Salmagundi On The Side

Day 5 on the road - Malaybalay, Bukidnon, in a cool restaurant/bar with a net cafe (thank you Lord!), three places where I really need to be right now. I have an interesting salmagundi of reflections and realizations, most of which are safely tucked away for posterity in my little journal/reporter's notepad, for further elaboration when I reach this journey's end (or should I say "if"?).

I'm reading a very interesting book by Peter Matthiessen: The Snow Leopard, which is supposed to be some kind of a travel classic (non-fiction; one of my favorite genres). Brilliant writing about his trek to the Himalayas and his realizations as a Zen Buddhist - prose that is so vivid and graphically evocative that I often have to put the book aside and "gnaw" on certain passages. More on that next time; I actually started writing notes in the book itself - first time I've ever done that when reading for pleasure.

God's been particularly good to me today in "cinematic" terms - we finally made our way out of busy Cagayan de Oro into the beautiful scenery of Bukidnon. As I texted Jinggay (we're staying with her lovely family) earlier, I'd forgotten how beautiful everything here is. We spent barely half an hour the new Monastery of the Transfiguration; would have loved to stay for vespers, for an hour, a day, a lifetime - AG and I agreed that it's the kind of place where you can just sit and contemplate the Creator of all these glorious creations that serve only to point to Him.

Tomorrow should prove to be a day that brings more beautiful blessings. This is one place where "long" hours can never be a bore.

Francis

Yesterday was Francis' 21st birthday. What a special day for a special person, whose life has been changed by some force we can only gladly identify as God.

I first met him on the streets fronting Delta; he had just gotten out of rehab, and wanted nothing more than to go back home to his mother. I must admit that I was a little afraid of him - I remained so for a few months after that first encounter - because, although I already knew most of the "hardcore" street teenagers, Francis was their recognized ringleader. But that late evening, as we sat on the sidewalk in front of Red Ribbon, I saw tears flowing down his weathered, Apache-Indian-like face, and my heart melted. In the next several weeks, as he adjusted to life back in the Center and I tried to adjust to him, we "levelled-off" in an area both of us were well-familiar with: meal time. He would ask for seconds, and I - even though there was hardly enough to go around - would never refuse him. It got to a point when his request and my response became a familiar refrain: "Ate, pahingi pa po ng kanin," and "Basta ikaw Francis...alam mo namang malakas ka sa akin."

And he has remained malakas in Ate's favor all this time. I must add that the feeling seems to be mutual - I remember one day during lunch when the "natives" were particularly restless. I only had to "sssst! sssst!" softly, and Francis immediately shushed everyone else up. One day, over mealtime Bible study, he got so caught up in Kuya Joe Dean's sharing about using what was in our hands for God's greater glory that he never took his eyes off of Kuya, his mouth agape in awe...I wish I'd caught that moment on film! We started calling him "Saint Francis" soon after that.

Francis was eventually adopted into the boys' household, where he had to adjust painfully to a regimented life with all sorts of "prohibitions," where he is no longer "the boss" or the kingpin everyone has to kowtow to. But - praise God! - in a matter of months, the morose, violent young man addicted to rugby and dangerously sensitive to issues relating to his domestic past, has become a healthy, smiling twenty-one year old given a new lease on life. He recently graduated from a welding skills course conducted by a Canadian expert, and is a valuable player of the local basketball team. He even has a girlfriend who lives just across the street from the household, and seems to have adjusted to his new life in the Lord. A far cry from the tearful bully of Delta - and more like the tearfully joyful Saint (one of my personal favorites) he was named after.

Basta ikaw, Saint Francis...alam mo namang malakas ka sa akin. :-)

My Blog Runneth Over

Sometimes I feel that if I don't get all the ideas out of my head and onto paper - er, computer (sounds less romantic) - they'll start leaking out of my ears. So I'm putting up a separate blog to contain random miscellaneous stuff that would otherwise end up as ear wax. Eww.

Viva Il Papa!

Praise be to God Almighty for sending down His Holy Spirit and giving us a new Holy Father - Benedict XVI, formerly Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, until recently head of the Catholic Church's Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, and a person I have only the greatest admiration and respect for. He has always stood firm for TRUTH, no matter how "dangerous" or unpopular or painful. May the Holy Father continue to be a beacon and stalwart of God's unchanging Truths, and guide his flock through the dark waters of relativism and the churning tides that threaten Christ's militant Church on earth. What a delight to finally call this great man and guardian of the Faith "Santo Papa!"

