.
all the linens were folded neatly and taken out.
candles were extinguished.
the pews were put together and secured.
the doors were locked tight.

but the girl had taken the key from her father's pocket when he wasn't looking.
she unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open.
she closed it again.
the cathedral was dark.
she was not used to seeing it so dark.

when the sinking began, she didn't notice it right away.
she was softly singing to herself, and it happened so slowly.
she was sitting on her favorite pew, and it started to float.
the girl was fascinated.
finally, she would be able to stay with her cathedral and see what happened to it after it sunk.

and then she was scared.
she had realized the enormity of what she had done.
and she tried to unlock the door and get out.
but she couldn't.
she died by drowning.

i remember the shock i felt when i "woke up" from my hazy vision.
i was so disturbed by it.
was wondering where on earth did this come from?
what a story...
her death saddened me so.
it stirred up so many feelings in me.
felt so protective over her.
and bewildered.
could actually feel her panic as the doors would not open.
felt so badly for her parents, for the townspeople.
could imagine their guilt and profound grief.

then i came to another startling realization.
many lifetimes ago, i was that little girl.

there's a lot here.
this vision says a lot about letting go.
and letting go.
and letting go.
and letting go.
and trust.
and trust.
and trust.
and trust.
and communication.
and love.
and Love.
and teaching.
and learning.
and the importance of seeing how things begin...
and how they end.
appreciating the cycle.

with my death as this little girl, i started on this journey of Awakening.
each subsequent lifetime brings me closer and closer to just that.
i have chosen each time the circumstances to be born into, with the intention of furthering me along.

it is in this lifetime that i will finally wake up.