leaf dropper journal

a wee effort to fill up the gap ....

2017-08-11T03:07:00.001-07:00

and if by now silent

i had become

it's not because the tongue's been tied or cut off

but it's because the Heart's engaged to listen

to Itself --

to its own murmurs

to its own whispers

to its own noise --

to sort from these inner verbiage

that which might be of use for all,

for brothers, sisters

mothers, fathers,

friends, enemies, lovers,

saints, sinners,

to find a song common

a tune familiar

a song to which the Heart can cling to

and never ever forget.

this Heart's still listening to Itself

still trying to find ...

Awestruck ...

2017-08-06T18:36:00.001-07:00

the green of the fields and the blue of the sky kissed

at some point in the distance

as the car sped past the well-paved roads

60's music, old school, is whispered by the car radio to our ears,

it is majestic to see rural Canada,

so beautiful and serene;

we're Montreal bound

still 66 miles ahead

Steve is patient at the wheel

and his wife Angie is busy checking her iPhone's GPS

alertly navigating our route

my wife Margie is silent at the moment, asleep,

and i .....

I am at a loss for words at this moment of joy ...

unbelieving, awestruck, i willed myself not to use my phone's camera

i want my inner eye to remember and record the scenes we pass by ...

July 4-5, 2017 this was one of the scenes that imprinted in my mind ..

under the mango tree the poet

2017-01-22T15:58:00.001-08:00

under the mango tree the poet sat

determined to be inspired to write

to say something;

outside the shade

five boys there are

mirthful at their play they are;

not too high up a bough

the mango fruit hangs confidently

it's dark green and though robust and plump

it's still not half a fist;

the boys found rocks

upwards they hurled them towards the mango fruit

but they're poor marksmen

the rocks just kissed thin leaves and brown branches;

the mango fruit just laughed inwardly

the boys got tired and cursed their fate

under their breaths;

under the mango tree the poet sat

and wrote ---

O mango fruit, time will come when you will be

fist-sized and golden and ready

and will fall towards the earth

as is ordained

the boys might not be here nor I

to witness this unfolding

but, Time will come.

by the Rules, we all must abide,

the Universe is perfect by Itself.

they say it takes a poet

2017-01-01T02:00:00.001-08:00

it has been so long since the last time I was able to post a blog entry.

it really comes. this seemingly dry spell, or rather, this lazy, uninspired period. I cannot deny it. yes, the mind is able to meander and so many thoughts and feelings had marched in succession.

indeed! a parade of insights and realizations that were wanting to be put into words and somehow be shared. but sadly, the mind could not will the pen to write, to leave curlicues of words, to smear the white, blank sheet of paper and fill it up with ideas, hopefully to communicate, to reach somebody, to attempt to be at one in spirit ...

and happily, the mind again is able to will the fingers to hop excitedly over the letters of the keyboard, ten blithe, bony tap dancers forming words, phrases, sentences. birthing the germs of thought in the mind, giving them form and body that others may see them and have the chance to think about them as well, perhaps to disagree or agree, to contradict or acquiesce, but, above all to be able to share in what the mind experienced and realized.

this was a very old poem i wrote that i feel somehow expresses the idea how there are times we are afraid to share an experience, an insight, a realization ----

they say it takes a poet

to see such beauty from a stone

for

although the sea has polished off

it's barren face

it casts no reflection of the Sun;

they say it takes a poet

to hear sweet music from a brook

as it squirms and circles round

while it flows

and wrinkles like a pauper's cloak;

the thing is we are all poets

but this we do ignore

for we are all afraid to see

that we are a wrinkled brook

and we have our own unpolished stones.

poetry in motion

2016-06-07T00:27:00.001-07:00

he dabbled in poetry. they were amateurish, sort of, and his verses were simple but they connect and they communicate and amuse which is what poems are supposed to do. most of his verses were about himself and his craft and about the persons he gets to tangle with. or, box with.

for, he was a boxer.

and he gets to be inside the boxing "ring" which is of course a squared arena fenced in with ropes where he and his opponent hit each other with gloved fists until the better man triumphs.

before him, the sport of boxing was mostly about physical power and sheer violence. boxing was most times two gladiators with tensed muscles and strained physiques raining devastating blows at each other, toe-to-toe, till one body succumbs to the fatigue, the hurt, and the humiliation of defeat.

he changed all that.

for he was a poet. a poet in motion. as one of his verses declared, he

stung like a bee,

floated like a butterfly ...

atop the square ring, he danced; he showed spectators that boxers are not all brawn, but, they have brains as well; that boxing can be a "thinking" sport, that physical power and sheer violence can be overwhelmed by strategy and planning, by grace in movement, by poetry in motion.

he always declared he is The Greatest. his boxing feats in world heavyweight division will attest to this. yet, many say that his greatness even lies outside the boxing world. he has become an icon, especially for the colored man, for he has shown that one can rise beyond the pigmentation of one's skin, if one can will himself to do so. as he did.

he is gone now. he died June 3.

Muhammad Ali.

so long .. tonight i will relive the pinpoint jabs,

the Ali shuffle,

the gladiator's smile,

the rope-a-dope,

the poet in motion ...

before May ends ...

2016-05-29T01:44:00.001-07:00

i was looking out my window and i realized it is almost the end of May. i remembered having heard a tv newscaster announce that the weather bureau had already officially declared that the rainy season has now begun. it is true, the rains had indeed come more often than before and their duration had been longer. the sweltering heat and dryness of summer would soon be replaced by the cold and wetness of the rainy season.

i can still hear the complaints and the rants and even the curses of people who have been discomforted by the hot summer months. and yet, i know, there will also be complaints and rants and curses as soon as the rainy months kick in. this early, there was this occasion of rain where the volume of water delivered caused flash floods in many areas.