One of my favorite sites, which is probably getting a tremendous amount of traffic at this very moment. Whattaman :-)

Called By Name

Yesterday, Sunday, was another extremely long and tiring but fulfilling day. Departing from the usual Saturday feedings, He Cares held its weekly general assembly on Sunday, to accommodate a medical-dental mission sponsored by St. Paul High School Class '81.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, on Saturday, les affreux came to the Center (they hardly ever come on Saturdays; they're more part of the "weekday" crowd), only to find out that the feeding would be the next day. We asked them to come back on Sunday, and so they did (except for the two little boys) - Ningning even had that little chunk of sulfur oxide soap we'd given her the day before, tucked away in her shirt pocket, to use when she needed to wash up.

It's a little touching how these most desperate of children warm up to you - I met Ningning and her two other female companions walking up Road 9 as I was off to buy some missing ingredient for lunch; they easily acknowledged their Ate Honey, who told them to go and line up with the other kids for the medical/dental check-ups.

A good 20 minutes later, on my way back to the Center, there they were, at the very same place I'd left them - it turns out that they were waiting for a familiar face to guide them into the activity. They didn't want to go anywhere if Ate didn't take them there.

Apparently, they didn't want to answer any questions either, unless someone familiar did the asking: the social worker was trying to record their names for dental and medical recording purposes, but they kept mum. Ningning, who willingly went to wash up when directed, likewise refused (initially) to be bathed by anyone she did not know. Ate Honey had to give directions, and assurances, and precautions about how to treat her, and about who these nice and helpful teen volunteers were (likewise He Cares beneficiaries and friends of Ate).

Earlier that morning, I had read the Gospel for the day as a regular part of my prayer time, but it was only when I went to the celebration of Holy Mass that evening that the import of the Lord's word struck me to the core.

"To him the gatekeeper opens; the sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. A stranger they will not follow, but they will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers." (John 10:3-5)

Ningning and her companions, poor little ones batttered by the evil that reigns in the streets, had very little trust to give away. And yet, apparently, through all these months, they surrendered that trust to some people who had shown them something that they did not receive anywhere else: LOVE. They knew the voices of these people - Kuya Joe Dean, Ate Honey, Ate Mia - and they followed them, because they knew they would be cared for by them. And, expectedly, because of where they came from and how they lived their lives daily, they were wary of coming into contact with "strangers" whose voices they did not know. Now I remember how Ningning tried to put her scabies-infested hand in mine as I walked with her into the Center, and I instead delicately chose to hug her around the shoulders to avoid potential infection. I only want now to go back to that moment, to embrace my "sheep," no matter how gruesomely contagious her disease, to press my face against her hand in thanks for the love and trust I feel I have undeservedly earned from her.

One other thing. From the time that I met les affreux - Ningning, and Nadir, and Jerry, and the rest - I have had the most difficult time remembering one girl's name. It's a miracle how I've managed to keep so many children's names straight since I've started serving with He Cares - especially since I'm so bad at names in the first place - but this particular girl's name always seemed to slip through the cracks, no matter how many times I'd asked her for it. Finally, on Saturday, she said something that will engrave her name in my heart forever. And I will forget my name sooner than I forget hers. She said, not without some amount of tampo, "Ate, my name is Mary Jane. I always have to tell you when you ask. Why do you always forget it?"

Mary Jane. Ningning. Jerry. Nadir. Joe Dean. Honey. God never forgets our names; He has called us by them, even when we never imagined He would acknowledge us, in our worthlessness. And so too should we never forget those He gives us to care for, those in whom He shows Himself to us. Each of us was called by name, and thus, each of us has WORTH.

Praise be to Jesus Christ, the Name above all names, from Whom all goodness comes.

Jesus In This Place

Today was supposed to be a “rest day” as far as the foundation’s activities go, so how come I’m tired at only 6:30 p.m.?

But it’s a good kind of “tired,” that kind of exhaustion that makes you want to pray a while, lie down and sleep, and then wake up bright and early tomorrow to do MORE of the same thing. :-)

This morning, the usual Saturday “feeding” was put off to tomorrow, to coincide with a medical mission scheduled on Sunday. Nevertheless, Kuya scheduled Mass today at San Roque on Agham Road – the huge squatter community in front of the Philippine Science High School – for the eternal rest of Elemar, one of the Delta streetkids we take care of, who was killed last week by a security guard’s pistol.

