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Posts Tagged ‘Memoirs’

Silence is a little thread that binds the pages to a life-

closed book of chapters, passages, remembrances,

acquaintances, wanderlust, transience, oblivion. No one

speaks about the truth anymore. About

 

long hours. Segments, anecdotes, soliloquies,

echoes, nuances, ennui, memoirs, silhouettes

of things and places. Sights and sounds.

The mind and senses in harmony. Strange

 

foreign. Beauty hidden in a labyrinth frozen

in time. Never to be opened for a reading

and not for sale. Summer, winter, spring.

Fall.

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My world’s consist of four corners

and a square but miles apart to home

I get to travel back in my dreams.

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Farther and farther apart

the road stretches oppositely

into two directions. I came

to home only to find I did

not belong there anymore.

 

Strangers fill the rooms,

I keep communing with ghosts.

Speaking to the walls and floors

absorbing echoes and heartbeats

from a dying man.

 

Like a bird lost in migration

without a nest to lay its wings.

Through the labyrinth of dreams

I am not yet found.

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I have this habit some mornings. Letting the shower drop and patter in a big basin just to hear the sound and think it’s raining back in the Philippines. That’s right, it might sound crazy. But for somebody who is away and slugging it out in the desert, who would not miss the rain? I mean monsoon rain.

For countless reasons the sound of the rain brings me peace, solitude and a refreshing hope for the sun. That is something in this earthly life I am blessed to see even in simple terms, the importance of minutest details in living. In natural things, such as these occurences, had a way of conveying to me some  messages subliminally. Pondering and making some rationalizations about things as they happen, if they can contribute to the cycle of things.

I had this beautiful story about my mother. I had the chance to ask her one day of what is her favorite time of the day.  She didn’t tell me the exactly what time, but rather, she had a vivid description of what is it. She told me that the profoundest time is the time after the rain has settled down at noon with the sunset glinting over the rain-soaked dense of foliage.  She is the happiest at this moment.

It took me years to understand this and have tried my best to actually witness a perfect one. But I guess, each occurences are quite unique to everyone.  I think, eventhough my mother didn’t verbalize the reasons for me, maybe she let me come up with some possible answers for myself.

The rain clears up a cluttered mind that is. It makes a total surrender to the inevitable. Like a floodwater taking loose items on its path, uprooting the weak and sweeping the dirt out of the way.

It’s  a way of an escape. It’s a way of resigning.  It’s a way to completely laying down the cards. An absolute relinquish of things that we are so attached with. Of reasons and of meanings we have formulated and made them rocks of refuge for ourselves to conceal our own fragilities, weaknesses and divided selves.

But commonly, we are all looking on the downside.  We tend to forget, the upside of having the rain in our lives.  It is a promise. Of revival. Of something that will be quenched and a resource to keep us going.

Rain is a gift of hope. Believing that as long as it pours, new life has to begin somewhere. And it will be taken up in unending cycles of rebirth and renewal. It will aways be.  Always will.

That is why I needed the rain so badly today.  And I am thrilled about something that will grow out of it. Making me start all over again on a clean slate.

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Let me sail away

from this cares and doubts.

All I have

is my mind leaving

miles away, free…

When the hammock sways,

I remember images

unadulterated pure shores

silently rushing in on me.

And till I shut out

the windows of my tired mind,

I see the crystal light

fanning flames out of me.

I think of happy thoughts,

of ruffling leaves, dancing

in the distance.

Oh, that clearness

is an opium

that pacifies my soul beneath

the layers of agony.

From there, you happiness

comes. You come at my mercy.

And in each sways

of my hammock

lulls me to sleep

and dreaming dreams.

Note: This was written on March 10, 2002.  This is a vivid memory of my summer spent by the sea in a week.  I was writing this while I am on a hammock under an umbrella tree with the view of the open sea. This is the time as if the world has stopped revolving in a day.

I left it as unedited version to keep the sanctity and the spirit of that moment. A very pure moment.

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