The season has many facets. here, in my corner of the globe, it is either summer or rainy season. in other places, it is interchangeably winter, spring, summer, and autumn. each brings its own challenges and color to people's lives.

the Sages and Wise Men admonish us -- whatever season we find ourselves in, we must seek joy, specifically, inner happiness. we must find contentment. one must not wallow in the discomfort that the season brings but rather strive to recognize the brightest colors of that season whatever shades they may be, feel the energy it offers, accept the liveliness of being it doles out, see its own beauty, listen to its unique song.

for, Life is like this. countless are its facets. it will offer us many ways to live.

what is certain is, no matter the way of living we are in, Inward Joy must be our lot.

let us find the Secret Smile of the Infinite. this is inside each of us.

before May ends, when the Sun is up and burns the paved road, i will stand by the roadside and let the heat slide over my skin, and cause me to sweat and soak my shirt, and parch my throat and make me thirst; i will watch the dust rise up, i will feel the dry wind singe the slender spears of grass and the green leaves of the mango tree and make brittle its branches; and i will listen to the songs of the brown rice birds ...

for Life will be different after May ends ... the rains will bring a different life ..

in the garden, humming honey

2016-04-04T02:49:00.001-07:00

it's already 5:30 in the afternoon and the sun has slowly turned golden in the west, about to tuck her rays here in my corner of the globe, but still, the heat was very palpable and heavy on the the skin. no wind whispered among the green and brown of the plants i was watering. no spectator birds either on my rooftops. no bird songs to amuse me this quiet afternoon. a tinge of loneliness surged in my heart. i concluded my watering and watched as the last silver droplet fell down from the water hose. it was unusually big and it hit a tiny white flower brushing my knee. it's weight caused the flower to fall to the wet pebbles by my feet --

" oh so sorry, little one, " i whispered to the little flower, " how careless of me! "

-- but i know the Infinite decides when one's time is up.

i stood silent, alone, there in my wife's garden. i have learned over the years, when melancholy hits you, just let it be, and be aware of your heart, close your eyes and watch steadfast inside, and let the inner ears listen ...

suddenly, I remembered this song by Bobby Goldsboro -- Honey -- one of the most poignant love songs I ever heard in English. i hummed it and let my eyes become wet. i don't know if the songwriter, Bobby Russell, just made up the story inside the song, but it sure made this afternoon sadder ... here are its lyrics ....

See the tree how big it's grown
But friend it hasn't been too long
It wasn't big.
I laughed at her and she got mad
The first day that she planted it
Was just a twig
Then the first snow came
And she ran out to brush the snow away
So it wouldn't die
Came runnin' in all excited
Slipped and almost hurt herself
And I laughed 'til I cried
She was always young at heart
Kinda dumb and kinda smart
And I loved her so
And I surprised her with a puppy
Kept me up all Christmas Eve
Two years ago
And it would sure embarass her
When I came in from workin' late
'Cause I would know
That she'd been sittin' there and cryin'
Over some sad and silly
Late, late show

And Honey I miss you
And I'm being good
And I'd love to be with you
If only I could

She wrecked the car and she was sad
And so afraid that I'd be mad
But what the heck
Though I pretended hard to be
Guess you could say she saw through me
And hugged my neck
I came home unexpectedly
And caught her cryin' needlesly
In the middle of the day
And it was in the early Spring
When flowers bloom and Robins sing
She went away

One day while I was not at home
While she was there and all alone
The angels came
Now all I have is memories
Of Honey and I wake up nights
And call her name
Now my life's an empty stage
Where Honey lived and Honey played
And love grew up
And a small cloud passes over head
And cries down on the flower bed
That Honey loved
And see the tree how big it's grown
But friend, it hasn't been too long
It wasn't big
I laughed at her and she got mad
The first day that she planted it
Was just a twig

http://youtu.be/ShAkerGftoU

i coiled the water hose and tucked it away. the golden sun still has not fully tucked away her rays and when i looked up they still lit a small cloud passing overhead ..

ah, melancholy ...

the reluctant gardener listened

2016-03-14T03:45:00.001-07:00

ever since the wife implored me to be temporary caretaker of her beloved plants while she is away this leafdropper has always been a reluctant gardener. not that i don't love plants. it's just that i am sure i have not the green thumb.

during high school days, there was this extra curricular subject where we were taught to hoe and tend garden plots by ourselves and to drop our chosen vegetable seeds and nurture the seedlings till harvest time. i must confess my grades on this subject were terrible. i have had this opinion that what's needed only is to religiously water the plants. the sunshine and the gentle breeze and the generosity of Mother Earth will take care of the rest. i discovered for vegetables such was a bad opinion.

yesterday, i again reluctantly came out and sprayed water on the wife's plants. I don't even know what they are. I noticed they've grown so well these past months. they were robust and strong and green and upright. some have already flowered. beautiful, delicate white ones. i am sure they're sweet-scented as well. new leaves and stems have steadily grown but they were shooting forth in all directions. the thing is, growth has somehow filled up the spaces between the plants and they are now appearing constricted. something must be done to free some space.

i pulled out the pruning shears. i don't know where to begin. i am sure the plants are expecting me to do something. i looked helplessly. lost. i fixed my gaze intently on the juxtaposition of the branches, twigs, leaves, flowers. intermingled. intertwined. i knew the birds perched on my rooftop were observing me. spectators all, warbling joyfully about this lovely day. the afternoon sunlight gave silvery gleam on the beads of water that still clung on the leaves and twigs and stems.