But first off; the Mass was a bit delayed because the priest and his “imported” congregation were waylaid by five filthy little street urchins, two of whom answer to the most shocking names a parent could ever give his child. Makes you wonder indeed what kind of person would actually give his or her child the nickname “Binabae,” and - good heavens – “Burat.” If you’re familiar with Filipino street lingo, the first means “male homosexual” – and its owner is a little girl! – and the second means, in popular usage, “bored.” As for its actual meaning…well, never mind. When I first met them – les affreux (“the terrible ones”, or the “little gangsters,” as Vince used to call them) – I was horrified that anyone would actually call them those names; or that they would actually call THEMSELVES by those names, and tried to find out their real birthnames were. Turns out that the boy’s real name is Nadir, and the girl is Ningning. Hmm. Poetic vivification, although their parents may not have realized it: nadir means the extreme state of adversity, the lowest point anyone can go, and ningning, in Tagalog, means the sparkle of a star. Darn it, I could write a novel about how Nadir is actually the living representation of the depths to which humanity can sink or how Ningning’s beautiful smile can light up the whole of Metro Manila, or how they come from a family of nine children – some of whom have been “sold,” at least one of whom has been taken, and another one killed, or how their mother cut off the little girl’s hair to make her look like a little boy or how she regularly beats the little boy, her youngest, and makes him sell rags on the street… But those are terrible, tragic stories for another time. Suffice it to say that they ALL needed a bath, which they all got eventually, and treatment for scabies i.e., galis-aso (I only know this now after looking it up; they hadn’t been visiting the Center for ages – and grrrr, I had Ascabiol in my car trunk). Especially poor Ningning; she had it all over, even in her ears. Galis-aso, indeed; some people treat their pets better than parents treat these children…

Anyway, to get to my point. Elemar, like many of the street children we know, actually HAD a home – not much of a dwelling place, really, because his family is dirt poor, but a shack in the middle of a forest of shanties. And yet he chose to live – only to eventually die a young death - in the streets. This morning, Mass was celebrated for him near his family’s house. Father Steve was good enough to go into the depths of the squatter community and celebrate the sacrament of the Holy Eucharist in that place, to bless Elemar and his family and to pray that his soul is back in its Creator’s keeping.

I’ve heard Mass in many places, in front of many different faces, but this was a relatively new experience. Disco music blared in the background; the street teenagers who kept Elemar company in life, as well as in death, had just awakened from their sleeping place under one of the funeral tents and did little to prepare for the celebration; Elemar’s father had gone off somewhere, and his little siblings – not to mention his own white coffin – were absolutely filthy. Flies were everywhere, since dog poo was everywhere; the heat was stifling; the place was dusty…

And yet. The realization came, like a bolt out of the blue sky above us that -

Amidst the smell of unwashed bodies, unclean hearts, unrepented lives, and unimaginable poverty, Jesus was in this place.

Above the din of the worldly noise and the distraction of ungodly sounds, Jesus was in this place.

I saw the flies, and the dung, and the dirt, and the dust; and then I saw His Body and Blood on the makeshift altar…Jesus was in this place.

I saw the remains of a child whose end had come all too soon, and the evidence of the brutality we creatures can wreak upon each other, and upon our Creator; and then I saw the hopeful, innocent smile of Elmer, Elemar’s younger brother…Jesus was in this place.

We are called to carry our light, the light that comes from His ever-burning flame, into the darkest corners of this world, to illuminate them with His love and set them ablaze. And yet, we realize that while we come as the bearers of the Lord’s light, we cast the glow into the darkness to find Jesus Himself, in His filthiest, smelliest, most broken, most unattractive, most desperate form, waiting for us…we find Jesus, in this place.

I was supposed to tell you about the rest of my “rest” day but I think I’ll stop here for now. :-)

May we be Jesus to all, may we see Jesus in all.

Peace and love be with you always.

To Blog or Not to Blog (Separately)

Hmmm. I've been toying with the idea of setting up a separate blog just for random musings that aren't directly spiritual - something like the newspaper column I used to write, minus the b*tchiness. I don't know yet; like I told someone who asked me a while back how come I no longer write about what I used to - ever since that weekend in June 2002, I can no longer go on and on about all the things I used to write about. Nowadays, I can only seem to write about the Author of our lives and how His plot as to mine is developing. Travel stories still seem to roll easy off the fingertips onto the screen (but not as effortlessly as reflections); but writing-work-"work" takes quite some time to get around to (I get the job done, but without as much inspiration!). And fiction - forget about it; I don't even READ it anymore, much less write it. Somehow real life - and real life in the Lord! - is a lot more interesting. :-)

But then again, I still enjoy the frequent mindless moment, when I get a chance to stare up at the stars or lazily surf the net or answer silly trivia questionnaires, like this one:

Name a band/musical artist for every letter of your name:
H-all and Oates
O-ates and Hall, haha. Olivia Newton-John.
N-ine-Inch-Nails
E-arth Wind and Fire
Y-ano (or Yanni, eeee!)

