It's 3:42 in the afternoon and the sky is all golden with the clouds basking in the afternoon sunshine. The trees still have their mighty bows and the ground is dry. Seems to me the typhoon Pablo or Bopha has never passed by Cebu.
The weather forecast and hush-hush built up a gloomy and almost apocalyptic preview of what's to come with Pablo. Science people were stating that this is the most powerful typhoon to hit the Philippines this year. While we were anxiously anticipating the arrival of Pablo, the weather was actually calm, the rain moderate since yesterday. The heavens resembled more the monsoon season than a Filipino Frankenstorm.
The boys were pestering me since yesterday asking questions like, "Has it come yet?". However, except for the cold damp wind and moderate winds yesterday lunch time there was nothing stormy about it. We are thankful that the storm did not lash out its fury on Cebu. Our hearts go out however to the people of Mindanao who took the beating most as they lay directly on the storm's destructive path.
We have been praying for the community of Don Bosco Mati who were the first to "welcome" the storm into Philippine soil.
After all the storms that passed through the Philippines in my lifetime nothing is more memorable to me than Ruping which hit Cebu hard.
The increasing strength of tropical cyclones however is worrying and indicative of climate change. Nothing is more fearsome than UN's chief saying that extreme weather conditions are the new 'normal'.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Monday, November 26, 2012
Drops, not Hammers and Chisels
There are many ways to get to a certain place. You could take the usual path or the short cut or the longest path. You have the choice in how to make your journey for as long as you arrive in your destination. Though we differ in good methodology, we have the same right goal.
When a boy remarked to me this afternoon that I couldn't do what a fellow worker did in order to exact discipline, he had me thinking. The strict and cold commandeering voice ruthlessly putting lines in order for fear of punishment is something different from the approach I have been using these past few months in dealing with the boys. They must have noticed it well to see the difference of how fast the boys answer my call to discipline that what they have just witnessed.
Don't get me wrong. I am not a sassy, pleading, and poor-me type of disciplinarian. I have my own version of firm in the kind-but-firm love. My childhood experience and my admiration of Don Bosco's style of education makes me adhere to the principle of firm loving-kindness.
The tradition of military discipline and of corporal punishment seems to have its deep mark and lasting influence. The educator uses fear to command and the student waits for fear before obeying. It is a stigma to both sides which needs patient correction over time. It is very un-Salesian.
St. John Bosco used fear too, but not the kind of fear that estranges educator from pupil. His was the holy fear of God which builds on the love for the beloved and the desire to please the beloved. It is a fear, quite different, that springs from love. It is a different method that takes more time and invests more energy. But it its fruit is also lasting and truly formative.
Great, huge, and solid rocks are not broken down easily by hammers and chisels. Surprisingly, it only takes drops of water constantly falling on a rock over a long period of time which breaks a boulder. The result are not rugged and ragged edges but smooth and flowing curves. In the same way, hardened hearts are not softened by fear but by gentleness and love.
When I was confronted with the question, "Brother, can you do what so-and-so did? I bet you can't", I was fighting with myself. Of course I can but I won't. I won't use fear to exact discipline but I would coach have the boys think and decide for their own. My method is to coach them into internalizing discipline, not imposing it on them. I don't want boys who'd jump at the chance of doing foolishness when conditions allow but I want boys who and are convince when and how to act properly.
I cannot but admit that the results are not immediate. You cannot easily expect them to behave as you desired because the change is not external but internal. The Salesian education aims at the heart and it takes time and patience. It is a journey with the young that imitates the love of the Good Shepherd.
Yes, it is frustrating to see that the boys still haven't learned. When will they? How much time must it take? But I live by faith and not by sight. In the same way that my educators placed their faith in God, in gentleness and kindness, and in me, I do the same for the boys entrusted to me.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Life-long Learning
Seven months have been ripped off the 2012 calendar in my small room since I stepped into Don Bosco Boys Home - Liloan for my practical training. A lot has happened for sure with all the energy and movement around our boys. If time flies in the post novitiate because of hours and hours of study and reading, here in Boys Home, time flies because of hours and hours of endless activity and keeping up with the unrelenting energy of these supercharged boys.
I took this time to write again while I am assisting the boys for their daily serious study period. Serious, because talking is disallowed, nor is standing, eating, sleeping, and all other things except reading. They are fewer with some in Balamban attending the provincial meet for sports. So I began our study period with an exhortation, feeling like a prophet of old, to maximize the study period for reading and learning for its sake, because we never stop learning until we are six feet under the ground.
A joke runs among Salesians assigned to Boys Home that the unyielding physical activity in this house is not conducive to serious study for us, it takes extra will power to read a book while in Boys Home, and so they say the place dulls intelligence. From my seven-month experience, it has some truth to it. Partly true, because the lack of venue for serious reading certainly curtails the intellectual pace of the post novitiate and its philosophical musings. However, practical training is a different dimension to say the least. It is grasping the ropes of being a Salesian on-site.
Practical training did me its name's worth: practical learning. I have learned much of how to deal with people as a Salesian religious.I learned more on living with a religious community of people older than I am. And so, learning takes on a different phase here.
Taking seriously the advice of a mentor, I should not stop reading (or writing). I may be in a practical phase but as the dictum goes, we never stop learning until we die.
I took this time to write again while I am assisting the boys for their daily serious study period. Serious, because talking is disallowed, nor is standing, eating, sleeping, and all other things except reading. They are fewer with some in Balamban attending the provincial meet for sports. So I began our study period with an exhortation, feeling like a prophet of old, to maximize the study period for reading and learning for its sake, because we never stop learning until we are six feet under the ground.
A joke runs among Salesians assigned to Boys Home that the unyielding physical activity in this house is not conducive to serious study for us, it takes extra will power to read a book while in Boys Home, and so they say the place dulls intelligence. From my seven-month experience, it has some truth to it. Partly true, because the lack of venue for serious reading certainly curtails the intellectual pace of the post novitiate and its philosophical musings. However, practical training is a different dimension to say the least. It is grasping the ropes of being a Salesian on-site.
Practical training did me its name's worth: practical learning. I have learned much of how to deal with people as a Salesian religious.I learned more on living with a religious community of people older than I am. And so, learning takes on a different phase here.
Taking seriously the advice of a mentor, I should not stop reading (or writing). I may be in a practical phase but as the dictum goes, we never stop learning until we die.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Still
Hum as the silent wind blows past
The drapes that covers the window
As the shunned light begins to filter through
The room echoes the light
The light shines the silence
And the stillness overwhelms
No sound is heard but the walls are ringing
With shouts muffled by shouts
And I begin to listen, not hear
None of the clashing
No more of the buzz
But a single deep note that permeates
It beats as my heart
And heaves with my breath
I am one in motion
I am at home
I am drawn deeper and deeper still
Until I find myself surrounded
The silence envelopes
The stillness satisfies
I no longer want
It is enough to be here
The drapes that covers the window
As the shunned light begins to filter through
The room echoes the light
The light shines the silence
And the stillness overwhelms
No sound is heard but the walls are ringing
With shouts muffled by shouts
And I begin to listen, not hear
None of the clashing
No more of the buzz
But a single deep note that permeates
It beats as my heart
And heaves with my breath
I am one in motion
I am at home
I am drawn deeper and deeper still
Until I find myself surrounded
The silence envelopes
The stillness satisfies
I no longer want
It is enough to be here
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Presence 2.0
Presence in the internet, aside from being virtual, is becoming more and more seamless and unified.
