saw an ipis outside of troy's room the other day.
didn't stomp on it.
just regarded it.
and walked on by.
whew.
if it were in his room, how would i react differently?
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
ipis
why do i hate cockroaches so much? specifically, ipis. the cockroaches here are pretty big. the size of hmmm, what? the size of your thumb. or the size of one of my eyeglass lenses. or the size of two quail eggs, end to end. and they are fast, too. whenever i see one, i kill it. automatically.
when i see one, it's like an alarm goes off in my head. a panic. i'm amused as i type this now, the absurdity of it. but in the moment, it's like i really go a bit crazy. berserker fashion. my knee-jerk response is to kill. and kill like my life depended on it. where does this response come from? did it come from me? is there something about ipis that reflects parts of myself that i abhor? is this evolutionary? is it inherited? from who? is it bugs, in general? what?
i associate ipis with being dirty. or disease carrying. googled them and yes, indeed they are potential vectors for disease. they also are a contributing cause for asthma in children who live in urban areas. but, this urge to obliterate them goes deeper, i think.
there is something in me that detests them. i'm afraid of them, too. is that it?
i moved most of my things to the clinic earlier this week. i didn't move in all the way because the water hasn't been connected yet. i walked into the kitchen area, and there were ten ipis on the wall. i froze. never met a whole gang of them before. and then, they were on the wall, not on the floor. and then i thought, "naku. there's not even any food in this kitchen yet..." and then i thought, "shit, i'm supposed to leave all my stuff here."
the way most people get rid of ipis here in the philippines is to spray chemical pesticides. after three stores, i found some and bought a can and sprayed. i don't like using chemicals. and it made me nervous that the directions on the can said something like spray and then run. don't inhale the fumes. wash your hands with soap, etc. etc.
so, i sprayed the gang of ten. they scattered and then turned over on their backs, dying. i think i read somewhere that pesticide is neurotoxin. it was terrible watching them die. they looked like they were in pain. a couple i just squashed because they were taking so long to die. this whole affair was disturbing for me, and in the same disturbing vein, the smell of the stuff is actually faintly pleasant. there's a lot there.
and then, as the ten scattered, i could hear the fifty that were hiding in cracks and crevices start running for their lives. i could hear them on the roof. then there was a wave of them that came down from the roof into the kitchen. i sprayed and sprayed. it was getting more and more personal.
so, i killed a ton of ipis. i feel badly about it. it's launched me into this thinking process about arrogance and chemicals. i wonder how we can co-exist in this clinic. this clinic is a healing center of sorts. my primary clients are children. children with cerebral palsy, a neuromuscular condition. they have cerebral palsy because of their exposure to toxic waste left by the american military.
how have i contributed to the violence in the world by using this spray? how much damage can be unlearned by my moving through this process? how much more if i share it with you?
when i see one, it's like an alarm goes off in my head. a panic. i'm amused as i type this now, the absurdity of it. but in the moment, it's like i really go a bit crazy. berserker fashion. my knee-jerk response is to kill. and kill like my life depended on it. where does this response come from? did it come from me? is there something about ipis that reflects parts of myself that i abhor? is this evolutionary? is it inherited? from who? is it bugs, in general? what?
i associate ipis with being dirty. or disease carrying. googled them and yes, indeed they are potential vectors for disease. they also are a contributing cause for asthma in children who live in urban areas. but, this urge to obliterate them goes deeper, i think.
there is something in me that detests them. i'm afraid of them, too. is that it?
i moved most of my things to the clinic earlier this week. i didn't move in all the way because the water hasn't been connected yet. i walked into the kitchen area, and there were ten ipis on the wall. i froze. never met a whole gang of them before. and then, they were on the wall, not on the floor. and then i thought, "naku. there's not even any food in this kitchen yet..." and then i thought, "shit, i'm supposed to leave all my stuff here."
the way most people get rid of ipis here in the philippines is to spray chemical pesticides. after three stores, i found some and bought a can and sprayed. i don't like using chemicals. and it made me nervous that the directions on the can said something like spray and then run. don't inhale the fumes. wash your hands with soap, etc. etc.
so, i sprayed the gang of ten. they scattered and then turned over on their backs, dying. i think i read somewhere that pesticide is neurotoxin. it was terrible watching them die. they looked like they were in pain. a couple i just squashed because they were taking so long to die. this whole affair was disturbing for me, and in the same disturbing vein, the smell of the stuff is actually faintly pleasant. there's a lot there.