What color are the pants that you are wearing?
– No pants, night shirt only.
What song are you listening to right now?
- No song: I'm enjoying the simplicity of silence and the drone of the airconditioner in the background.
What taste is in your mouth?
- San Mig Light, winding down after a loooooong day.
What's the weather like now?
- Hot, muggy, Manila evening. A friend of mine used to call these nights "sultry." Chika!
How are you?:
- Fine, and you? Great, actually. Just came from a mass wedding, and two reception, one at the restaurant, and one at my favorite Looban-"Nanay's" (she was one of the new brides - after almost 20 years of civil union!).
Getting motion sickness?
- Huh?
Have a bad habit?
- Forgetting to return stuff, promptly. Perennial tardiness ;-)
Like to drive?
- Love to. Especially out-of-town, cross-country, and out-of-country!

FAVORITES:
tv show: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.
conditioner: Palmolive Naturals
book: The Bible, among many, many, many others.
non alcoholic drink: Mountain Dew.
alcoholic drink: San Mig Lite!

been in love: Si
had a hard time getting over someone: So?
been hurt: Si, so?
your greatest regret: No regrets!
gone out with someone you only knew for 3 days: Secret. Actually...

RANDOM:
do you have a job: Many many many, but not your traditional kind of.
your cd player has in it right now: In the car, worship and CCM compilations, Sting and the Police, Best of Manila Sound
if you were a crayon what color would you be: Orange
what makes you happy: God. Everything else follows, because everything else that makes me happy is from Him. :-)

LAST TIMES
time you cried: Today, hearing something touching about John Paul the Great
you got a real letter: Oh my, a couple of months ago from Ryan of Kabayan. How cool is that?
you got e-mail: I'm having an e-mail "conversation" at the moment.
thing you purchased: Cosmetics *guilty*
movie you saw in the theater: Hmmm...Before Sunset. Yikes!!!

THOUGHTS ON
abortion: Pro-LIFE
teenage smoking: Been there, done that. Suffered the consequences; quit cold turkey after 16 years.
spice girls: Posh Spice is a soul sistah.
dreams: Good Kurosawa movie ;-)

FOURS
Four Vacations You've Taken:
1. Kabayan, Benguet
2. Chicago
3. Nice, Monaco, St. Tropez, and a motorist's view of the South of France
4. Hong Kong and Shenzhen with B1 and B2

Four songs that get stuck in your head frequently:
1. I Stand in Awe
2. Manila, Manila by Hotdog
3. God Will Make A Way
4. Hero by Enrique Iglesias

Four Things You'd Like To Learn:
1. How to play the guitar parang awa nyo na. Actually, how to play B minor.
2. Dressmaking
3. THEOLOGY and CHRISTIAN MINISTRY. In a particular school. *Gigil*
4. Self-pedicure. Aaaaargh.

Four Beverages You Drink Frequently
1. Coke/Coke Light
2. Mountain Dew
3. Huwaaaater
4. San Mig Light

Four TV Shows That Were On When You Were A Kid
1. Sesame Street
2. Mork and Mindy
3. Kuwarta O Kahon
4. Mekanda Robot

Four Things To Do When You're Bored:
1. Watch mindless television
2. Surf the Net
3. Cook everything in the ref
4. Answer surveys like this

Four things that never fail to cheer you up:
1. Long drives
2. The ocean
3. The company of really good friends
4. The love of God

Hmmm. Looks like a separate blog would really be superfluous, after all. :-)

Missile-lettes

There is no doubt in my mind that one of the missions God put me on earth for is preparing Mass missalettes.

In Tagalog.
And only for one "client"...Father Steve.

Sambuhay doesn't have weekday Mass guides, so I need to juggle the resources at hand to come up with the liturgy for the day and scrounge about the Tagalog bible for the day's readings - but I've been doing it since July of last year, so I'm quite an old hand at it. The most toxic part is translating the opening, closing, etc. prayers for the day (from scratch! With the aid of a sorry excuse for a English-Filipino dictionary), and laying-out the entire thing for printing. It's time-consuming, but actually very enjoyable, which is probably why I keep taking on the job. I suspect it satisfies some strange obsessive-compulsive drive in my system (plus I get to learn not only the Filipino translation of scriptures but "fun" words like "sansinukob").

And that OC part of me went into OVERdrive today, as I was presented with a new challenge: a WEDDING missalette for the He Cares mass wedding tomorrow - er, later today. I had a petition to draft, a few thousand articles to write, and some editing to do...but I chose the "challenge" instead! Fourteen hours later...(yes you read that right), I'm done, I'm happy, and I now know how to say my marriage vows in Tagalog should the need arise any time soon. And I didn't have to plagiarize any of my friends' Tagalog wedding missalettes (mainly because I was too lazy to look in my files - and the last Tagalog wedding I went to was LP Susan and Joey O's sometime in the last century!)