In the last John Paul II Youth Ministry and Catechetical Conference in Cebu, I was already talking about unified user accounts for web services that persist across platforms. Terms like single sign-on and projects like OpenID sprung up to consolidate user accounting in different web services from different sites and from different companies. In the evolution of the computer market from the desk to the mobile, office to the pocket, major IT companies have rolled out their solution to what could have been a digital version of schizophrenia, a mess of usernames and passwords for each subscription in the internet, a confusing stash of credentials bordering on identity crisis.
To ease out these perceived problems, companies like Google, Microsoft, Apple, and the like, have been strategizing to make user experience seamless, in the internet and across different devices. You can now sign-in to your Google Account and use Gmail, Google Calendar, Google Earth, and YouTube under one user account without having to sign in for each site. Your web preferences and settings are the same across them. Your bookmarks in Google Chrome or in Apple Safari synchronize between your PC, laptop, tablet, and phone. With OpenID you can now log-in to other services with your Facebook account or use your Google Account to avail of Microsoft Windows Live services.
It may appear altruistic for these competing capitalist companies but this brings economic benefits for them too. It means less maintenance for user accounting and richer information for them through usage statistics, user preferences, and social trends gleaned from tracking user activities and interactions. For each site you search for, visit, like, rate, recommend, or interact with corresponds to social weather datum these companies are hungry for.
What do they do with this much data? Companies backed by rich information on user habits has the competitive advantage to address adequately the market, build up image, and earn more profit in the not-so-long run. Facebook has been criticized for keeping to itself the rich social map and data in its servers. Google has long been analyzing contents in its mail servers, site click-throughs and search queries to make advertisement relevant for each individual.
This is the age of information. Abstract shaping what is concrete. Tangibles crossing the digital gateway to become intangible entities on LCD screens. Multinational companies now have IT teams to make sure their presence in the vast cyber world. Corporations and individuals have their own virtual presence in the net to extend their influence and presence far away from the physical world. Human consciousness has come to the age of abstraction and encapsulation, virtual interaction, and long distance but split-second communication.
What we don't immediately realize is that these digital habits are also shaping the way we think. It was Marshall McLuhan who said that the tools shape the user. We all have heard of anecdotes about lives either fixed or broken by the web; real relationships melting down because of social networks or rediscovering friendships that had been buried under ages of dust. In the digital revolution, everyone is clamoring to be represented, nay, present in the virtual world. The fact of experience however sinks in. We can never be present in both the real and virtual world. Ultra-realists and technophobes have shunned the virtual to immerse in the real physical world. The newer generations favor virtual life for its impersonal and fluid nature sacrificing the joys of getting cuts playing in the fields or the sticky sweat of sports.
The human intellect, finite as it is, can never be present in one realm without being absent in the other. One cannot be present online without shying away from the real physical world. That's the law of presence, choose one or be master of none. And it is in this crucial point of leveraging that personal values are put to the test. Educators may be too keen on jumping the online bandwagon to be present to their students even in the internet and finding out later that some aspects of education has been left behind. Parents who delve in too much into their children's online activities have tasted the bitter backlash of being filtered out online and offline. The human being, in its unique nature of being both spirit and matter, is always in the question of finding the right balance between the abstract and concrete.
We religious have felt this tension in our communities ever since the cell phone has come into use in our ministries. Now that the internet is becoming ubiquitous, a wave that has permeated the monastery walls, as Fr. Chito Dimaranan has noted, boundaries dissolve and social dynamics are rethought. Even the ongoing digital revolution is shaping the Church.
Like any other technology that sprang from man's ingenuity, the digital revolution improves upon or drags into oblivion many habits good and bad. The crucial question is what to keep and what to throw away. And so in the area of digital presence and its effect on your real presence in the physical plane, how much and how well did it further our good cause? I would like to hope that we are finding a level of consciousness that allows us to use our virtual presence to strengthen our real presence.
It is not enough to say hi and hello on social networks like Facebook. We also need to invest real quality time with the persons behind those virtual faces. Good thing our sense of touch reminds us of the tactile need to connect not just in thought but also by flesh. Even the God incarnate took pains to ensure that his presence is not just virtual but also a physical one. We can never substitute online presence for actual presence.
As the reach of the internet goes farther and farther into the fabric of human society, we may be drawn to the illusion of migrating the entire human consciousness online. It would be a better perspective to see it as complementing our real connections rather than entirely replacing it. The old saying rings true: keep your feet on the ground.
In the last John Paul II Youth Ministry and Catechetical Conference in Cebu, I was already talking about unified user accounts for web services that persist across platforms. Terms like single sign-on and projects like OpenID sprung up to consolidate user accounting in different web services from different sites and from different companies. In the evolution of the computer market from the desk to the mobile, office to the pocket, major IT companies have rolled out their solution to what could have been a digital version of schizophrenia, a mess of usernames and passwords for each subscription in the internet, a confusing stash of credentials bordering on identity crisis.
To ease out these perceived problems, companies like Google, Microsoft, Apple, and the like, have been strategizing to make user experience seamless, in the internet and across different devices. You can now sign-in to your Google Account and use Gmail, Google Calendar, Google Earth, and YouTube under one user account without having to sign in for each site. Your web preferences and settings are the same across them. Your bookmarks in Google Chrome or in Apple Safari synchronize between your PC, laptop, tablet, and phone. With OpenID you can now log-in to other services with your Facebook account or use your Google Account to avail of Microsoft Windows Live services.
It may appear altruistic for these competing capitalist companies but this brings economic benefits for them too. It means less maintenance for user accounting and richer information for them through usage statistics, user preferences, and social trends gleaned from tracking user activities and interactions. For each site you search for, visit, like, rate, recommend, or interact with corresponds to social weather datum these companies are hungry for.
What do they do with this much data? Companies backed by rich information on user habits has the competitive advantage to address adequately the market, build up image, and earn more profit in the not-so-long run. Facebook has been criticized for keeping to itself the rich social map and data in its servers. Google has long been analyzing contents in its mail servers, site click-throughs and search queries to make advertisement relevant for each individual.
This is the age of information. Abstract shaping what is concrete. Tangibles crossing the digital gateway to become intangible entities on LCD screens. Multinational companies now have IT teams to make sure their presence in the vast cyber world. Corporations and individuals have their own virtual presence in the net to extend their influence and presence far away from the physical world. Human consciousness has come to the age of abstraction and encapsulation, virtual interaction, and long distance but split-second communication.