and then, as the ten scattered, i could hear the fifty that were hiding in cracks and crevices start running for their lives. i could hear them on the roof. then there was a wave of them that came down from the roof into the kitchen. i sprayed and sprayed. it was getting more and more personal.
so, i killed a ton of ipis. i feel badly about it. it's launched me into this thinking process about arrogance and chemicals. i wonder how we can co-exist in this clinic. this clinic is a healing center of sorts. my primary clients are children. children with cerebral palsy, a neuromuscular condition. they have cerebral palsy because of their exposure to toxic waste left by the american military.
how have i contributed to the violence in the world by using this spray? how much damage can be unlearned by my moving through this process? how much more if i share it with you?
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
sleep, interrupted
i’ve been feeling ill the last three days. fever, chills, diarrhea. also, on my moon…this doesn’t help things. or maybe it does. double cleansing. triple cleansing if you count the diarrhea. (note: i do.)
what is illness?
surely, it is more than a pathogen invading, setting up house. homeostasis? i think it’s even more than the body trying to regain her optimal status quo. there’s also context to consider, right? i’m learning, there is always context to consider.
the last time i had a fever and felt ill, it was before our pilgrimage to Mt. Banahaw. had fitful sleep, fever, chills. and one night, i had the same dream over and over again. and i tossed and turned all night.
i remember feeling worried that i would not be well enough to go. i had missed this trip last year because i was having surgery to repair my Achilles tendon. (another sort of pilgrimage, for sure.) i so wanted to go and simultaneously decided that if Spirit decides this is my time to go, i’d be well enough to go.
my fever broke the night before we left. and it broke my heart wider and wider open. i was so scared. the analytical nurse in me thought, “what is this? what is happening to me?” as i logically ran down the pathophysiology of every major cardiopulmonary disorder that i could think of, including major signs and symptoms, risk factors, treatments, etc.
another part of me, the panicking part, was screaming, hysterical. “SCREAM! DO SOMETHING!!! YOU CAN’T JUST LIE THERE!! WE ARE GOING TO DIE!!! GET HELP! GO TO THE HOSPITAL!!! WE ARE GOING TO DIE!!!”
another part of me, the larger Me, was like, “stay present, dearest. wowee, this hurts, doesn’t it? there’s a reason for this pain. i’m here. i won’t leave you. i feel it, too. you are not alone.”
so, i stayed present. and i cried. masakit eh. it was like invisible hands were trying to widen a space in my chest, clear it out of what was no longer needed. fingers were probing and poking an already sore heart, touching the wounds that are already there, even making new ones. i didn’t get the sense that this was done out of malice. it was more purposeful. it was for me, for my healing. for my growth. i realize now, some months later, these hands were removing colonial vines that had wrapped my heart and choked my heartspace. thank you, my celestial Gardener.
i don’t know how long this lasted. maybe 10 minutes. but, who knows? i can’t even remember if Ged was with me that night. as fast as it came, it stopped. she left. she took my fever with her. i wiped my tears, exhaled. with trembling hands, i sipped some water. gave silent thanks to the Gardener. tears of relief wet the corners of my eyes. i let them be. i had survived it. and i felt a coolness now. and a stillness. and i slept.
the following morning, i packed for Mt. Banahaw, and feeling dizzy, weak, and unsure, i made my first pilgrimage there.
what is illness?
surely, it is more than a pathogen invading, setting up house. homeostasis? i think it’s even more than the body trying to regain her optimal status quo. there’s also context to consider, right? i’m learning, there is always context to consider.
the last time i had a fever and felt ill, it was before our pilgrimage to Mt. Banahaw. had fitful sleep, fever, chills. and one night, i had the same dream over and over again. and i tossed and turned all night.
i remember feeling worried that i would not be well enough to go. i had missed this trip last year because i was having surgery to repair my Achilles tendon. (another sort of pilgrimage, for sure.) i so wanted to go and simultaneously decided that if Spirit decides this is my time to go, i’d be well enough to go.
my fever broke the night before we left. and it broke my heart wider and wider open. i was so scared. the analytical nurse in me thought, “what is this? what is happening to me?” as i logically ran down the pathophysiology of every major cardiopulmonary disorder that i could think of, including major signs and symptoms, risk factors, treatments, etc.
