Finding Home

Five in the morning The birds nesting in our orchid trees, placed east, Begin to sing, welcoming a new day. And it is as if the sun waits For their singing before she rises In full glory Bursting through our jalousies Waking our sleeping bodies The blue of our curtains turn translucent white  Even the darkest dyes on linen and cotton Could not contain the light. Five at dusk, The birds return home Perching on the wires Hanging tangled above our gate facing west. Twisted from the havoc of Yolanda, That nobody from the telephone and cable company Has dared to repair. Beyond the convoluted reminder Of the devastation of November eighth, Is a vision of sunset, skies transforming into night, Baring her robe of colors --brilliant blue, russet, Saffron, magenta, purple, neon. Beautiful. Overwhelming. It seemed the sunsets have avenged the sorrow The skies wreaked on That Day. And as if such beauty is not enough, The birds sing their aria as they do in

One day, you too shall find your sacred place. Give me your hand and I'll press your palm on your beating heart. Feel that? Close your eyes and hear it. That sound, it says clear as day, "You are alive. Be alive." Even if it means you sit through pain. Alone.  Some compasses only work when it's smashed to fragments and put together piece by piece. If only I can hold you tight enough or long enough for you to feel that the world makes sense again, that every thing you are makes sense, that you are enough and that you have a purpose. Then I would. But I only have two hands and my arms are too small for how big your heart is. Your heart, remember, is bigger than your grief. And no matter how hard I try to wrap my arms around you there will always be that place where I cannot reach, no one can reach, except you. So my heart breaks for what you are going through right now. Because this is all I can do-- write and write until this fist in my own heart loosens, won

Driving around the city with the boys yesterday afternoon, we crossed Anilao bridge and saw the moon in all its full, white magnificence right in front of us. Crisp, clear, pure. The 5 pm skies were still bright as if it was 3 o'clock. I looked back and saw how the sun was there in all its glory as well, saffron orange, circular outline unmistakeable as if the Universe drew it on paper just minutes ago. Two heavenly bodies meeting face to face. And here we were, the boys and I riding in our pick-up truck placed in between them. As if the Universe herself picked our vehicle up like a matchbox truck and strategically put us where we were. All I could do was smile to my heart's content at that moment. For what else can one do when beset with one of the Universe's beautiful occurrences? Will it happen again? Surely it will. But when? All I know is that when the sun and the moon, at the same time of day, appeared, I was there. We were there. And it was beautiful. I wonder ho