What we don't immediately realize is that these digital habits are also shaping the way we think. It was Marshall McLuhan who said that the tools shape the user. We all have heard of anecdotes about lives either fixed or broken by the web; real relationships melting down because of social networks or rediscovering friendships that had been buried under ages of dust. In the digital revolution, everyone is clamoring to be represented, nay, present in the virtual world. The fact of experience however sinks in. We can never be present in both the real and virtual world. Ultra-realists and technophobes have shunned the virtual to immerse in the real physical world. The newer generations favor virtual life for its impersonal and fluid nature sacrificing the joys of getting cuts playing in the fields or the sticky sweat of sports.
The human intellect, finite as it is, can never be present in one realm without being absent in the other. One cannot be present online without shying away from the real physical world. That's the law of presence, choose one or be master of none. And it is in this crucial point of leveraging that personal values are put to the test. Educators may be too keen on jumping the online bandwagon to be present to their students even in the internet and finding out later that some aspects of education has been left behind. Parents who delve in too much into their children's online activities have tasted the bitter backlash of being filtered out online and offline. The human being, in its unique nature of being both spirit and matter, is always in the question of finding the right balance between the abstract and concrete.
We religious have felt this tension in our communities ever since the cell phone has come into use in our ministries. Now that the internet is becoming ubiquitous, a wave that has permeated the monastery walls, as Fr. Chito Dimaranan has noted, boundaries dissolve and social dynamics are rethought. Even the ongoing digital revolution is shaping the Church.
Like any other technology that sprang from man's ingenuity, the digital revolution improves upon or drags into oblivion many habits good and bad. The crucial question is what to keep and what to throw away. And so in the area of digital presence and its effect on your real presence in the physical plane, how much and how well did it further our good cause? I would like to hope that we are finding a level of consciousness that allows us to use our virtual presence to strengthen our real presence.
It is not enough to say hi and hello on social networks like Facebook. We also need to invest real quality time with the persons behind those virtual faces. Good thing our sense of touch reminds us of the tactile need to connect not just in thought but also by flesh. Even the God incarnate took pains to ensure that his presence is not just virtual but also a physical one. We can never substitute online presence for actual presence.
As the reach of the internet goes farther and farther into the fabric of human society, we may be drawn to the illusion of migrating the entire human consciousness online. It would be a better perspective to see it as complementing our real connections rather than entirely replacing it. The old saying rings true: keep your feet on the ground.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Flee! The Flu Flies!
So much for play of words. It seems the flu I have caught recently led me to blog again. It's been raining for days, most of the time intermittently, with the ongoing battery of storms on the beautiful and pristine islands of the Philippines. Pristine, they could remain, if not for the longstanding downpour and gales that threaten to uproot every house in the land.
But I'm not complaining about the weather. I love it when it rains and the temperature drops to the sleepy-mode level. It makes me feel home-y. What I am recklessly blabbering about is this unstoppable torrent that seeks to deluge my nostrils. Flu, is a seasonal favorite in the tropics. I always get one every year.
I remember the days of Bird and Swine Flu that got people scampering around looking for masks. It was that time when three of us of the four novices went down with flu that we thought we're going to die, since Swine flue was talk of the town. And like years before, my body aches and heaves, my nose running, and my cough dry, so does having a flu now feel. I don't care if its the bird, swine, or canine flu, but I just want the flu to fly away. My lack of fever makes me less-believable and I don't want to try convincing everyone I am sick. Aside from that, I need to finish checking my papers.
Water therapy, a lot of juice, and rest are my best friends right now.
But I'm not complaining about the weather. I love it when it rains and the temperature drops to the sleepy-mode level. It makes me feel home-y. What I am recklessly blabbering about is this unstoppable torrent that seeks to deluge my nostrils. Flu, is a seasonal favorite in the tropics. I always get one every year.
I remember the days of Bird and Swine Flu that got people scampering around looking for masks. It was that time when three of us of the four novices went down with flu that we thought we're going to die, since Swine flue was talk of the town. And like years before, my body aches and heaves, my nose running, and my cough dry, so does having a flu now feel. I don't care if its the bird, swine, or canine flu, but I just want the flu to fly away. My lack of fever makes me less-believable and I don't want to try convincing everyone I am sick. Aside from that, I need to finish checking my papers.
Water therapy, a lot of juice, and rest are my best friends right now.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
When Difficult Questions Are Left Unanswered
It was supposed to be the annual celebration of the community. Booths were already put up and the community square is alive with the buzz of festivities. But the joyous noise were drowned by nine shots. People frantically ran for cover when the initial shock wore off. The kaleidoscopic turn of the Tamiao community stopped and faded to grey. Now the nights leading to their feast day only resounds with the background buzzing of crickets. No more are the laughs, only sorrow and fear. Questions abound, left unanswered by those series of shots that silenced joy.
This is the sad story of the Tamiao community in Compostela. The baranggay is not far from Don Bosco Liloan which is located in the adjacent baranggay of Cotcot, Liloan. The frantic screams were even heard by some in Don Bosco. An assassin sneaked past the crowd of onlookers of a variety show, aimed his barrel at the nape of Mr. Marieto Yraola and shot him point blank. The ensuing chaos claimed two lives for collateral damage, four more wounded, and a community shaken by shock and fear.
Fr. Jhun Paradiang asked me to come with him to the wake. The atmosphere was quiet. Most eyes were wide but empty. People were asking questions, "Why God, why?"
To me, the killer and those behind the plan did not just disposed of their target. With no reason to explain, two families are left without a father, another family with children below eight years old were left without a mother. They not only took out lives, they also killed the spirit of the community.
Surely, this is no will of God. Sadly, it is human will that brings about events like this. Human history is marred with selfishness and pride that takes a dig at the core of all that we value in life. I believe that the God who rejoiced with the community in their annual festivities is now among them sharing their tears. Perhaps, He too is asking, "Why man, why?"
This is the sad story of the Tamiao community in Compostela. The baranggay is not far from Don Bosco Liloan which is located in the adjacent baranggay of Cotcot, Liloan. The frantic screams were even heard by some in Don Bosco. An assassin sneaked past the crowd of onlookers of a variety show, aimed his barrel at the nape of Mr. Marieto Yraola and shot him point blank. The ensuing chaos claimed two lives for collateral damage, four more wounded, and a community shaken by shock and fear.
Fr. Jhun Paradiang asked me to come with him to the wake. The atmosphere was quiet. Most eyes were wide but empty. People were asking questions, "Why God, why?"
To me, the killer and those behind the plan did not just disposed of their target. With no reason to explain, two families are left without a father, another family with children below eight years old were left without a mother. They not only took out lives, they also killed the spirit of the community.
Surely, this is no will of God. Sadly, it is human will that brings about events like this. Human history is marred with selfishness and pride that takes a dig at the core of all that we value in life. I believe that the God who rejoiced with the community in their annual festivities is now among them sharing their tears. Perhaps, He too is asking, "Why man, why?"