After breaking my brain trying to translate words like "lawfully wedded" and "covenant" (argh! Tipan! As in, "Bagong Tipan"...grrr), I managed to lay out the missalette with perfect pagination (man, our layout artist Richard has one tough job) and a good amout of grief (note to self: for all desktop publishing requirements, don't go trying out new fancy software like Printshop 20...you'll always run back crying to good old MS Word, which is perfect for a retard like me).

All in a day's work...now all those pretty pages are typed up and booklets ready for photocopying. And the missalette-maniac has too much adrenalin left in her system to go to bed. Even if it's 3:00 a.m.

Hmm. Time to contemplate the sansinukob. ;-)

Good Morning...

Just a few quick thoughts before I forget to note them down.

This morning, God woke me up with a wonderful little gift. But first off, for the first time since coming down from the mountains, I went to sleep without the TV on. I've always needed the background sounds of CNN or EWTN or Discovery to fall asleep, like an expensive nightlight, but last night I shut the TV off (in obedience to PK's advice of turning off the noise) and woke up so very peacefully refreshed. No rush, no hurry...I even got up earlier than usual considering that I'd gone to bed at 2 a.m. And, as I was saying good morning to God from under the covers...a little book among the pile of books on my bedside table caught my eye: Simplify and Live the Good Life by Bo Sanchez.

Now I've had this book for years, but I never quite appreciated it, unlike I did his other books, mainly perhaps my life at the time was a little too complicated and I had no inclination of "simplifying" it. But now that simplifying is precisely what I've been trying to do, I began looking for that particular book amidst the rubble of my huge collection, and got tired of searching. This morning, lo and behold, God gave it back to me. :-) And I'm reading it once again, and mentally checking off the chapters that - thank God - no longer apply because I've since dealt with those complications, only through His Grace.

At the same time, I'm reading two other books recommended by Sister Binx and finding them like a shot of adrenalin in my spiritual life: Simple Truths by Bishop Fulton Sheen (what a wise man of God indeed), and - a challenge to my prayer discipline that is immediately paying off even though I've only started it today - the Liturgy of the Hours. Thanks Binklette ;-)

Immensely fruitful day so far - I've already dealt with my e-mail, prayed twice, cooked my notoriously tedious palabok for four households, started reading Bo again at the same time as Bishop Sheen...and it's not even 3 p.m. yet. All because I turned off the TV.

And it's staying off.

Deafness and Silence

I've been partially deaf in one ear for almost a month now. I have, by my own doing, a perforated eardrum...it's an irritating condition somewhat like swimmer's ear, but the "water" in there won't be draining out until a few more weeks. It got better during the course of my Holy Week retreat in the mountains, but I had to go and make matters worse by fiddling in that ear with a dangerous cotton swab, and am consequently back at square one.

The most annoying thing about being "deaf" in one ear is that I can't use my super sensitive powers of hearing anymore...I can normally pick up the slightest beep of my cellphone over the din of ten thousand screaming streetchildren, or the barest under-the-breath utterance or complaint. I'm particularly adept at catching kids using foul language - hell hath no fury like Ate Honey hearing muttered swear words from the mouths of her angels.

But lately, it's been quiet on the front...because I can hardly hear anything. I cannot even properly hear myself sing or talk, so I either sing too loudly (and off-key, I suspect) or talk too softly (were it that it was the other way around!!), so I don't do too much of either. It's getting to be a bother for others as well, because they have to repeat into my good ear whatever it is they just said, as well as yell a little more loudly to get my attention should my back be turned on them. Not very cute, especially if you're Kuya Joe Dean in a quiet church, hollering the abbreviated endearment of my already deceptively sweet nickname: "Hon! Hon! HON....!!!"

But somehow, even this affliction is turning out to be a good thing - as all things are intended, if we believe God's promise in Romans 8:28. With my one deaf ear, I'm forced to listen inwardly a little more: the volume of the outside world's racket is muted to some extent. Chatter is just a dull droning sound, because I can't pick up too many words - and that's a relief, because chatter is the utterly useless waste of words and saliva anyway. I don't hear the nasty whispered side-comments either, which is just as well - what you don't know, can't hurt you. I'm constrained instead to listen to what's going on within, and to strike up a conversation with He that is in me instead of being distracted by he who is in the world. Because I cannot sing with confidence, I LISTEN to songs instead, and to what their lyrics might mean. It's a good way to detach yourself from the world and withdraw into your own quiet space - because you can't hear what's going on around you!

