Finding Home

"Uses of Yoga Attire: Panglaba ( Laundry), Pang-ilis ug Ponda (Replacing Sofa Covers) ug Uban Pa (Many More)..."      I jokingly post in my social media stories how I do house chores in a Yoga tank and pants. Some viewers get a kick out of it with the "haha" sign. Some press that thumbs up sign. Some don't care. All is good. Everybody moves on to the next person's story.  Joking aside, for these past few weeks my practice in Yoga and Meditation has been here, there and everywhere. Unfortunately, most of the times it is a combination of all three.  The hours are occupied with home chores-- laundry, dishes, changing sheets, changing curtains making the bed, sweeping floors, wiping windows, more chores and attending to my boys. Transitioning into this kind of normal since the home quarantine started has been a slow process in that I am still trying to find balance in establishing a personal time and housekeeping. Some days, I am able to follow a consistent

March 1, 2020 "Kinsa imong gibisita Mam?" the Grab driver asks. Whose grave did you visit? "Akong Papa." "Unsa na ka dugay?" "20 years." "Aw dugay naman diay." So it has been quite a while. He said it in a manner that somehow tells me it is no longer as painful as it must have been before.   The driver’s words stung. I wanted to him to take back his comment but remained silent as he proceeded to tell a story of how his own father had died many years ago as well. I responded politely and listened to him but my mind drifted elsewhere.   I wept at my father's grave. "I forgive you. I miss you.   I still see your face, still hear your voice." One continuous stream of thought flowed from the core of my being spilling out of my eyes.  I hear the Grab driver’s own storytelling as if from a distance. Meanwhile I am unhinged by the barrage of emotions. A song plays from the car’s radio," Mutya ka Bale

There is a window of quietude before my boys wake and I ease into the day relishing and digesting words of comfort from favorite authors accompanied with a warm cup of coffee. Bird calls ring into the air. A variety of birds have found home in our Avocado trees. As I read and sip, outside a vendor’s holler selling Lemonsito in a sing-song voice breaks through the silence. It sounds pleasant and brings a beautiful nostalgia of sorts taking me into a time in the past where one of the common ways to earn a living entailed a captivating song to attract the sale of whatever is intended to be sold. A few days ago the song was "Isdaaaa, lab-as!”   Today, it was, “Lemoooon, lemonsitoooo!" The first syllables a higher pitch than the second and a prolonged articulation on the last ones. These days framed by the COVID-19 pandemic can only be described as uncertain and unreal but bring with it “a harvest of presence”, as David Whyte describes beauty. A mindful attention to the ordi