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Jesus Curing
Mark 1:40-45
I AM. I do choose. Be made clean!
It is so in those days that when something so hideous, something that does not have a cure, and something so repulsive as leprosy would have to be isolated. There was no hope for them. It would be better to sacrifice them away from society, away from their friends, away from their loved ones, so as to save the integrity of the people of Israel. Perhaps they merited to receive such infirmity. They must have done something so wrong so as to incur the wrath and curse of God.
Lepers were left out. They were left out of the company where their very humanity learned to be human. They were left out to the very outskirts if towns, the very outskirts of society, the very outskirts of humanity. They were already less human. Leprosy has already eaten away parts of them and what remained of the supple flesh tenderly caressed, perfumed, and kissed by their own mothers have become a cover of stench, a layer of rotting flesh, an unpleasant sight to behold even by their very own mothers. Leprosy had eaten much of their humanity.
So when this leper heard that there was this rabbi, a miracle worker, along with his disciples, traveling along a road few would take, his heart skipped a beat. Is this perhaps his salvation? Surely, he has paid enough of his sins that heaven has decided that he has suffered enough. So he ran. As he came nearer, he saw them stop. Some of them shuffled and backed away. He was a leper after all. Some looked at their master, wondering what wonder would come from this.
It is always the eyes that betray a man's measure of another. Some eyes were aghast at his predicament. Some eyes looked with impatient indifference. Some eyes were bristling with excitement. One set of eyes looked at him intently, their gaze penetrating his very being as if his whole life story, his very history has been revealed and read in a moment. To these eyes he was so exposed. No amount of rags could hide the numb wounds and the sticky mess of his flesh. No mask could hinder those eyes from looking through his very defenses, from recognizing the wounds that has marked not only his body but also his very spirit.
In spite of such a powerful presence before him, he did not feel threatened. He felt a little fear. He feared that he was unworthy to be in such presence.
He shrugged the feeling off. This is the miracle worker people have been talking about everywhere. He had done it so many times before this time would be no different. He would corner him like so many others before that out of a tight spot, he would heal him. If he were truly powerful then he an do it. Otherwise, he has uncovered a scam.
He was confused more than ever on what to think of this man. He does not seem royal but there is just something in him that's amiss. He looks plain and simple but this man has troubled his innermost thoughts already. If he has to do this he must do it already.
He flung himself forward. With a gamble and perhaps a little faith and much more hope, he flung himself forward. He broke through the rule that a leper must not approach a clean Jew. He risk punishment but all the same he flung himself forward. He believed in what others say of this man. He shouted without looking up to those penetrating eyes, "Please, please, I beg you. If you choose, you can make me clean."
From afar, Jesus already knew his brokenness. He knew of the divide that rent this man apart. He knew his very heart. He heard it beat with excitement from a distance. Then it entered an erratic beat of confusion when light has been cast upon it. Surely, this man no longer knows himself. He has been stripped of his humanity a long time ago. This heart, despite being confused at the sight brought by Jesus' light, flung itself forward in resignation. It could not immediately accept the sight of itself. More so, it could not recognize the light shown in its eyes. It had too long dwell in darkness. Will it recognize Jesus soon?
Jesus' heart was moved with pity. Where people, even among his disciples, saw only the leprous man, he saw the child with a supple skin, broken and wounded by years of hate and rejection. He saw a victim. This man is a victim of sin. Contrary to what most Jews believe, this man is not only a victim of his own sin but also of the others' sin, of everyone's sin. It is not only a personal stigma, but a social one, a sharper dagger that cuts deeper into each man. His heart was moved with passion against such misfortune. Where his Father had fashioned a soul and made it dwell in a house of healthy flesh, sin and evil had worked out destruction that it had evicted the poor soul from his very self.
Jesus was given an option. He had been given so many before and this time it would be no different. He ha always chosen his Father's wishes. He has chosen to love everyone, not excluding anyone. Such option pierced his heart. It may be a sign of unbelief that it had been imposed upon him by this leprous man or it would only be the symptom of the devastation within. He wanted so much to heal him.
Two rules were broken on that encounter. One, when the leper broke his isolation and flung himself forward to this group of clean people. Two, when Jesus stretched out his hand to touch him. It shouldn't be. A teacher, highly regarded by many should not lower himself to this wretched man, if you still could call this sight a man. It is simply out of the social structure. It is taboo. It is forbidden. It is not like us.
Despite what others thought in their minds and felt in their heart, Jesus stretched out his hand. There is already enough divide. He is the bridge for everything. He touched him. His hand full of compassion and care touched the numbness of the leper's skin. The warmth of his hand touched the coldness of his flesh. It did not stop at a point in the finger where it could have easily been considering the circumstances of this man, but it went through the leper's helplessness. He reached out and had his palm rest over his head. The leper could feel the heartbeat emanating from Jesus wrists. Grace flowed down from his head down to his neck and deep into his heart.
There was no revulsion in Jesus, only tenderness. Jesus' eyes looked at him with love. His touch was more gentle and accepting than that of the leper's mother when he was born. No, this is a rebirth. Jesus accepted him without judging him. He could barely hear the response of Jesus when he said, "I do choose, be made clean!" He felt a rush of ecstasy at the joy of being accepted by this man. He was overjoyed at his luck. His gamble had paid of.
He looked at himself again. Though the rags were the same, his skin has been made new. He tore through those rags which has been his prison for so long, no, for a time they were his only home too. And he jumped. He could see the missing parts have grown back. No, it's as if they have never been eaten away and were always there just hidden beneath the sheath of filthy rags. He is complete. He is new. And he felt new. His healing is complete.
It could have been exultance or was it plain ecstasy? He forgot about his past life in a snap of a finger. He forgot about everything else. He was too overjoyed, too preoccupied by this fortune. Where he gambled a little bit of faith, he had reaped much more than he expected in a span of a nick of time. He was himself again. Isn't he lucky? This man, this man who cured him is a wonder. A wonder has touched him and changed him. Such wonder should not be left hidden. He must be exalted!
Jesus was happy at the sight of the cure. He has brought this man back from despair and apathy. He has given him his joy. Yet there is something wrong. He seems too overjoyed. He clung to Jesus and praised him but his praises were empty. It seems his eyes who were so used to the darkness were blinded by the light. He has not seen Jesus.
So Jesus warned him and told him that he can be his witness before the priests. He can be a light to others. But the ecstatic man was too joyful to hear. He went away shouting at his fortune, proclaiming the wonder he has seen with his eyes, but he failed to hear the message.
Jesus was sad. A few moments ago, he was happy to have brought a man back into communion with God. But not too often, man's heart is easily blinded with wonder it could not see the one behind such wonders.
I AM. I do choose. Be made clean!