The other night, I was telling friends how distressing it was for me to find out that some people just cannot seem to stay quiet. It's as if they're allergic to a single moment of silence, and they have to fill it up with sound, even if it means chattering nonsensically. I say that there are times for stupid shallow senseless conversation - sure, those moments can be fun - but only with people who I know can likewise appreciate meaningful and purposeful silences. Fortunately, all of the people who I consider good friends have that sensitivity to silence. Then again, I wouldn't appreciate them as much if they didn't.

Anyway. Now I'll shut up and silently marinate in the words and thoughts of Max Picard, quoted by the Benedictine monk Andrew Marr, as he talks about the value of silence:

"The German philosopher Max Picard has written on silence with greater elegance and depth than any other writer I have come across. He begins by telling us that 'Silence is nothing merely negative; it is not the mere absence of speech. It is a positive, a complete world in itself.'

"Here, Picard is pointing to the distinction that De Waal notes between taciturnitas & silentium (taciturnity and silence) Taciturnitas simply means not speaking, and 'silentium is the wider understanding being still and silent.'

"This positive and substantive reality of silence is better expressed in the German title of Picard’s book Die Welt des Schweigens. The verb schweigen is active rather than passive; it denotes silence as a purposeful act. Picard elaborates on the substantive quality of silence by claiming that 'it is a primary, objective reality, which cannot be traced back to anything else...There is nothing behind it to which it can be related except the Creator Himself.'

"Benedict shows his own awareness of this substantial reality of silence by saying that 'we sometimes ought to refrain from speaking good words on account of the intrinsic value of silence.' (RB 6:2)

"The distinction between taciturnitas and silentium is clarified if we take note of how silence and words can be compatible while taciturnity by itself has little or nothing to do with silence. In fact, silence requires a relationship with words in order to be itself. Picard says: 'Speech came out of silence, out of the fullness of silence. The fullness of silence would have exploded if it had not been able to flow out into speech.

"Picard deepens this dialectic by saying: 'There is something silent in every word, as an abiding token of the origin of speech. And in every silence there is something of the spoken word, as an abiding token of silence to create speech.'

"We can agree with this statement and still protest that we hear many words that have nothing to do with silence. The word for this phenomenon is 'chatter.' We can hear words participating in the Word (the Logos) but chatter is totally disconnected from the Word. Music has the same dialectic with silence when it is music and not chatter. Many of the most powerful moments in music are the rests, those brief moments when no music sounds. The opening of Schubert’s great Sonata in B-flat is a particularly dramatic example. Here, the grand pauses that punctuate the brief, tentative phrases and the off-key tremolos in the bass overwhelm the sounds emerging from the silence."

Silent emphasis mine. Sigh. Sometimes deafness can be bliss. Everyone should try it some time.

Pedro, Amado, and My Noo

Pedro, Amado, and My Noo
Posted by: honeyoliveros.

Pedro, Amado, and my beautiful noo.

Simple Priorities

After a week of being pulled in a multitude of directions with a thousand and one "obligations," I thank God for a little respite today. Yesterday I almost killed myself trying to do so many things for so many people in 24 hours - cooking lunch for the warehouse ladies; driving my Mom to Tagaytay to take in some nature, buy flowers, pick up my Dad, eat bulalo and tawilis with the parents; barely making it to the last Mass of the day; and finally meeting up with Pedro III and Amado later in the evening for some long overdue catching-up. And even though the long goodbye stretched on as usual into the early morning hours, I still had writing and editing deadlines to tackle, and found myself working until almost 5 a.m. But God is good; I managed to get everything I "needed" to do done, even though I spent my entire Sunday doing what I actually needed to do, if you get my drift.

To be sure, I would not have traded the time I consider well-spent ("wasted" perhaps in the eyes of this world with warped priorities) making Rochelle's favorite palabok or leisurely walking through Sonya's Garden with my Mom or listening to my Dad laugh about his fellow Rotarians' antics. I would have preferred to forgo sleep altogether or even risk missing a work deadline if only to "waste" time with the Lord in morning prayer and at Mass, or discourse once more (after a long interregnum brought about by temporary relocation far away from Manila, law school exams, and other interruptions) with my favorite vampires, Bogart (Pedro III) and AG (Amado *bleep*), about anything and everything and anyone and everyone over a few beers. Perhaps it was because I chose the "better" alternatives the entire day and night of Sunday, that the Lord sustained me with enough strength and creative energy to write and edit articles for my high school's reunion programme, as well as edit CYA's newsletter, just in time for their Monday deadlines. Even though I ended up listening to AG's Babuyan adventures until past 2:30 a.m.!