i lifted the pruning shears and gently placed it over an unruly sprout. i thought i heard it said, "go ahead, prune me!" i did. I kept listening for the go ahead whisper. for the permission to cut. i kept pruning. lifting the shears over and gently placing over the spot where i felt I needed to cut.

leaves dropped, twigs fell, branches as well. space being released. constriction bring corrected. i also heard something like, " can't breathe, please unloose the soil over this spot, " or, " i am vulnerable here, my roots are exposed, please cover me. "

i did what i was told as i kept listening.

finally, it's done. everything looked pleasantly in order. the birds were quiet now but still perched on my rooftop. the sun has slowly turned golden and about to set.

i took the stickbroom and swept the cuttings and gathered them inside a garbage bag. freshly cut plants have this particularly enticing scent.

i felt relieved. thank you, my plants, for helping me.

i am pretty sure if I'll be graded this time, i will have passing marks.

Happiness is time well spent.

far margarita

2016-02-13T22:02:00.001-08:00

so ...

i can't hug her personally nor plant a soft kiss on her forehead or more sweetly upon her lips,

because,

she is miles across the seas and skies,

far is margarita.

but,

I hug back this sunlight that hugs me now and warms my heart

for I know this same sunlight will hug her too, later, and she will embrace the same,

and her heart will feel the same warmth I felt,

and be assured, and be comforted.

i cannot physically hand her a rose today

i remembered giving her flowers just once during the courtship days --

a good friend knew i will visit her and my friend picked flowers in her garden

for me to gift margarita,

they were white, and yellow, and pink, and delicate,

and they all smelled good,

and they made margarita smile --

those flowers whose names I never knew of were long gone now

but whenever I close my eyes, I see them inside,

still fresh and delicate and smelling sweetly,

and i remember her fond smile ..

so, Today, Valentine's Day,

I will be celebrating this day of hearts alone,

but deep in my heart i won't be

Margarita, my wife, will be here,

hugged tightly, kissed sweetly.

i will be in a quiet.corner of our humble house

a cup of steaming, black, brewed coffee near me

cuddling my guitar

i will be singing the song i made for her, only for her,

whisper it gently to the wind

who will whisper it to her

Today, Valentine's Day ..... --

" don't anybody stop the rain

from falling down Margarita's hair

let the gentle raindrops fall and settle down her head so fair;

let their coldness touch her

let their pureness wash her

don't anybody stop the rain from falling down Margarita's hair;

let her know how you love her

let her know how much you miss her

and tell her how just like the rain

you'd love to kiss Margarita's hair

yes, tell her how just like the rain

you'd love to be on Margarita's hair .. " --

my song is done

my heart is dancing

Happy Valentine's Day,

Sweet

Heart!

the hesitant rain, or the Beloved at play ...

2016-02-01T00:31:00.001-08:00

i looked up at the sky and i saw the clouds are so gray and thick. even the sunbeams are getting difficulty piercing them. i instinctively knew they are pregnant with accumulated water. The promise of rain. January had started on a hot mode and the rains will be a welcome respite. a mischievous, elated smile formed on my lips. i am about to water my wife's garden. she had requested that i take care of her cherished plants while she's away. i agreed of course but such additional task takes some precious personal time which I could use for my other pursuits like reading blog posts of internet friends or writing a blog post of my own. so this impending rain will be a great help indeed! i'll have some more free time. and so I confidently tucked away the water hose and slipped back inside the house. i grabbed my daughter's ukulele and started to capture the notes for one of my favorite jazz standards, Misty.

i am in the midst of my ukulele version of Misty when the rains started to drop. here we go, i told myself and the plants, enjoy the rains. they came, the raindrops, heavy and big, plopping down on my rooftop and on the plants' leaves. but, wonder of wonders, like a short burst of gunfire, the rains stopped! so sudden, so abrupt, roughly two minutes, and it's gone. even the pregnant clouds overhead were gone, the grayness faded. the Sun, that's nowhere before, is flaunting her silvery beams again. the sunbeams speared me thru the window. the birds, which somehow scampered away during the gray spell, we're back, twittering incessantly, with their own version of Bird Misty. I shook my head in disbelief and went out back to my wife's garden. I grabbed the water hose and sprayed the plants with water. there was a promise of rain but the rain reneged on its promise for some reason. I have to fulfill it.

back inside the house, i looked at the ukulele which i left on the sofa. the urge to play Misty is no longer in me. the Infinite, the Beloved, Life had played with me again. I realized it is not just me. i believe many others had experienced this --

when one is so confident that everything is right in one's corner of the Universe, that what one expects to happen will happen, especially when the tell-tale signs are there; then, all of a sudden, without any warnings, the expectation did not come to pass, and one is left befuddled, bewildered, momentarily lost --

times like these, i realized one should not demand an explanation from the Beloved, from the Infinite. one should just surrender, and, make an honest effort to make things right and good again in one's corner of the Universe ...

the Beloved is at play ...

i picked up the ukulele and cradled it in my arms, like a newborn child, i closed my eyes and hummed Misty,

the urge to capture it on the uke came back and my fingers amateurishly danced on its fretboard and tapped the notes, dropping like the droplets of the hesitant rain ...

http://youtu.be/d6np1zhRar0

an early disappointment

2016-01-11T01:11:00.001-08:00

Christmas, done. 2016, had marched in into every one's life with varying degrees of fanfare and expectation.