another part of me, the panicking part, was screaming, hysterical. “SCREAM! DO SOMETHING!!! YOU CAN’T JUST LIE THERE!! WE ARE GOING TO DIE!!! GET HELP! GO TO THE HOSPITAL!!! WE ARE GOING TO DIE!!!”
another part of me, the larger Me, was like, “stay present, dearest. wowee, this hurts, doesn’t it? there’s a reason for this pain. i’m here. i won’t leave you. i feel it, too. you are not alone.”
so, i stayed present. and i cried. masakit eh. it was like invisible hands were trying to widen a space in my chest, clear it out of what was no longer needed. fingers were probing and poking an already sore heart, touching the wounds that are already there, even making new ones. i didn’t get the sense that this was done out of malice. it was more purposeful. it was for me, for my healing. for my growth. i realize now, some months later, these hands were removing colonial vines that had wrapped my heart and choked my heartspace. thank you, my celestial Gardener.
i don’t know how long this lasted. maybe 10 minutes. but, who knows? i can’t even remember if Ged was with me that night. as fast as it came, it stopped. she left. she took my fever with her. i wiped my tears, exhaled. with trembling hands, i sipped some water. gave silent thanks to the Gardener. tears of relief wet the corners of my eyes. i let them be. i had survived it. and i felt a coolness now. and a stillness. and i slept.
the following morning, i packed for Mt. Banahaw, and feeling dizzy, weak, and unsure, i made my first pilgrimage there.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
on texting
am noticing how i can jump to conclusions so easily. how important tone is and visual cues. how much i rely on reading body language, energy.
have been conducting a lot of business via texting. sometimes, it’s hard for me because my biases and neuroses can (and often do) color the way i read something. there’s a lot for me to look at there. (leaning in, Mitra!)
is so and so mad? annoyed? how mad? how annoyed? for what? because of that one thing? that one that one time? or that other thing that other time?
ugh. round and and round, an exercise in futility.
‘til i say, wait.
stop.
be still.
exhale.
where is this coming from?
read the text again.
what does it actually say?
what did i think it said?
what do i think it says now?
what does it actually say?
am also noticing my process. this is an old, old hurty. and she is healing. from the inside out. takes time. and willingness. and patience. and humility. and time.
then, there’s the whole texting etiquette to master. when to reply. when not to reply. when to ignore. once in a while, i get random texts. last night’s, “lyk u daw kamote? na dahon?” (ignore.)
Jim sent me a package of documents from the states. i had him send it to the TOS office, since i’ve been between addresses. the dhl delivery guy and i exchanged umpteen texts regarding directions and delivery instructions because i wasn’t going to be there. after he delivered the package to the office, he texted back, introducing himself. “ako po si noli. pwede tayo maging friends?” (ignore. though, have to admit was intrigued.)
then there’s also texting language.
chocol8 = chocolate
cge = sige
tau = tayo
gud am = good morning
those are easy ones. tagalog text language. naku. palagi, nalilito ako. sometimes, even when i show native tagalog speakers some of these texts, they can’t even decipher them. then, i don’t feel so bad.
have been conducting a lot of business via texting. sometimes, it’s hard for me because my biases and neuroses can (and often do) color the way i read something. there’s a lot for me to look at there. (leaning in, Mitra!)
is so and so mad? annoyed? how mad? how annoyed? for what? because of that one thing? that one that one time? or that other thing that other time?
ugh. round and and round, an exercise in futility.
‘til i say, wait.
stop.
be still.
exhale.
where is this coming from?
read the text again.
what does it actually say?
what did i think it said?
what do i think it says now?
what does it actually say?
am also noticing my process. this is an old, old hurty. and she is healing. from the inside out. takes time. and willingness. and patience. and humility. and time.
then, there’s the whole texting etiquette to master. when to reply. when not to reply. when to ignore. once in a while, i get random texts. last night’s, “lyk u daw kamote? na dahon?” (ignore.)