It is so in those days that when something so hideous, something that does not have a cure, and something so repulsive as leprosy would have to be isolated. There was no hope for them. It would be better to sacrifice them away from society, away from their friends, away from their loved ones, so as to save the integrity of the people of Israel. Perhaps they merited to receive such infirmity. They must have done something so wrong so as to incur the wrath and curse of God.
Lepers were left out. They were left out of the company where their very humanity learned to be human. They were left out to the very outskirts if towns, the very outskirts of society, the very outskirts of humanity. They were already less human. Leprosy has already eaten away parts of them and what remained of the supple flesh tenderly caressed, perfumed, and kissed by their own mothers have become a cover of stench, a layer of rotting flesh, an unpleasant sight to behold even by their very own mothers. Leprosy had eaten much of their humanity.
So when this leper heard that there was this rabbi, a miracle worker, along with his disciples, traveling along a road few would take, his heart skipped a beat. Is this perhaps his salvation? Surely, he has paid enough of his sins that heaven has decided that he has suffered enough. So he ran. As he came nearer, he saw them stop. Some of them shuffled and backed away. He was a leper after all. Some looked at their master, wondering what wonder would come from this.
It is always the eyes that betray a man's measure of another. Some eyes were aghast at his predicament. Some eyes looked with impatient indifference. Some eyes were bristling with excitement. One set of eyes looked at him intently, their gaze penetrating his very being as if his whole life story, his very history has been revealed and read in a moment. To these eyes he was so exposed. No amount of rags could hide the numb wounds and the sticky mess of his flesh. No mask could hinder those eyes from looking through his very defenses, from recognizing the wounds that has marked not only his body but also his very spirit.
In spite of such a powerful presence before him, he did not feel threatened. He felt a little fear. He feared that he was unworthy to be in such presence.
He shrugged the feeling off. This is the miracle worker people have been talking about everywhere. He had done it so many times before this time would be no different. He would corner him like so many others before that out of a tight spot, he would heal him. If he were truly powerful then he an do it. Otherwise, he has uncovered a scam.
He was confused more than ever on what to think of this man. He does not seem royal but there is just something in him that's amiss. He looks plain and simple but this man has troubled his innermost thoughts already. If he has to do this he must do it already.
He flung himself forward. With a gamble and perhaps a little faith and much more hope, he flung himself forward. He broke through the rule that a leper must not approach a clean Jew. He risk punishment but all the same he flung himself forward. He believed in what others say of this man. He shouted without looking up to those penetrating eyes, "Please, please, I beg you. If you choose, you can make me clean."
From afar, Jesus already knew his brokenness. He knew of the divide that rent this man apart. He knew his very heart. He heard it beat with excitement from a distance. Then it entered an erratic beat of confusion when light has been cast upon it. Surely, this man no longer knows himself. He has been stripped of his humanity a long time ago. This heart, despite being confused at the sight brought by Jesus' light, flung itself forward in resignation. It could not immediately accept the sight of itself. More so, it could not recognize the light shown in its eyes. It had too long dwell in darkness. Will it recognize Jesus soon?
Jesus' heart was moved with pity. Where people, even among his disciples, saw only the leprous man, he saw the child with a supple skin, broken and wounded by years of hate and rejection. He saw a victim. This man is a victim of sin. Contrary to what most Jews believe, this man is not only a victim of his own sin but also of the others' sin, of everyone's sin. It is not only a personal stigma, but a social one, a sharper dagger that cuts deeper into each man. His heart was moved with passion against such misfortune. Where his Father had fashioned a soul and made it dwell in a house of healthy flesh, sin and evil had worked out destruction that it had evicted the poor soul from his very self.
Jesus was given an option. He had been given so many before and this time it would be no different. He ha always chosen his Father's wishes. He has chosen to love everyone, not excluding anyone. Such option pierced his heart. It may be a sign of unbelief that it had been imposed upon him by this leprous man or it would only be the symptom of the devastation within. He wanted so much to heal him.
Two rules were broken on that encounter. One, when the leper broke his isolation and flung himself forward to this group of clean people. Two, when Jesus stretched out his hand to touch him. It shouldn't be. A teacher, highly regarded by many should not lower himself to this wretched man, if you still could call this sight a man. It is simply out of the social structure. It is taboo. It is forbidden. It is not like us.
Despite what others thought in their minds and felt in their heart, Jesus stretched out his hand. There is already enough divide. He is the bridge for everything. He touched him. His hand full of compassion and care touched the numbness of the leper's skin. The warmth of his hand touched the coldness of his flesh. It did not stop at a point in the finger where it could have easily been considering the circumstances of this man, but it went through the leper's helplessness. He reached out and had his palm rest over his head. The leper could feel the heartbeat emanating from Jesus wrists. Grace flowed down from his head down to his neck and deep into his heart.
There was no revulsion in Jesus, only tenderness. Jesus' eyes looked at him with love. His touch was more gentle and accepting than that of the leper's mother when he was born. No, this is a rebirth. Jesus accepted him without judging him. He could barely hear the response of Jesus when he said, "I do choose, be made clean!" He felt a rush of ecstasy at the joy of being accepted by this man. He was overjoyed at his luck. His gamble had paid of.
He looked at himself again. Though the rags were the same, his skin has been made new. He tore through those rags which has been his prison for so long, no, for a time they were his only home too. And he jumped. He could see the missing parts have grown back. No, it's as if they have never been eaten away and were always there just hidden beneath the sheath of filthy rags. He is complete. He is new. And he felt new. His healing is complete.
It could have been exultance or was it plain ecstasy? He forgot about his past life in a snap of a finger. He forgot about everything else. He was too overjoyed, too preoccupied by this fortune. Where he gambled a little bit of faith, he had reaped much more than he expected in a span of a nick of time. He was himself again. Isn't he lucky? This man, this man who cured him is a wonder. A wonder has touched him and changed him. Such wonder should not be left hidden. He must be exalted!
Jesus was happy at the sight of the cure. He has brought this man back from despair and apathy. He has given him his joy. Yet there is something wrong. He seems too overjoyed. He clung to Jesus and praised him but his praises were empty. It seems his eyes who were so used to the darkness were blinded by the light. He has not seen Jesus.
So Jesus warned him and told him that he can be his witness before the priests. He can be a light to others. But the ecstatic man was too joyful to hear. He went away shouting at his fortune, proclaiming the wonder he has seen with his eyes, but he failed to hear the message.
Jesus was sad. A few moments ago, he was happy to have brought a man back into communion with God. But not too often, man's heart is easily blinded with wonder it could not see the one behind such wonders.
Jesus Praying
Those who seek me with the eyes, see
Those who seek me with the mind, know
Those who seek me with the heart, feel
Those who seek me with the will, finds me in him
It had been a long day yesterday. His body felt tired but his spirit was brimming with the energy he too seeks to understand. It is pushing him forward although he does not know exactly towards where but he is sure for himself he is being called to do something. It is strange. Being so sure but being so vague about it. It's as if it's already in the palm of your hands but you can't feel its texture yet. You can't even grasp it in your fingers and hold on tightly to it though you are sure you can and you will. It's not confusion but it is a disturbance deep inside you that just keep pestering your thoughts not allowing it to settle in a pool of calm. There is an upward movement, an active search for something you are sure you must know but not yet.