i will not deny it. i have very high hopes that the early days, the first two weeks of January will bring me gladness of heart and fulfillment. i have been so positive. December 31, i was at work. an hour before the advent of the new year, i cloistered myself at a quiet corner of our office pantry and closed my eyes. focused my attention at the center of my forehead, a finger's breadth above my eyebrows. the Sages say this is where the Soul is seated. with utmost love and reverence, i silently offered my prayer of thanks for the blessings I got for 2015 --

thank you, Beloved, for the fortitude and strength and health you gave me and my family to overcome and hurdle life's challenges; for the joy of camaraderie and friendship, and for keeping us in Thy Holy Company ....

then, i continued with my plea for this new year --

O Infinite, dear Beloved, you know my heart's aspirations more than i do, but at this particular moment, this i humbly ask of Thee. i know you gave me a gift of song. without much effort, You allow me to create melodies, tunes. i believe You gave me this so i can be an instrument of Thine to share warmth and lightness of heart to fellow beings. for many years now i kept this only for myself uncaring that i have not attempted to become the instrument you designed me to be. But now, this is what i did, Lord, i entered two songs to a songwriting competition. this is my attempt to submit to Thy will. i know this is a sure way to share Thy gift of song. if it is Thy will, let at least one of these songs to be considered ...

i ended my plea with thankful reverence and surrendered it to the bosom of the Universe. it has been taught that once you have released your prayer or plea to the Infinite you need not think anymore about it. let the Universe determine what is appropriate.

It is the second week of January 2016 now and i believe the songwriting competition is over. the top twenty finalists have been chosen. not any of my songs was considered.

i felt sad.

my daughter comforted me. she said, " i was able to hear some of the chosen songs, Father, and your tunes were nowhere near the format of the melodies the judges preferred. "

" do you think i should create such like tunes? " i asked her.

" well, i know you can do it, but, if you follow their formula just so you can be chosen, i don't think you'll be happy, Father. You should create music you love .. there are other songwriting competitions, let's try to find others where your songs will fit, where you need not follow others' formula .. "

she's absolutely right. well, this is an early disappointment but the year is young and

the Infinite has made known its will for this time.

i will just whistle my tune for now, and wait ... and look for other chances ..

if any one of you out there had experienced an early disappointment like i did, just let it be,

whistle a tune for now, and wait for other opportunities ...

christmas misses and new year hopes

2016-01-08T08:24:00.000-08:00

been so dormant lately, the Muse has not visited. although the festive spirit began spreading over when December 1 kicked in, still unexplainedly, i sort of remained aloof from it all. yet, one cannot but feel it in the air, the joyful excitement of Christmas and the hopeful expectancy of an incoming new year. the stores have begun propping up their Christmas and year-end slash down sale offers. and hordes of people flocked to the malls and stores to prepare.

then, suddenly it's done. the holidays were over.

forced the mind and the heart to reminisce on the year that had just passed. christmas was over again and another year had just kicked in. i reread the first posts i wrote for 2015. for me, 2015 was just a so-so year. not dramatic, just an average year, materially especially. i was able to hold on a few pesos, fought the urge to spend them till the new year, 2016, had planted it's very first step in my frontyard.

Christmas misses --

manong Pedro, my favorite street sweeper, had passed away way back last March and i have this lonely 100 peso bill in my wallet. i used to hand this over to him as my gift and he breaks into his tired smile and fighting off a cough thanks me, "boss, this is so much.." ;

Nanay Luding, or Claudia, my mother-in-law, also passed away, just this middle of November, and one time before Christmas, while my daughter was cleaning up her room, i saw her hold up an old Christmas card and mournfully said, " i will miss Lola(Grandma) Luding .." and I remembered Claudia has always been this person to write letters and send actual greeting cards to her loved ones. in this digital age, I know so very few are hanging on to keep on writing actual letters and greeting cards ...

i missed spending the holidays with my wife... it's different when you're sharing special times with the one you hold dearest in your heart ... the holiday songs mean more, the festive air more vibrant..

New Year hopes --

for the Muse to visit me as often as She can;

for the Infinite to keep me in its Holy Company;

for abundance and Peace to finally grace our country, not just for a select few, but for all, especially after we have chosen new leaders (another elections forthcoming);

for good health and material blessings ...

for the Infinite to let me share my gift of song ...

Let me share with everyone this prayer from one of my favorite Indian saints, Paramhansa Yogananda ---

Lord, teach us to feel

that Thou art the Power behind all wealth

and the Value within all things

finding Thee first we shall find

everything else in Thee.

Happy New Year to all of us!!

9,125 days, the journey goes on ...

2015-11-18T00:03:00.001-08:00

she greeted ahead of me. again. like most times in the past, she beat me to the punch.

" Darling Happy 25th Anniversary sorry I'm not there physically .. " she messaged me via Viber.

" just arrived. Happy Anniversary. " i vibered back.

if i have beaten her to the greeting i would have said, " Happy 9,125th Day! " after consulting my calculator i was amused upon learning it's been these many days since that November 17, the day we were wed. Wow!!!

i realized though that no matter how you reckon it -- by seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years -- a past momentous occasion or event elicits a certain unmistakable tug in our heartstrings, a rekindling of emotion.

i felt again the joy of the wondrous moment. i know she did the same.

from that day, we initiated the journey as two hearts melded as one. tears, smiles, laughter, pains, joys, defeats, victories. these we shared. our journey's still ongoing. we were not always together each of these 9,125 days. it is not necessary to be physically side-by-side. it is difficult to do so.

what is important is to be always together in spirit. to be connected inside. heartstrings intertwined. the Spirit of Love soars over vast physical distances.