Jim sent me a package of documents from the states. i had him send it to the TOS office, since i’ve been between addresses. the dhl delivery guy and i exchanged umpteen texts regarding directions and delivery instructions because i wasn’t going to be there. after he delivered the package to the office, he texted back, introducing himself. “ako po si noli. pwede tayo maging friends?” (ignore. though, have to admit was intrigued.)
then there’s also texting language.
chocol8 = chocolate
cge = sige
tau = tayo
gud am = good morning
those are easy ones. tagalog text language. naku. palagi, nalilito ako. sometimes, even when i show native tagalog speakers some of these texts, they can’t even decipher them. then, i don’t feel so bad.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Vas
"tell me something i don't know about you," sabi niya.
outside: super tahimik ako. my mind goes blank.
inside: darling friend, what about me don't you know?
that was hours ago, and i still have nothing...
outside: super tahimik ako. my mind goes blank.
inside: darling friend, what about me don't you know?
that was hours ago, and i still have nothing...
on jeeps
some are old. some have little holes the size of mongo beans in the floor. can watch the asphalt as we speed along. the sun shines through them, too. some have fancy "pleather" upolstored headliners and cushy seats. it seems that lots of marikina ones have these crazy stereo systems that blast, even at 7am. we are jammed inside. the passengers. kids. old. young. couples. families. touching. sometimes, one butt cheek on. one off.
power ballads. OPM. evanescence, the other day..."bring me to life." the music so loud it vibrates the fillings in my molars, eardrums feel like they are getting stabbed by hot pins. chest pounds with the base. ace of base, in fact this morning..."don't turn around..." (like you could!)
can't even yell "para po!" to stop. have to pull the string that lights up the light. then the driver jerks the jeep to the right. bodies flying. collect my thoughts. collect my bags. stumble out. the jeep starts moving away, as my foot alights. yay. another ride survived. i smile, grateful. bodies always close by. this helps soothe my crave for touch, i think.
when it rains, the driver askes the passengers to help unfurl the plastic to cover the open windows. it flaps in the wind. and paminsan, sprays of raindrops find their way inside. the plastic also traps the smell of exhaust inside the jeep, so i am grateful for the flapping and the occasional spray. never ceases to appall me to blow my nose at the end of the day. the tissue shows black.
the noise gets to me. music is fine, as long as i can sing along most of the time. but often there is this canned laughter and the annoying radio personalities telling crass jokes. it would be fine if they weren't so LOUD. actually, no, they are pretty annoying. it's this laugh track that they play that gets me. like a munchkin on acid, after sucking down some helium.
perfecting the art of the jeepney slouch-it's a way of positioning myself so i can see out the windows to see where we are going. the windows are small. and low. the jeep is packed. the music is loud. we go very fast. landmarks whiz by. street signs unreadable. it's an adventure everytime.
and it's fun.
even when it isn't.
power ballads. OPM. evanescence, the other day..."bring me to life." the music so loud it vibrates the fillings in my molars, eardrums feel like they are getting stabbed by hot pins. chest pounds with the base. ace of base, in fact this morning..."don't turn around..." (like you could!)
can't even yell "para po!" to stop. have to pull the string that lights up the light. then the driver jerks the jeep to the right. bodies flying. collect my thoughts. collect my bags. stumble out. the jeep starts moving away, as my foot alights. yay. another ride survived. i smile, grateful. bodies always close by. this helps soothe my crave for touch, i think.
when it rains, the driver askes the passengers to help unfurl the plastic to cover the open windows. it flaps in the wind. and paminsan, sprays of raindrops find their way inside. the plastic also traps the smell of exhaust inside the jeep, so i am grateful for the flapping and the occasional spray. never ceases to appall me to blow my nose at the end of the day. the tissue shows black.
the noise gets to me. music is fine, as long as i can sing along most of the time. but often there is this canned laughter and the annoying radio personalities telling crass jokes. it would be fine if they weren't so LOUD. actually, no, they are pretty annoying. it's this laugh track that they play that gets me. like a munchkin on acid, after sucking down some helium.
perfecting the art of the jeepney slouch-it's a way of positioning myself so i can see out the windows to see where we are going. the windows are small. and low. the jeep is packed. the music is loud. we go very fast. landmarks whiz by. street signs unreadable. it's an adventure everytime.
and it's fun.
even when it isn't.
