Finding Home

  Garret and I planted this Soursop tree in July of 2020. Everyday since I spoke to it as if it was a human being. I even named it Prinsesa. Each time I watered it, I spoke beautiful words to it for it to grow. "Ikaw ha, lami imong mga bunga. Gwapa kag bunga." "One year and six months later it bore 2 fruits. Unfortunately, the meat was inedible as it was hard as a rock. "Ahat" we call it in Bisaya. We even jokingly said, "Nagdali man gud ni ug pamunga nga dili pa iyang panahon." It  bore fruit prematurely. Two months later there appeared from its yellow felt-like blossom another bud, showing the beginnings of a possible fruit. This time we let it be and showed it no signs of anticipation. We simply allowed it to be itself. No admonitions. No teasing of some sort. Maybe we gave some nuanced remark citing what if this fruit in particular still wouldn't be edible.  Then one fine day sometime last month, it was ready to be harvested.  The fruit wa

Today I am immensely grateful for the chance to witness beauty beyond words in a world that is somehow bent on making everything unfathomably desperate. That the concert featuring a quartet who, without argument, were the very manifestations of the word 'maestro', was entitled "One Beautiful Night of Music" was certainly germane as everything that transpired, every note played, every stroke and pluck of the strings, every pounding and caressing of keys, every delicate infusion of air to create song was beauty embodied. What is Beauty really?  I define it to be this arresting sense that draws one's attention inward. Inward where the breath is all that exists. Inward where the body is unable to contain such magnanimity and translates it into joyful movement, dance, applause or in my case, tears. Tears that transform into language.  The violin held my heart. The violin that seemed to have a life beyond any incomprehensible reason that sang to the recesses of emotion

In Photo: Ground Zero Barangay Mailhi, Baybay City, Leyte Resilience is a word that is thrown so carelessly these days of surviving catastrophes, miniscule or large-scale. What we fail to see is that resilience, this ability to bounce back from a crisis, depends highly on the quality of mental, emotional and spiritual support we get from those that surround us be it family, friends, community. The particular kind of support as well cannot be just one dimensional. It needs to derive from a holistic perspective and dynamic. The whole person. The whole community. The collective consciousness. The reality we are faced with, however, tells us otherwise as we are so used to just "wing it", barrel through it, summon it. Whatever "it" is to get us through the crisis.   If we are truly to begin the authentic work of healing, transformation, evolution, there is a compelling need to understand that the much needed support to develop real resilience must come from a return to t

 I can now identify and name at least 9 bird species just flying around in the vicinity of our garden. Each time I see one, I cry out the name, cutting in conversations much to the annoyance of my partner or much to the fright of our long-time house help, but very much to my own delight. So I asked myself last night, "Why this delight? Why such pleasure?"  There is something to be said about naming. It somehow gives the object a concrete quality. Proof of life, if you will. In the practice of Mindfulness, there is an exercise where we are asked to name the particular emotion whether heavy or light, overriding the current state and then later on to name where it manifests in the body. To name something is to give a face to it, allowing one to finally, well, face it making the previously unnamed to be less fearsome, less cumbersome. Naming as well, allows for a deeper and greater appreciation of what transpires in the mind, body and heart.  Taken into the context of delight an

"Hokusai says look carefully. He says pay attention, notice. He says keep looking, stay curious. He says there is no end to seeing."      Yesterday morning a brown shrike perched on one of the branches of our Avocado tree, which was directly in my line of sight from my place at the breakfast table. The iron grills of our screened veranda perfectly framed the bird in diagonal parallel lines. It shivered and looked this way and that and pecked at its own body. And then it became completely still. I looked at the shrike for what seemed like quite a long time as it remained on that branch for what seemed like an eternity. The morning was quieter than usual and nothing else seemed to move nor make a sound. I could hear nothing save for the thumping of my heart and quickening and calming of my breath as I watched the movement and stillness of the bird.      I am inclined to believe that this is the same shrike that perches on our water tank staying longer than other birds, as if po

There are a few good moments in life. Most of them often take me by surprise such as the husband casually narrating how he found some secret nature spot unbeknownst to most people but popular to those who seek the simplicity of silence and privacy. And him taking me there not telling me there was a short steep hike of which I was relatively unprepared for before reaching the said beauty.  Or a discovery of genuine connection with a stranger now a friend, finding common ground despite the disparity of life experiences, upbringing, places of origin, profession and so many other elements. And realizing how these do not matter. Understanding that what matters more is at that point in time, the presence of reciprocity was apparent. Authentic, significant reciprocity. One I have been seeking for the last 18 years. I read somewhere how a woman over forty is said to be formidable mainly because the last of her superficial concerns fly out the window. Of course, the actual wording is more color

         A friend of ours recently moved abroad. After a few weeks of settling in, he shared a photo where he was standing on top of a mountain, his back turned away from the camera. He was facing the majestic sky, translucent blue, clouds glistening from the sun behind. And spread out in front of him was the landscape of earth, trees,  shadows and shapes of more magnificent mountains. I told him it looked like he had been there all his life.               Starting over. These two words have been running through my mind lately. What does it really mean? Is it carrying a huge luggage of a life to a different zip code? Is it ridding oneself of any material trappings reminding one of the old life? Is it cutting off ties that no longer serve you? Is it literally leaving to arrive at some place new? Is it a necessary severing of relationships in order to build, this time, more meaningful and authentic ones? My meditation teacher says constantly I can start fresh at any given moment in the p