It is an invisible bridge.

there is this songwriting contest here that i got tempted to join in. it was a love song i entered. no, I am not expecting to win but i just ventured boldly to submit my song. the lyrics were in the vernacular, in Tagalog, as i found my native language more poetic, more expressive. this is how i translated the words in English.

reading these words again, i realized I must have written these for me and my wife, Margarita ---

a faint smile

a furtive glance

stirred Love's magic

in the breast

two hearts connected

as if by chance

but, there is no denying

this is meant to be.

and now, the question is,

Is there really a Forever?

Is there really Unending Joy?

Oh, if Love

is Pure and True,

then the question has been answered

Now and Forever is but one,

Now and Forever is One ....

Happy 9,125 days to us!

not clouds, ... but, it's Claudia, passing ...

2015-11-15T05:46:00.001-08:00

yes, not the clouds, it was Claudia.

she passed away just last November 9. it was sad but it was bound to happen. Time, just as it will do for all of us, had finally claimed her. old age had made her sickly and feeble during the past weeks and no medicine could ever reverse the ravage of Time.

now as I write this, my mind floated back in remembrance of my last encounter with her. it was on FaceTime. there is really such great physical distance between us as she was in the US. I called her name several times but it appeared the painkillers she had ingested had taken hold of her senses.

she never smiled back at me as she was wont to do. that warm smile that she had not withheld from me ever since the very first day I stepped foot in their house to start my courtship with her youngest daughter. I missed it so. during that FaceTime moment, I never told my wife, but, my heart cried helplessly. I could only offer a fervent prayer to the Infinite if it is possible to make her smile anew.

Claudia is my wife's mother and so she was my second mother in this physical plane. there is no doubt in my heart that she had wholeheartedly accepted me like her own son. as me and my wife hurdled the challenges of married life, she was always there with her words of wisdom, encouragement, comfort, and an all encompassing motherly love. every occasion we visited, her warmth and goodness and support always shone through.

i will miss the homely baked goodies she loved to serve. i will cherish in my heart that funny moment during my early courtship days, when, she learned i was vegetarian and she cooked for me a meal of chilli peppers in coconut milk. i heartily ate those chilli pepper spears to impress her, confident in my thought that they were the ones that are not hot. but they were, and they burned inside my mouth, and my tongue, and my throat. tears had formed in the corners of my eyes, and beads of sweat appeared on my forehead. and she was there, watching me, with that motherly smile, so innocent, unknowing that those chillis had wrought havoc in me.

Claudia, or, Nanay Luding, as we fondly call her, is like the white clouds i saw today up in the sky this radiant Sunday morning -- light, bright, easy, happy.

she had passed away physically, but she will remain in my heart. . .

so long, Mother ...

when silence dwells

2015-07-15T00:52:00.001-07:00

i thought when i got back to posting last April it will be continuing. i thought wrong. something happened which consumed much of my time and i needed to prioritize. i lost my job and i had to concentrate on getting one the soonest i can. so i harnessed my energies and focused on landing a job. i must admit i have not much material especially monetary savings to fall back on.

with the Infinite's grace i was able to get hired again. the job's not as well paying as my previous one but it should see me and my family through. if one lives Life as simply as one can, one does need so much of Life's accoutrements. if one tries to do an honest inventory of the things that makes him or her really joyful, one will find these are the things that do not cost so much. and the Joy is even more pure and more lasting. in his famous book, The Little Prince, Antoine de Sainte Exupery reminded us, What is essential is invisible to the naked eye.

so i was able to land this job. still i cannot go back to blogging. i have to spare much time to learn the rudiments of this new job so that i can perform it to the best of my abilities. no matter how small a job or a task is, one must give one's best. to be able to give our best, we must know how to do things the right way.

since my mind focused on learning the new job, it cannot meander and much as i tried to, i simply cannot find anything to write about. Silence dwelt in my mind.

i am glad today that i am able to write this post. somehow, the mind was able to meander now. i am getting familiarized with my new job. things are easier and i am getting more relaxed.

analyzing now those times when i was silent, i realize there were two kinds of Silence I got confronted with. one is the Silence where the mind finds emptiness and inactivity, where somehow it is not connecting to anything. the other one is that Silence where the mind finds stillness. this Silence assures the mind that it is still connected, that there is still vibrant activity, that all is well in the universe, that the Infinite still Is.

now, i know what to do. when my mind dwells in silence again and finds emptiness, i will let it surrender and relax and trust that soon the Infinite will fill the void.

Silence will still dwell but the mind will not be empty.

it will be still. and it will find the Infinite and its soundless activity.

the oatmeal lie

2015-04-24T04:58:00.000-07:00

i think it was 2 or 3 days ago, or perhaps, a week past, my memory is playing tricks on me now. anyway, it was during breakfast for sure. i have already prepared our morning food -- just fried tofu and thinly sliced, fresh cucumbers. daughter went ahead and prepared to brew the coffee.

she sat beside me after she poured the steaming coffee into our mugs. i noticed she looked distraught.