Kapwa
so, i'm reading this book, "Kapwa: The Self in the Other," written by Katrin de Guia.
so affirming.
thanks Universe.
have not met Katrin...yet.
looking forward to that day.
underlining like crazy. (shocking, i know)
reminds me of when i read Leny's "Coming Full Circle."
how to describe this feeling?
it's like a knowing...affirmed. confirmed. re-membered.
no separation.
from pg. 176
"one metaphor often used to describe the Filipino is the onion: so many layers of cultural influences, one over the other. what the metaphor does not tell is that the center of the onion hides the bulb's propensity for growth. those who peel the onion, as the metaphor wants us to do, hardly ever reach the innermost core becaue the peeler cannot take all the crying it entails."
bearing discomfort. cultivating the propensity, the capacity to bear discomfort. this is warriorship. willingness to shed the mask. be. not act. show my soft parts. the parts i don't normally show. vulnerablity. tears. emotion. if i feel it, i say it. or text it, as the case may be. i have no time to waste. every precious moment counts. every word counts. every effort to connect counts. Mitra said, as i took my leave, " whatever stands between you and your Awakening, lean into it." that means actually sometimes (often actually) seeking discomfort out. of course appropriately, and not indulging in martyrdom. it's good to be alive. it's good to be living. jyesss.
from pg. 209
"the thing about a calling is that it has a lot to do with discovering one's purpose in life, finding that exceptional task that matches one's talents and then mustering the courage to pursue it. however, callings do not usually grow by the roadside like pretty flowers, ready to be picked. the price for this kind of knowing, often painful, is the cost of transformation. the stumbling stones in life have possibly more to do with our mission. things that jolt us from the straight road of habit and spin us unto an entirely new directions where the mind screams, "No!" but deep down inside this new direction feels right! mastering the pain and the confusion that accompany change provides us with a new strength that makes us feel that we can do anything. and suddenly we have a new sense of direction. we know why we are here and where we are going."
my mind has often screamed out, "No!" not as much as she used to, though. allowing myself to be led further and further down the rabbit hole. developing a new sense of direction. figuring out why i am here. finding where i am going. it's a process.
i live in marikina presently.
on kapwa street, in fact.
lot 21.
block 9.
at the end of my block is dragon street.
the dragon is my Teacher's totem animal.
will take a picture of that corner signpost.
it is a reminder of how i am loved.
how i am held.
how i love.
how i hold.
good stuff.
so affirming.
thanks Universe.
have not met Katrin...yet.
looking forward to that day.
underlining like crazy. (shocking, i know)
reminds me of when i read Leny's "Coming Full Circle."
how to describe this feeling?
it's like a knowing...affirmed. confirmed. re-membered.
no separation.
from pg. 176
"one metaphor often used to describe the Filipino is the onion: so many layers of cultural influences, one over the other. what the metaphor does not tell is that the center of the onion hides the bulb's propensity for growth. those who peel the onion, as the metaphor wants us to do, hardly ever reach the innermost core becaue the peeler cannot take all the crying it entails."
bearing discomfort. cultivating the propensity, the capacity to bear discomfort. this is warriorship. willingness to shed the mask. be. not act. show my soft parts. the parts i don't normally show. vulnerablity. tears. emotion. if i feel it, i say it. or text it, as the case may be. i have no time to waste. every precious moment counts. every word counts. every effort to connect counts. Mitra said, as i took my leave, " whatever stands between you and your Awakening, lean into it." that means actually sometimes (often actually) seeking discomfort out. of course appropriately, and not indulging in martyrdom. it's good to be alive. it's good to be living. jyesss.
from pg. 209
"the thing about a calling is that it has a lot to do with discovering one's purpose in life, finding that exceptional task that matches one's talents and then mustering the courage to pursue it. however, callings do not usually grow by the roadside like pretty flowers, ready to be picked. the price for this kind of knowing, often painful, is the cost of transformation. the stumbling stones in life have possibly more to do with our mission. things that jolt us from the straight road of habit and spin us unto an entirely new directions where the mind screams, "No!" but deep down inside this new direction feels right! mastering the pain and the confusion that accompany change provides us with a new strength that makes us feel that we can do anything. and suddenly we have a new sense of direction. we know why we are here and where we are going."
my mind has often screamed out, "No!" not as much as she used to, though. allowing myself to be led further and further down the rabbit hole. developing a new sense of direction. figuring out why i am here. finding where i am going. it's a process.
i live in marikina presently.
on kapwa street, in fact.
lot 21.
block 9.
at the end of my block is dragon street.
the dragon is my Teacher's totem animal.
will take a picture of that corner signpost.
it is a reminder of how i am loved.
how i am held.
how i love.
how i hold.
good stuff.
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