So, Jesus hid himself away from the crowd that had been surrounding him. Though he felt he belonged in their midst and felt fulfilled in ministering to them, the chirp of the crickets remind him that it is not yet the time. There us something he must do first before any other. He felt thirst.
It was not a physical thirst from the Mediterranean sun scorching everyones lips. It was a cool and silent early morning. The birds still asleep and so was the sun. Yet, he is uneasy and feels a pull towards somewhere and someone. It is a deeper kind of thirst for someone and he knew he had to be alone.
He got up from where he slept and silently walked away into the shadows disappearing from sight. And when he was alone he prayed. He closed his eyes and entered his inner abode. In the cover of darkness, Light met Light and no human eye has seen such wonder.
Peter awoke first. Unlike many mornings that had gone, he woke up with his heart pumping in his chest. It could have been just a dream but the faces and the murmur of those around him brings such dreams back to reality. It was real. It happened in time and space. A new prophet had arisen and he has been working wonders.
Except that this new prophet is strange. There is something odd about him. He exudes power in word and deed, a kind of power that bends one's knees. But such power is not subduing. Rather it is like a smooth flow of energy that invigorates the insides. Such power empowers.
Peter has not felt anything like it. He wanted to experience it more. He was searching for it. His heart was restless. Footsteps beat with his heart and he saw his friends coming. Their faces covered with worry just like the time when they lost their toy boat to the lake's current a long time ago. No, it was much more. There was tinge of sadness in their eyes, in the beads of tears at the corners, speaking of uneasiness at the thought that a treat has been taken away from them.
"He has disappeared," they reported to Peter. "They could not find him anywhere. Nobody saw him go."
These guys grew up with him and Peter is slightly amused at their helplessness. They already have families and children of their own, but it felt like they were young once more. He could feel his veins expand in excitement just like the time they had to search for some lost animal in the hills. He had been a hunter too but this time the game's much bigger.
He quickly got up to his feet, put on his cloak. He felt young again. He felt charged. "He cannot be faraway."
It was an unusual sound. The sun had just risen but the town seems to be in hush-hush. Something has happened. Someone has happened there. Peter and his companions took to the hills. They have grown worried. They could not find him still. They have followed the usual paths but there was no sight of him.
Why would he leave the village like that? Did he not see the amazement people had on their faces at the wonders he had done? They could have a messiah at last!
They stopped at their tracks. It was stupid enough to stray from the paved road to where there might be danger behind the end. Wild animals have been known to attack the villagers here. But when they saw him there, bent in total silence, his face full of peace, they realized they have entered a holy ground.
In this wayward part of town, a place seldom visited by people except for an occasional group of young men seeking adventure, Jesus is seen kneeling. The world just stops around him. Even the sycamore tree stooped to hear better the silence emanating from Jesus. It was an unmistakable peace and the world is struck at the sight.
The worries they were bringing along faded when Peter found him there. A few seconds after their feet stepped into that small circle, Jesus opened his eyes. He looked at them and smiled. They didn't know what to say an how to begin it."
"Everyone is searching for you." Peter was sure they were the only group who left looking for him.
"Let us go to neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do."
This man is unusual! He seems to be so sure of himself. It's as if he just finished meeting his advisors. He spoke with real certainty.
His companions looked at Peter. Were they to go? Are they also willing to leave their village? They haven't even said their goodbyes, nor have their food packed. Peter, the leader of that gang, nodded at them. He was sure that this man was sure. They can all place their bet on him. He will work wonders just as he had before. If he comes to be the messiah, then they have struck gold.
Jesus took to the roads again together with the group. They visited towns and saw much wonder worked everywhere. Yet in Peter grew a little disturbance, a curious search of where this new prophet finds his strength. But this is yet to be revealed to him.
Jesus Preaching
Mark 4:1-9
Listen. He wants us to listen.
There were a multitude hanging to his every word. They reach out to him, ears wide open as a barren land thirsts for rain. He was unlike those they have heard before. He spoke with authority and power that makes their hearts melt in gentle submission. Too long has it been since their hearts were subdued by such a powerful call. They want to hear. There were many of them and they run the risk of overrunning him.
Yet he was not afraid of their numbers. He knew they were all reaching out to him. Although it isn't visible outside, their hearts were restless and fidgeting until he opens his lips. He is the Word. Each ear long for the Word.
In himself he longs to reach out to them too. He wishes to meet every heart and dwell in every heart. He wants to enter every heart. But in his state now, he cannot be united with each. Nor in their state now, they cannot be united with him. Both sides were consumed with the passion of reaching out to the other.
So he gathered them on the land as a shepherd gathers his sheep. He wants to see them as one and address them as one. They were entrusted to him.
And he himself got into a boat and stayed on the water, at a practical distance. It is not a distance that estranges but a distance that gives order. He wants to speak to them. But they would not be able to hear him if he were too near or if he were too far. He kept a healthy distance of space but not of heart. He was already one with them in their state.
He knew their hearts and knew that not everyone is keen on sincerely receiving his message. Not everyone can accept his message. Though some are already ready, more were in need of more work. But he wants everyone to come to him and be one with him. He knew that despite their limitations, eventually each must return to him. So as he had gathered them as one, he addresses them as one. He shouts: "Listen!"
It was a bold proclamation. It was a shepherd calling the attention of his sheep. He spoke and his voice rent the air. It rent the noise buzzing among the crowd. He subdued their restlessness when his words sprang forth and they recognized that he as speaking to each.
He was not just talking to a group but it was as if he was talking to each heart. The world melted away around them. That one word struck them like an arrow penetrating its target. There were no longer we and him but I and Jesus alone. It was just one word but it was enough to put them at ease and the noise died down, the tension relaxed. In front of their eyes was him and him alone.
He knew he captured their attention but he knew them all too well. He had the best of intentions but they were not ready yet. He had to prepare them. He had to teach them how. It all begins by making them aware of where they are.
So he told them the parable of the sower.
He preaches freely and passionately. He does not spare generosity but lavishes his word everywhere and to everyone. He does not choose those he wants to hear but rather wants that everyone hears and listens.
What is this listening? How is this listening? "Let anyone with ears to hear listen!"
It begins with opening the ears. Not just the physical ears but the ears of the whole being. It is disposing the whole self to receive Jesus. It is sweet silence. It is strong stillness. There is focus. The heart and the mind and the spirit is bent on receiving Jesus.
Then when the soil has been prepared, the seed is implanted within it. It falls down from heaven, cast by the very hands that fashioned the soil. It is God moving forth and striking and penetrating every heart. The soil is at this point a passive recipient if that word.
