Finding Home

This space Where you are Breathe in and out Stay here Be here Close your eyes Breathe, Breathe, Breathe some more and Move The way wind does The way water flows Breathe, Move within this space You are not there or somewhere else You are Here. And in Here, Spread your arms Plant your feet Bend, Leap, Move, Breathe, Dance, Sing, Bloom, Without apologies. Burst And without restraint Fly.

When the world was unkind You held my hand and held it tight When my world was spinning out of control, it seemed You held me steady with your firmly planted feet When my heart was wounded never healing as it seemed You stayed with me and let me weep Until the tears were no more And when laughter came again You said without words, Only with your eyes, hands, feet "It's all okay now. You're okay. I am here."

Pencils in the first grade colored Markers bought only yesterday Umbrellas in the out pour of June or in the heat of summer Rain when grass needs it the most I would also say Keys of old drawers but nay rather, the Things inside it safely keeps lost Things Locks dislodged Books drenched to the core our Floorboards our Roof wait, this is not supposed to be what Haiyan took away and yet many things were lost that day lost things Pencils in the first grade colored Markers bought only yesterday Umbrellas in the out pour of June or in the heat of summer Rain when the grass needs it the most Keys of old drawers But more so the Things inside it safely keeps Things, I said to her, "We've got to let go." "As it must be, perhaps all we need are memories" And yet even these we lose Or willfully leave as with other lost Things.

"My Darling. She could not take it anymore. She fought for a good five years." "I am 80 years old," he said. "She would have turned 72 this June." I looked at his eyes. While the surrounding skin was wrinkled, roughened by the winds of time, his eyes, oh how they were alive. He was smiling as he spoke. That of relief that the love of his life has finally found peace in the afterlife. "Her heart gave up, " he said. His words were clear, crisp, straight to the point, smile lingering. I wondered how many times he would have to speak those words until the very last of family and friends have come to pay their respects. I wondered how many times he would have to answer to queries, "What happened? How long?" I wondered how many times he would have to say, "She fought the good fight. Half a decade." I wondered how many times he would say the words, "Her heart finally gave up." I wondered how many m

Red is not the color of love.   Not white either Or the absence of light   Insight? Or a lack of--   Silence Between the notes   Spaces To be filled   The in-betweens Blues mixed with greens   But, wait. I know now.   Love's color is Gray, The intermingling of Dark and light Not night but just before The sun hides Not day but just before She rises Days of No fanfare No tossed bouquets None of those The moments just before Rain falls And birds burst into song   Love's color is gray The color of quiet The color of stillness Gray Where you and I Still stand Face to face Hands held A necessary space In between No longer needing to be filled   Grays No right or wrongs Only I know You are mine And I yours   Gray as in once more Into the fray. For another 12 or so Years more.

I attended our 3rd Graders' First Holy Communion  and as they were lining up for the processional, one of them said to me, "Ma'am Bea, you look beautiful." Now I think what she meant was that she rarely sees me in clothing other than my usual functional fitness garb when I facilitate their functional movement exercises for their P.E. class.  This time I was wearing a sleeveless pencil-cut dress,  two-inch heels and light make-up on. My heels were killing me and I felt as if somebody just put straps around my body making it hard to breathe, ha! But I digress. After I told her that she was prettier than me with her exquisite white veil, white dress, sparkling white shoes and sparkly eye make-up,  another girl then asked, "Ma'am Bea will we have games?" I laughingly replied, "No,  not this time my dear. Next week we'll have games. Now go and have at it with your First Communion. " When these kids were Grade 2, they were one of the first b

"Pilok na lang ang dili sakit." Days like these are coming more and more frequently. Dark. Somber. Anything but light. Empty ones. Like a can of pineapple juice opened, its liquid poured out elsewhere, the can placed outside where weeds grow. Where a drop of rain blares like An echo. The one you make when you shout in a cavernous space. Whatever it is-- room, hall, hill, the world, your heart, your life. For a moment you smile. It seems you are not alone. But then you realize It's just you.  "Pilok na lang ang dili sakit." "Pilok nalang." "Sakit." Until there are no words left,  just your fist thumping on your chest Telling a story you can no longer tell, Does it hurt everywhere?"  "Yes."