Second Chances

I used to have a personal spot where I write and read my favorite books over and over again. I would pile them on the table and admire their mere presence. Then Typhoon Haiyan came and drenched them and everything else to the core. So I had to throw them all away.  It would be accurate to say that my heart broke when I did what I had to do because it meant I was forced to cut off something that has been a precious part of who I was at the time.

Yes, it was just material. Am I being shallow? Maybe. Am I being human? Absolutely. We all have things that are meaningful to us because in one way or another, they symbolize our identity. For some jewelry represents a luxury earned for many years of hard work. For others an array of clothes, shoes and bags represents a wholeness of what wasn't in one's past. And for the enlightened few, they've reached a point where they see all material things as mere mediums or vehicles, if you will, to take them to places of purpose and a life's ministry.

As for me, the stories in the form of prose or poetry give me a deeper sense of humanity. It is what anchors my restless spirit. It is what drives me to pursue my sacred place. So when the time came to dispose of the damaged books away, it was as if a piece of my heart was wrenched away as well. Although I know now that what is learned by the heart cannot be unlearned, I still have a long way to go in mastering the art of detachment.

So imagine my happy surprise when nonchalantly browsing through the photos of books for sale by an online second hand bookstore, I saw a copy of one of the many books of poetry I had to throw away last year! And on the comments section was blank space. Nobody reserved it yet. Right then and there I knew I had to get it. There had to be some purpose why I found this particular book again. Or rather why the Universe gave me this second chance to have it again.

Now on this rainy Monday afternoon, the time had finally come to finally read the book.   I intended to spend at least an hour for myself devouring poems of the great writers. But of course this was not what the Universe seemed to plan for me. As with everything else, she had a better plan in mind.

 As I settled into my space, Morgan quickly jumped in bed with me, held my face with his two chubby hands and kissed me so sweetly. How could I not put the book down at this?  So I called Garret to join us and bring his toy turtle, teddy, crocodile and elephant. I thought to myself, "Why not read them poetry?"  I read them the poems of Jimmy Kennedy's Teddy Bear's Picnic, Vachel Lindsay's The Little Turtle, Lewis Carroll's The Crocodile and Hilaire Belloc's The Elephant.  Though they may not have responded the way I would have liked them to, I would like to think, some of the words got through. Morgan was lying down legs up in the air, just happy to be in the room, and Garret was throwing his toys up in the air and catching them. Occasionally, I would ask pause in my reading and hold the turtle in my hand and let Garret articulate the word. Which he would and then immediately go back to his own playing. And then I would get the Teddy bear and pretend to let it kiss Morgan on his belly which delighted him so much he would collapse into a fit of laughter.

How long has it been since I read to them? Apparently long enough. Why had I stopped reading to them in the first place? It doesn't really matter now. What is clear is that I know now why I was given this second chance to find this book.

A friend once remarked to me how life is ironic how here I was a born reader and speaker and my two boys have autism, language impairment being the key symptom. True. But again, life is beautiful and remarkable that way. Just when you think you've got it all figured out, the Universe throws you a curve ball one after another until you realize that "life is curve balls".

Detachment and second chances. To be able to let go of things, material and immaterial, requires only one thing: An open heart. A certain faith that "there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven."  Once we master this, redemption is possible. Second chances serve only to fulfill this truth: To teach you over and over until you learn the lesson. Whatever this may be.

 Poetry. What anchors my spirit, my sacred space.  The rhythm and rhyme, the mystery underneath seemingly incomprehensible lines. The beautiful moment when you get to the end of it and realize the entire meaning. I guess it bears no difference to my boys' autism. Perhaps I was given this second chance to find this book so I can connect what I love to what I love the most.  Poetry and my two boys. How beautiful. It doesn't matter if they can't understand the metaphors or even the simple meaning of the words. What matters is that I understand, strive to understand them in all their mystery and beauty and believe that soon they too will find their sacred place.

Thank you Roel's bookshop for being the medium taking me to the place of second chances.