And when the seed had touched the ground, it disturbs the ground and the humous soul devours it. It become united with it. The passivity has ended. The word that has sprung forth from the lips of Christ, sends a tingling that disturbs my every being. I begin to look deeper into myself and the roots begin to grow deep. The seed has germinated.
In the silence and seclusion inside every heart, the word unravels its mystery. A revelation takes place. God manifests himself more clearly and man sees himself in more light. God and man is united to become one.
Then the germinate begins to grow. It dies not stop in growing roots but longs to breath the air outside. It shoots upright and manifests itself to the world. Although its beginnings were wrapped in mystery inside every heart, it begins to pierce the sky with its shoots. It wants to be known. It wants to make the message it once received reechoed to all around.
It grows, some slow, some fast. It all depends on how each soil provides the nutrients. Nevertheless it grows.
When it has reached maturity, it bears fruit and it multiplies the goodness that was planted initially. Just as the sower was lavish in sowing his seeds, so did the plants lavishly bore fruit.
This is how Jesus preached. This is how we should listen.
Listen. He wants us to listen.
There were a multitude hanging to his every word. They reach out to him, ears wide open as a barren land thirsts for rain. He was unlike those they have heard before. He spoke with authority and power that makes their hearts melt in gentle submission. Too long has it been since their hearts were subdued by such a powerful call. They want to hear. There were many of them and they run the risk of overrunning him.
Yet he was not afraid of their numbers. He knew they were all reaching out to him. Although it isn't visible outside, their hearts were restless and fidgeting until he opens his lips. He is the Word. Each ear long for the Word.
In himself he longs to reach out to them too. He wishes to meet every heart and dwell in every heart. He wants to enter every heart. But in his state now, he cannot be united with each. Nor in their state now, they cannot be united with him. Both sides were consumed with the passion of reaching out to the other.
So he gathered them on the land as a shepherd gathers his sheep. He wants to see them as one and address them as one. They were entrusted to him.
And he himself got into a boat and stayed on the water, at a practical distance. It is not a distance that estranges but a distance that gives order. He wants to speak to them. But they would not be able to hear him if he were too near or if he were too far. He kept a healthy distance of space but not of heart. He was already one with them in their state.
He knew their hearts and knew that not everyone is keen on sincerely receiving his message. Not everyone can accept his message. Though some are already ready, more were in need of more work. But he wants everyone to come to him and be one with him. He knew that despite their limitations, eventually each must return to him. So as he had gathered them as one, he addresses them as one. He shouts: "Listen!"
It was a bold proclamation. It was a shepherd calling the attention of his sheep. He spoke and his voice rent the air. It rent the noise buzzing among the crowd. He subdued their restlessness when his words sprang forth and they recognized that he as speaking to each.
He was not just talking to a group but it was as if he was talking to each heart. The world melted away around them. That one word struck them like an arrow penetrating its target. There were no longer we and him but I and Jesus alone. It was just one word but it was enough to put them at ease and the noise died down, the tension relaxed. In front of their eyes was him and him alone.
He knew he captured their attention but he knew them all too well. He had the best of intentions but they were not ready yet. He had to prepare them. He had to teach them how. It all begins by making them aware of where they are.
So he told them the parable of the sower.
He preaches freely and passionately. He does not spare generosity but lavishes his word everywhere and to everyone. He does not choose those he wants to hear but rather wants that everyone hears and listens.
What is this listening? How is this listening? "Let anyone with ears to hear listen!"
It begins with opening the ears. Not just the physical ears but the ears of the whole being. It is disposing the whole self to receive Jesus. It is sweet silence. It is strong stillness. There is focus. The heart and the mind and the spirit is bent on receiving Jesus.
Then when the soil has been prepared, the seed is implanted within it. It falls down from heaven, cast by the very hands that fashioned the soil. It is God moving forth and striking and penetrating every heart. The soil is at this point a passive recipient if that word.
And when the seed had touched the ground, it disturbs the ground and the humous soul devours it. It become united with it. The passivity has ended. The word that has sprung forth from the lips of Christ, sends a tingling that disturbs my every being. I begin to look deeper into myself and the roots begin to grow deep. The seed has germinated.
In the silence and seclusion inside every heart, the word unravels its mystery. A revelation takes place. God manifests himself more clearly and man sees himself in more light. God and man is united to become one.
Then the germinate begins to grow. It dies not stop in growing roots but longs to breath the air outside. It shoots upright and manifests itself to the world. Although its beginnings were wrapped in mystery inside every heart, it begins to pierce the sky with its shoots. It wants to be known. It wants to make the message it once received reechoed to all around.
It grows, some slow, some fast. It all depends on how each soil provides the nutrients. Nevertheless it grows.
When it has reached maturity, it bears fruit and it multiplies the goodness that was planted initially. Just as the sower was lavish in sowing his seeds, so did the plants lavishly bore fruit.
This is how Jesus preached. This is how we should listen.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
When Does Human Life Begin?
Everyone knows the heat that wraps the abortion, stem cell, and cloning issues. Arguments and counter-arguments have been presented at table and sadly, the discussion has been so muddled with controversy the truth is buried deep in the spoil and the impressionable is left to take a relativist stand on things. These issues touch on one value: Human Dignity, and a question, although already answered scientifically and proven empirically correct is placed in doubt: when does human life begin?
I was taken aback a few months ago when a student explained to me that the zygote in the womb of its mother is not yet human. My hair stood on end. It's the classic argument of misinformed abortionists.With all the science that have been taught in our classrooms how can one student state such statement. It is true that my student is not alone. Most Filipinos have the wrong notion of when humanity starts. But we defend and we declare that human life starts at the moment of conception.
This question is of such vital importance because people often contradict this fact. Reading through wikipedia's article on the question gave some counter-arguments that challenge this fact. I believe such arguments come from the Western philosophical habit of cutting everything of reality into distinct parts. The truth is every developing organism undergoes a smooth and continuous process and it remains substantially the same throughout. Otherwise, I would be a different individual than I was when in my mother's womb and killing that clump of cells in past would not mean killing me as I am in the future. Give it to the East for accepting a more unified view of reality.
It is sad that despite all the empirical and technological science we have today, skepticism continues to hound human knowledge. Others may question facts out of purely speculative and critical reasons in seeking the truth but there are minds out there who are driven by malformed motives who continue to attack Life. They start with questions and when everything is shaken up, the confusion is enough to obscure the truth. The media is not at all immaculate in advocating falsehood (it is interesting to note how individuals and corporations get whacked for telling lies while media as a whole is self-regulated with regards truth despite its many blunders in the past).
So please, let us give ourselves the respect we deserve. Everything that we are is based on our humanity. Our humanity can be proven by facts from whence our values rise up. Our humanity is the foundation of our human dignity. Let us not undermine the very ground we stand on.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Sinulog
So goes the loud cry from Cebu. This third Sunday of January, the annual Sinulog celebrations takes place in my beloved island. There would be revelry and fun, dancing and festivities. Vibrant colors and sounds saturate the streets in honor of the Holy Child.
