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.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
another level
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.
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.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
fallen to the earth...
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
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
Sunday, September 13, 2009
back
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?
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?
Thursday, September 3, 2009
the perfume of packing
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
a tiger in the Lion City
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.
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.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
for good
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Being human*
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!
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!
Friday, July 24, 2009
right down
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.
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.
Monday, July 20, 2009
New Light Church
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.
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
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.
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.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
unpacking...
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.
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.
Friday, June 26, 2009
tightness
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.
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.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Dolores and the toxins
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
swine flu
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.
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.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Pips
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
bed weather
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.
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
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Trust
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.
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.
Monday, June 1, 2009
sweets
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.
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.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Santa Rita
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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.
Monday, May 18, 2009
roused from sleep
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...
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...
Saturday, May 16, 2009
wrenched
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
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
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.
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.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
even though
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.
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.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
smiling underneath
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.
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.
Friday, April 10, 2009
genuflection
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.
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.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
kalamansi and Agape
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.
.
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.
.
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