Speaking of which, two "conversations" in the last 24 hours have gently reminded me of my readjusted priorities in the light of my new direction towards a more simple lifestyle. AG talked about the simple life of the sea; I told him about the simple life in the mountains he'll soon be calling home. Both places are far-removed from the complications of modern metropolitan life, which threaten, with increasingly tightening tentacles, to squeeze the spirit out of you. As I've already told some people, God's theme over the last Holy Week in a simple mountain town among simple folk was simplicity, and the joy of ridding ourselves from the complications of this world. I finished up typing the second part of Peter Kreeft's (man, one day I hope to shake this guy's hand!) chapter on simplicity today - yes, the Lord even gave me enough time to do that - and was struck once again by the power of the words that leapt out from the pages the first time I read them:

"All that stuff in the Sermon on the Mountain about living like the birds of the air and the lilies of the field did not come from some starry-eyed, mystic dreamer, but from the most realistic man who ever lived. Perhaps it would be a good idea to reread Matthew 6:24-34 with the challenging thought in mind: Do I really believe this? Or do I patronize Christ and 'reinterpret' his plain words as harmless exaggerations? Which is the more foolish dare, daring to live the way the designer of our lives told us to live, however radical it may seem to the world, or daring to live the opposite way in the hope that he may be wrong and we may be right? Is that a hope at all?

"I do not mean we should feel guilty about wealth, or that a rich Christian is a contradiction in terms. Jesus did not say 'blessed are the poor in pocket' but 'blessed are the poor in spirit,' i.e., in attitude. Blessed are the detached, the trusters, the nonworriers.

"They are the true realists, these simple people. For there really is only 'one thing needful' (unless Christ is a fool); therefore the realist is the one who seeks that one thing really needful, not the one who dissipates his loves and fears on millions of unneeded extras." (Peter Kreeft, Making Choices, 1990)

The second "conversation" was through a beautiful e-mail I received today from the equally beautiful Binx of Baguio (beautiful inside and out, I must say), my dear prayer partner. As I mentioned in a previous post, I'd told her about my growing need for solitude and silence in my spiritual life...and found out today that I was talking to the right person (as usual! Soul sistah indeed :-) ). I'm sure she will not mind my sharing her stirring words of encouragement, which I know will touch more people just as they touched me, here:

"I never thought that you were anti-social in Kabayan. I truly understood how much you enjoyed being in solitude and just to bask in God's presence. I think it was Thomas Merton who said that we go and seek solitude not to run away from men but to find out how to serve them better. True solitude is the refuge of an individual who sincerely wants to commune with God. And false solitude is just that- a running away from something which is kinda self-serving. I have long understood that silence and solitude increases our compassion for others. It is only when we stop long enough and pray long enough to really 'see' the pain and hurt of others.

"As I was meditating on JPII's life- that was what struck me most- His prayer life was so rich that he could almost touch God and His prayer life truly enriched His Ministry. And his purity and wisdom is beyond compare. And that is why it is important for you to be disciplined in prayer because it is the best preparation for any ministry or apostolic task. Remember how Jesus always went away in prayer before His Ministry started, so is Paul. I think that it is true prayer that purifies our own motivations to serve, how God directs us in prayer to show us the best way to serve Him.

"It is funny how people tend to drown the poverty of their soul and spirit by too much noise. Or becoming a slave to work, to travel, to anything external to compensate for the poverty of their Spirit. And when dissatisfaction and restlessness comes in, they take it as a sign to externalize their activities more, instead of taking that as a signal that God is trying to get their attention. I have long experienced that there is a clamour for my soul to be quiet most especially when there is too much noise around me. And I always take that as a sign to go lock my door and converse with God in prayer."

Beautiful words from a beautiful soul. And she's my sistah ;-) I have more wise words on silence from Kreeft's simplicity chapter - which is probably going to be one of my semi-bibles from now on - but this entry is getting overly long and I think I need to chop it up and end right here. :-)

Noise...and Listening in the Quiet

Gosh. There really is no such thing as coincidence. Tonight I wrote a long overdue e-mail to my prayer partner, a sister-in-Christ I spent the last Holy Week in the mountains with, who is blessed to actually LIVE in the air up there. I told her about the clarity of my communication with God in the quiet of the sleepy little town far removed from the chaos of the city, and how the noise of the metropolis - external and internal - has once again been increasingly disruptive in my spiritual life. A couple of hours later, I'm reading through another work of my old "pal" Peter Kreeft and I find something that uncannily echoes my present state of mind and train of thought:

"What happens when we just meander with nature for a while instead of making something happen? What happens when we forget clocks and obligations, and just watch waves, or stars, or clouds, or sunsets, or rivers? In my experience, at least two things almost always happen. One is natural, the other supernatural. The natural effect can be described as just an overall feeling of refreshment, like cool water in a desert, or a calm after a battle. The supernatural effect is that I can pray better, and want to pray more.