This morning, I asked the young people of Majada, "who is more powerful the Poong Nazareno, whose feast we celebrated last Monday, or the Sto. Nino, whose feast we celebrate today?" They paused in silence for a few moments. Their eyes wide with innocent confusion over the riddle. A little hand shoot up in the air followed by a triumphant answer, "the Poong Nazareno!" The little girl was so sure of the answer, her eyes were gleaming with victory. I chuckled at the innocent blunder.
Jesus who is truly God and truly man shared humanity with us in its fullness. He was a child once and lived as a child indeed. I explained to the little girl how much Jesus would understand her childhood as he also had the chance to play with friends, run up and down the road in Nazareth, and explored the hills and holes like any child would do. The Almighty God took upon himself the humble humanity of little boy.
And so we celebrate the Feast of the Sto. Nino in the Philippines. It is a feast we Cebuanos hold very dearly. Thanks to the modern means of communication, events happening in the Basilica Minore del Santo Nino in Cebu is streamed live right through our screens here miles away in Canlubang. I surely miss the activities and festivities the second time around. In this feast, we celebrate more the closeness of Jesus to us as he shares our own nature. We believe he understands us because he experienced what we are experiencing now.
But more than this, we look to him as a model of obedience and simplicity. In the same way that he put upon himself our humanity, we are invited to put on the godly virtues that the Holy Child possesses. Because of this child we have become children of God, and so in Him we also see how it is to be a child of God.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Garage War
In a sudden turn of events, I was reassigned from my much loved garden assignment to our garage which is the point and summit of all confusion. I had a heavy heart saying goodbye to the plants that I cared for for the past two months. Good thing the rains are still at it these weeks and they could survive. But, according to St. Thomas of Aquinas, "obedience is the surest way to moral perfection", so I have to follow the new assignments that got posted out at the beginning of the year.
This afternoon was the first battle with the garage room. Spider webs were roundabout and dust particles fight their way through my nostrils. The musky smell tell me that this room has been left untouched for a long time. This fight is not for the faint of heart. This fight is a fight to the finish.
All the things that lay there remind me of how much content our lives has. We think that our own experiences arrange themselves nicely in our subconscious. I believe the subconscious is much like the garage room. It just receives and receives and receives until the time when you would access a memory, all other things pour in and heap on top of you.
What I am saying is that we need to have a habit of processing our experiences: keep the junk out and keep the tools in. Each human life is a long story in the process of writing. Not all chapters are feel good but it doesn't mean they don't have value. Healing memories and facing truths are the most useful ways we can straighten up and clarify that wonderful novel that we are still writing everyday.
As for me, I am still writing the story of Keith versus the garage. Fight to the finish!
This afternoon was the first battle with the garage room. Spider webs were roundabout and dust particles fight their way through my nostrils. The musky smell tell me that this room has been left untouched for a long time. This fight is not for the faint of heart. This fight is a fight to the finish.
All the things that lay there remind me of how much content our lives has. We think that our own experiences arrange themselves nicely in our subconscious. I believe the subconscious is much like the garage room. It just receives and receives and receives until the time when you would access a memory, all other things pour in and heap on top of you.
What I am saying is that we need to have a habit of processing our experiences: keep the junk out and keep the tools in. Each human life is a long story in the process of writing. Not all chapters are feel good but it doesn't mean they don't have value. Healing memories and facing truths are the most useful ways we can straighten up and clarify that wonderful novel that we are still writing everyday.
As for me, I am still writing the story of Keith versus the garage. Fight to the finish!
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Christmas Season Still
The rain caught us off guard this morning. We forgot to bring umbrellas today. It seems the season of cold and chills is still hanging around. It is still Christmas!
Filipinos often mistake the start as the end. Just when Christmas begins on the birth of Christ, most of us end the yuletide season. Our culture has shifted the calendar a few clicks back. Advent for us is Christmas and Christmas week has become ordinary.
In today's feast of the Epiphany, we are reminded that God has just begun. Let us not put off our lights for God has just begun lighting His. He begins with the star of Bethlehem, and now sheds His light on the whole world through his manifestation to the wise men. The dawn of Christ is still breaking out. There is much more promise to unfold.
As I sit here watching our barrio chapel's Christmas decorations, my mind wanders to how we could easily shelve the spirit of Christmas together with our Christmas decors. If Christmas was truly life changing with its loving and sharing, then it would live on throughout the year.
Filipinos often mistake the start as the end. Just when Christmas begins on the birth of Christ, most of us end the yuletide season. Our culture has shifted the calendar a few clicks back. Advent for us is Christmas and Christmas week has become ordinary.
In today's feast of the Epiphany, we are reminded that God has just begun. Let us not put off our lights for God has just begun lighting His. He begins with the star of Bethlehem, and now sheds His light on the whole world through his manifestation to the wise men. The dawn of Christ is still breaking out. There is much more promise to unfold.
As I sit here watching our barrio chapel's Christmas decorations, my mind wanders to how we could easily shelve the spirit of Christmas together with our Christmas decors. If Christmas was truly life changing with its loving and sharing, then it would live on throughout the year.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Life Begins the Day
The distant echo of thunder
Fading far behind me race
Retreat against the downpour
Of golden sunlight on my face
I smell the fresh new birth
Of buds and dew and spring
Dance light to the chirps
Of bobbing birds on wing
Life begins the day
When night has made it sleep
Arising to embrace the morrow
Out of past purple deep
Alight on soft feathers
With leaves and wind and breeze
I take a step yonder
Upwards the sky's sweet kiss
Down and up above, within
Life is born anew
In every bough and branch
In every drop of dew
The moon to rest this morning
And sun to rise and play
Across the blue dome of heaven
As life begins the day
Fading far behind me race
Retreat against the downpour
Of golden sunlight on my face
I smell the fresh new birth
Of buds and dew and spring
Dance light to the chirps
Of bobbing birds on wing
Life begins the day
When night has made it sleep
Arising to embrace the morrow
Out of past purple deep
Alight on soft feathers
With leaves and wind and breeze
I take a step yonder
Upwards the sky's sweet kiss
Down and up above, within
Life is born anew
In every bough and branch
In every drop of dew
The moon to rest this morning
And sun to rise and play
Across the blue dome of heaven
As life begins the day
Geek Mode
The video reminded me of the passion that I had for programming. It all started with Lego when I was a kid. Building things is heaven. In Philosophy we talk of ontological truth from which a thing takes its existence from ideas in the mind. Back then it was pure fun and creativity.
When I got my first desktop PC and entered high school it was then that I met my first true love: Visual Basic, and then C, C++, Java, and all the other languages that were not spoken by the human tongue. It's a wonderful enterprise to feel self-fulfilled after hours of typing code, hard-cracking your brains out to debug, and finally getting that little program to run.
Here's the video from Oracle during their presentation last 2011:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)