" why the long face? " i asked.
" i'm upset with myself. " she said. she was holding a black notebook in her hands and she was leafing thru the pages. " i have reread some of the entries i had in this journal and there were these notes here some way back where i affirmed how i love oatmeal. " she was intently looking at the pages again.
" and? " i had my eyebrows raised.
" and at the office i told office mates i don't like oatmeal! now, i am dying to bring oatmeal as my packed food as i don't want to eat out as much as they do during break periods. the thing is i don't want to explain myself when they see me eating oatmeal. "
she really looked upset, worried, as she nibbled on a fried tofu. hmmm, this is interesting, i whispered to myself. she was serious. i kept silent for awhile waiting if there'd be other things she needed to say but she had remained quiet, lost in thought. I myself got lost in thought, thinking about things i could tell her to help, make her feel better.
I chomped on some fresh cucumber slices and they were crunchy and juicy, a wonderful complement to the crispy tofu. suddenly, i remembered the book i bought for her just recently. i know she had not read it yet but i did. the book was The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. he is a Master of the esoteric Toltec knowledge, an ancient, ancestral wisdom passed on to him by his Mexican mother, a healer, and his grandfather, a shaman.
" daughter, " i began, " don't be upset with yourself. if you feel you've told a lie, you did not. remember the book by Don Miguel that i gave you? if you've read it you'll not feel this way. "
she was not looking at me but i know she was listening.
" Don Miguel had revealed there that there are self-limiting beliefs or inner agreements that all of us have inside, built over many years since birth, that keep us tied up. their Toltec Wise Men have recognized these and it is taught that by being aware of these and by undoing or reversing these, each of us will have more freedom and happiness. î want you to find time to read the book as i want you to get it the way Don Miguel had presented the teachings.
" for now i believe for your current predicament, there were two things in the book that will apply. the first is about making assumptions. don't straightaway assume that your office mates will find fault with you for showing up for lunch with oatmeal just because you've told them you don't like it. of course you don't like oatmeal before, but now, you do! things change. preferences vary over time.
" when you told them you don't like oatmeal, that was your truth, your preference during that time. this time, now, you love oatmeal. this is your truth now. you have to be steadfast with what is true to you at the moment. you never lied to them. if they ever judge you negatively, that is their burden. don't ever forget, it was written, 'Truth will set us free' ".
i saw a hint of a smile in her face. i boldly continued.
" the second thing i found in the book that might relate to this is about doing your best or being your best. Don Miguel's words were these, ' Under any circumstances, always do your best, no more and no less. But keep in mind that your best is never going to be the same from one moment to the next. Everything is alive and changing all the time, so your best will sometimes be high quality, and other times it will not be as good. '
" just be yourself, daughter, and your truth shall make you free. " i chomped on another crunchy cucumber slice as i concluded this breakfast's impromptu lecture.

i looked at my daughter and she had this smile of amusement. i know she was wondering how oatmeal can wax me philosophic. even i didn't know. must have been the tofu or the cucumber. well, i just wanted to make her feel better.

thank you Don Miguel for helping me help her.

the next time I prepare breakfast, i will do oatmeal and crunchy cucumbers. never tried oatmeal with crunchy cucumbers before.

this promises to be an interesting pairing as well ...

a gem of thought and the radiance of words

2015-04-18T17:17:00.001-07:00

i have no doubt there were so many times in our lives when the Inner Man had spoken to us. this Inner Self is our fountain of guidance concerning Right Living or Living Right. showing, pointing, the way, the direction, we need to follow in the path to happiness and peace.

from time to time, It flashes gems of thought in our minds. realizations that we know to be true and correct and useful especially for practical living. we follow these and we are blessed. joy is reaped, peace settles within us.

there is then this inner urge to share this help with others, with our fellow beings. there is this inner prodding to communicate these realizations. herein most times lies the problem. we know, we believe, we have a gem of a thought and that others will surely benefit. the thing is we cannot find the right things to say or write. we are hard put to find the words to make others feel or realize the inner truth the same way we did. we struggle much in our desire to communicate.

i believe to resolve this we must look at the way the great poets and writers did. they did not aspire to communicate directly. they just used plain, simple words. but, the trick is, they used imagery. they realized our minds work best if it sees a clear picture of the idea. the great poets and writers presented their inner realizations in this manner. they used words to create a picture in our mind's eye. once the mind sees the image, the feeling follows, and communication is achieved.

the reader's mind sees what the writer's mind saw. both small minds converge into the Universal Mind and the gem of thought is revealed. the radiance of the words is seen in the Mind's eye, is felt, and is understood.

let me illustrate this. i took this passage from the book, The Man Who Killed Deer. the writer was Frank Waters, considered one of the greatest writers of the American West. this novel was published more than forty years ago and is accepted as the classic of Pueblo Indian Life.

Frank Waters wrote --

It is a deep truth and difficult to learn that the greatest deeds must be done by him

who is content to remain unknown lest his action be impeded by too ready acclaim.

Life is like the still surface of a deep blue lake into which a stone is cast.

Who knows how far, on what shores the ripples spread? But the stone, having been

cast has done its work. Let it sink, unnoticed and forgotten, into the blue troubled

depths. Until one day when the turmoil has ceased men may gaze into the placid

face of the water and see there, still bright and shining, the stone lying at the bottom

like a gleaming star . . .

a gem of a thought. words radiant.

the mind's eye sees, the heart understands.

the River Time

2015-04-10T15:42:00.001-07:00

yesterday, i accompanied my daughter to the McDonald's branch where she is to meet up with her friend. being a holiday, they decided to spend the day at Tagaytay, a place many locals and tourists go to during summer as the climate is so much cooler there than in the lowlands. likewise, people are wont to gallivant there to enjoy the scenery especially since it overlooks the famous Taal volcano and its lake.

they left at around 4:30 am. it's still dark outside so i opted to stay awhile at McDonald's. at about 5:30 i went out. at the far horizon i can see the other buildings' and houses' silhouettes against the soft whiteness of the breaking dawn. there was this gentle breeze and its caress was so cool to my skin. there were still so very few vehicles moving along the streets. i can hear from some nearby place cocks crowing to hail the daybreak. the air's still fine, fresher, since the sleeping dust on the cemented road has not been disturbed yet.