"I think the natural effect helps cause the supernatural effect. It fertilizes the soil. It's like psychoanalysis: it's not religion, but it can remove some of the obstacles to true religion, like addiction, or obsession, or paranoia, or depression. I can't pray well if I'm obsessed, and I can't pray well if I'm noisy inside. I think we are sometimes too quick to pray, too impatient with preliminaries. Every house painter knows you have to spend more time in preparation than in actual painting. And every gardener knows you have to spend more time preparing the garden than seeding it. I suspect the same is true of prayer today."

Freaky. And then he goes a step further and reveals himself to be even more of a kindred soul than I suspect he already is (I swear that if I could write as well as he does, these very words would pour right out of my heart): "Different things in nature will do this for different people. For me, it is the sea. Even though I get bored easily, I can very happily sit for an hour and watch the waves. I think there must be something God put into the sea to remind us of himself—an image of infinity and depth and power and mystery and dynamic activity all at once. When I use abstract concepts, even the best ones I can find, they just don't hold it—like an open hand trying to hold the water of a wave. It has to emerge from the experience itself. Like the storm from which God answered Job, it remains a mystery.

"But the 'bottom line,' the 'payoff,' is that I emerge from my hour with a lesson learned. Nature teaches me how to listen. How to listen to waves, and thus how to listen in general, and thus how to listen to God. This is an art I know we all need desperately. If we listened, to other people and to God, we would avoid most of our tragedies, wars, divorces, violence, drugs, broken relationships, pains. How can we have faith, hope, and love without listening? How can we enjoy heaven without enjoying listening? How can we be saved unless we learn to listen to God?" (Peter Kreeft, How The Sea Can Help You Pray)

Wow...man, all I can add to that is AMEN.

Modern-Day Saints

Modern-Day Saints
Posted by: honeyoliveros.

Living saints of my lifetime; my heroes and inspirations - Blessed (Mother) Teresa of Calcutta, and John Paul the Great.

Well done, good and trustworthy servant, you have shown you are trustworthy in small things, I will trust you with greater; come and join in your master's happiness. - Matthew 25:21

Il Papa

Tonight, our dear Holy Father John Paul II is getting ready to pass from this life to his eternal rest in the next. Last night, perhaps like many millions of Catholics around the world, I prayed for this great man who has staunchly refused to get off his final cross, and, without being entirely conscious of what I was saying, kept repeating the same phrases over and again.

"Thank you, Jesus." "Thank you, Father."

Thank you for giving us the Rock, the successor to the throne of Peter. Thank you for this gentle man blessed with wisdom, knowledge, and Christian compassion. Thank you for giving us someone who stood up for you and unwaveringly defended the Faith, no matter how the tides of the times threatened to overwhelm him. Thank you for giving us someone who was both human and yet so palpably gifted with the radiance of your Holy Spirit. Thank you for giving us a humble servant of Your servants, a living example of true discipleship.

I was blessed to have seen John Paul the Great in person on two occasions, both right in St. Peter's Square, where pilgrims have traditionally gathered to pay homage to the successor of Peter and the Vicar of Christ. Unfortunately, I did not know the Lord as I know Him now; perhaps the experience would have been more profound. But fortunately perhaps, the Lord had spared me from presenting myself in even more of a weeping mess than I was at the time - for when John Paul II tottered out, all heaven broke loose. Nuns screamed at the top of their lungs, as if a rock star and not the aging pontiff had acknowledged their presence; handsome seminarians in their long cassocks dropped to their knees in awe; the gruff Italian man beside me burst into tears and almost lifted his aging mother to his shoulders, repeating over and again "Mamma, Mamma...IL PAPA!!"

And myself, the lone Filipino tourist on her own for the first time, yet to find her worth as a child of God...I wept and wept and wept.

IL PAPA! I had yet to understand who he was, and what office he occupied, but his inner light shone forth and the Spirit within me leaped as it acknowledged his holiness. It remains inexplicable. One day, I hope to approach John Paul the Great on a more personal level and tell him about this, and have long conversations with him about how he had served God and how much he meant to so many and how he loved God like I do. But until then, I pray that he soon be welcomed in the warmest embrace of the Lord and Master he had served so well, and that he finally find long-awaited rest, free from the pains and hurts and maladies of this world, free to pray and intercede for and listen to all of us who are still in it.

John Paul II, I love you. See you on the flipside.

Dawn of Creation

Dawn of Creation
Posted by: honeyoliveros.

"God saw light was good, and God divided light from darkness...Evening came and morning came: the first day." Gen. 1:4-5