suddenly, i heard my inner Self whisper, " sito, this is an open invitation. why don't you just walk home? it will do you good, legs and all, it's been a while since you've done some real walking .. "

i understood. yes, i walk, but, real walking for me is one where i am fully aware of the action: the thump of my feet over the surface of the road, the pressure of my shoes against my feet, the tension in my legs' and thighs' muscles, the push and pull of my tendons, the automatic swing of my arms, the subtle vibrations in my inner organs as i move purposefully, intently forward; the rise and fall in the path, the scent in the air, the scenes my eyes see as they scan around, the various sounds my ears listen to, the feel of being ambulant, alive, and vigorous, and well .. and the awareness of my connection to the Infinite ..

these are the rewards i get from real walking. so i heeded my inner Self. i walked. i reckon from McDonald's to my house is about 4 kilometers. real walking is a luxury for me. it is intent and purpose. Time is of no essence. it is the moment that is of value.

i remembered a line from Henry David Thoreau in his book Walden --

Time is but the stream I go a-fishin' in ...

the River Time flows on, but it does not matter, what is important is the Life i am living moment-by-moment, the Now is what matters,

i pressed onwards, and sunlight had started to get brighter, most everyone had awakened, and i passed by people waiting for their rides, for work, presumably. the street had started to be busy, jeepneys and cars we're laden with people in a hurry to beat Time,

the dust in the street had awakened as well, the air is no longer fresh,

still I walked, i am not in a hurry at this moment,

i silently offered a prayer of thanks to the Infinite for this luxury of enjoying the brightening sunlight, the now dusty air,

this moment of Life and awareness of being ..

just one more for the bird

2015-03-21T06:56:00.000-07:00

it was probably my final year in high school or my first year in college when i read Jonathan Seagull's story and immediately i fell in love with it. my friend and mentor, jose, reminded me to read between the lines and i found new meanings, new insights, from the story as related to my own life and how i would like to live it.

early during my high school days, i was fortunate enough to be among people who believed there is more to Life than growing up, finishing school, getting a job, acquiring fame or fortune or both, raising a family, and dying.

Real Life needs to be learned. Real Life needs to be earned.

one can attain Higher Consciousness. one can soar above body consciousness. there are methods and practices and these have been proven true and effective by the Masters and Sages. rising above body awareness will allow one the gift of knowing the True Self, one's True Identity, and gives one complete knowledge and certainty as to one's relation to the scheme of Creation. knowing who one truly is affords one to learn how to be totally happy.

i remembered being inspired to write this sonnet after reading Jonathan the first time --

Sonnet for a Bird

To seek to fly and ride the highest cloud
is ever a bird's undying concern,
for one who's been especially endowed
with wings, the heavens is the only goal to earn;
to sail aloft the wind's playful currents
And then, at times, to fall headlong with fright,
seeing the sky has too its wild serpents
that try its wings and tuck away the Light;
then, as the sunbeams pierce the serpents' hearts
the Bird triumphantly spreads its wings,
plumage gay as the rainbow shines, and starts
anew to where the blue cloud ever clings--
wings flapping rouse Heart to the Silent Sound
whisp'ring, " Cheer up! You, too, are Heavenbound! "

an even more pleasant surprise!

2015-03-16T16:47:00.001-07:00

woke up early this morning and sleepily dragged myself to the toilet. that's where i found this more pleasant surprise!! i had to rub my half-awake eyes vigorously to be sure i am not in dreamland any longer.

sitting there on the toilet paper roll's cage is a brand new, crisp, light blue colored book

yes, the complete edition of Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

my daughter unexpectedly bought a copy for me! if i remember right, this is the very first time she ever gifted me a book and i am so glad, so joyful indeed. this will make this copy a lot more precious, dearest even.

yet, what formed near tears to my eyes was the note she slipped inside the first page

thanks as well, my daughter!

you know what i will do the rest of this fine day?

i'll go to my favorite coffee nook at the nearby mall and order a hot mug of brewed coffee. very black, freshly brewed so that i will see the wisp of steam rise up from the liquid's ebony surface; so that my nose will be beguiled again by that soothing aroma; then i will sit comfortably and rest my aching back against the chair, and then

i will rediscover Jonathan Livingston Seagull's story.

this time, it will be complete ...

what a surprise, mr. bach!

2015-03-11T19:43:00.000-07:00

it was my good friend and mentor, Jose, who introduced me to the works of Richard Bach. we were avid students and practitioners of this wonderful way of Life called Mysticism. in a nutshell, we found out there is a way to soar beyond mere body consciousness. there are methods that have been practiced and proven by the Masters and Sages that one can practice as well. doing so will afford one the opportunity to explore and know one's Self. knowing the Self will lead one to his true identity. knowing who one truly is brings Freedom.

this is what Richard Bach told in his book Jonathan Livingston Seagull. this seagull was able to rise beyond the traditional way of life of his flock. he discovered he is a bird of flight. he is not of the ground. his true identity is Flight. to ride the wind, to pierce the sunlit clouds, to kiss the Sky. Flight is Freedom. i remember this is one of the Conditions of a Solitary Bird which that great mystic San Juan dela Cruz wrote about -- " it flies to the highest point ".

anyway, i still have the copy of that book with me. it is old but it is a treasure. i remembered having bought it as a gift for the woman who'd eventually be my wife. she took care of it and i hope one day my daughter will find the urge to know Jonathan.

a couple of days ago, i was whiling time inside a mall and I decided to visit one of the bookstores there. i am hunting for a book on the Dalai Lama, the present one, which i am wanting to give a friend. as i was scouring the book shelves there, there was this one book that jutted out. I pulled it out and it was a copy of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. it was a bigger size than the one I have. I opened it and there i saw the familiar pictures of the seagulls that accompanied the text. i was about to return it to the shelf when my eye caught a notification at the back cover -- unabridged edition, includes the missing Part Four.

wow! what a pleasant surprise, Mr. Bach!

it is just now that I knew there was a fourth part. i bought my copy in 1989! it's been years.. and now it is staring in my face, my copy is incomplete and yet I have mined it for all its worth of Wisdom's golden nuggets. Jonathan's story has a different ending ..

unfortunately, this complete edition costs so dear. i will just have to wait till I can afford it. the store assistant had been eyeing me since i went inside the bookstore. no private reading, the sign said.

can't help it. curiosity got the better of me. i had to skim over the missing Part Four. as fast as i can.

i promise Mr. Bach, i'll get this complete edition soon as i can afford it. i eagerly skimmed over this fourth part just silently gliding over the most important keywords. the keywords gave me a general idea of this missing portion of the book.

i smiled when i finally closed the book. the store assistant still has his gaze fixed on me.

the last Condition of a Solitary Bird is this --

It sings very softly.

the 2nd month's sacrifice

2015-02-17T18:41:00.001-08:00

look at her, how she struggles hard to lift her head, to stay upright. and yet, her strength is waning. not even the cool water could rouse her up. she knows the Law will come to pass. several days from now she will have fully wilted.

she had been Love's sacrifice.

she remembers that day, the 14th of the 2nd month. she heard it is a special day for lovers.

she had not fully bloomed but somehow someone found her and clipped her stalk. A red, silk ribbon was tied to her and together with a box of chocolates a young man's hand gifted her to a giggling young lady.

the young lady gently caressed her smooth, white petals, still in the process of unfolding. she touched her petals to her nose and inhaled deeply allowing her delicate scent to seep into her being. she heard a soft "Hmmmmm" pass between her slightly parted lips. she does not know whether young lady did this in genuine appreciation of her but she did hold her carefully between the thumb and forefinger throughout the day occasionally passing her close to her nose to be reminded of her fragrance.

the 14th of the 2nd month, that was indeed a grueling day!

the young man, on the other hand, had been sweet-talking her lady love. she heard him heaping praises on the young lady's beauty, so fragile, so innocent, so pure as her white petals. she heard him promise his undying love, his unwavering allegiance. he even mentioned her as the symbol of, the witness to, his love's sincerity.

then, suddenly, the day is done. the young lovers have left.

now, look at her, White Rose, plucked from the garden. she could never return. she knows.

she only hopes she will indeed be a symbol of, a witness of, True Love, Sincere Love,

and that this Love will never fade nor wilt,

although she will.

is this Flower lonely?

2015-02-13T21:24:00.001-08:00

is this Flower lonely?

is this Flower alone?

no hand had helped to plant it

somehow it suddenly flashed its bloom;

it is a pleasant surprise

as its pink petals kissed Sunrise

it proved me wrong

my case smothered

assured me i should not be bothered

assured me that

out of drab Regularity

out of boring Monotony

Beauty will Itself reveal!

of course it will just be a moment

'tis but for a short-lived Delight

just for an instant Joy

just for a hum Divine,

else, if Beauty stays,

She will become monotonous

She will just be regular

she will not be beautiful.

that Old Man walking in ...

2015-01-28T19:52:00.000-08:00

jan 15 to 19. these were the days when he visited us, the Philippines, especially, Tacloban, those who were hit hardest, battered, devastated, lost family, belongings, and Hope, by that super typhoon Haiyan or Yolanda here.

he was an old man who walked in, but, it is said "the eyes are the windows of the soul", and his eyes betrayed him. he is timeless.

Divinity is ageless.

he is Pope Francisco or Pope Francis. he is head of the Roman Catholic faithful the world over. I am not here to discuss Office or Authority. I am here to tell what came to pass.

throngs of people lined up the streets he is to pass. multitudes gathered in the places he went to. braved the rains, the winds, the cold, the arduous wait of his arrival. just so to be included in the sweep of his Divine Eyes. just to be encompassed in the wave of his hands.

he brought Mercy, Compassion, Love, Hope, Light. his smile gave warmth. his Presence gave Inner Joy. his Silence, Inner Peace.

i was not among the multitudes who were physically present at the places he went to. i just followed his sojourn here on television. watching him even on TV made me feel awfully blessed for reasons I know not what. i can only imagine what the.physically present ones felt when he was there with them. i am pretty sure each one received the gift due him or her.

they say Holy Persons do this. make people trust in Divinity again.

i just hope we can sustain this blessed feeling even after his feet got off from Philippine soil when he enplaned back to Rome on jan 19.

that new kid walking in

2015-01-19T03:51:00.000-08:00

hmmm .... interesting! strange indeed even! my previous post was dated jan 6. I noted there that encounter between the old man 2014 and this kid 2015. there was this " passing of the baton ", the transference of world events from old, tired, feeble hands to new, fresh, eager hands.

and then, that glance, the one-time eye contact, between the two. the old man's wishful stare said it all -- " do better than me, kid! "

now, here's the kid, his name's 2015, just a few days old, the date is jan 7, a day after i returned to blog, the whole world got stunned -- the Charlie Hebdo killings !!

is the kid starting on the wrong foot?

this massacre has spawned negative feelings, hatred, to be more specific. hate is birthed from both sides -- those that condemn this violence by men against fellow men and those that justify this, reasoning that the killings has been provoked.

i will not dwell on the event details. the Internet got loads of information.

i am just curious. i hope the kid remembers the glance, that eye-contact, when the old man passed him by,

i hope the message is well understood ...