Sharing a Poem Written for me by a Dear Friend

Will forever be thankful to a good friend of mine who was able to articulate my emotions and capture them into words.

[Untitled]

That fountain behind you knows
better than the two of us, gushing
on the edge of your shoulder
where I have always imagined
my head
leaning,
asleep.
Water gives in
to the pull
and it’s beautiful
with surrender, yielding
to greater law such as leaves,
rain, footsteps, teardrop. Lump
falling and rising in our throats, sigh
rising and falling in our chests,
making us familiar
strangers: how dare
we allow ourselves
to float and refuse
to land?


 - Roger Garcia

Introduction to Postcolonial Theory: Departing from ‘Points of Departure’

The task of writing a reaction and summary to An Introduction to Postcolonial Theory has allowed me to go back and reflect on my initial impressions prior to enlisting CL 123 as a determinant subject for pursuing a graduate degree in comparative literature. It dawned on me that my understanding of postcolonial theory has always been leaning towards what is obvious and simplistic. Postcolonial to me then meant after the end of colonization in areas which are formerly under the colonial control of the West.

One cannot be faulted though for having such a simplistic view about what postcolonial theory is. After all, this literal understanding of what is postcolonial stems from derivation of words to acquire meaning; such that ‘post’ is understood as a prefix of ‘after’ and ‘colonial’ is characterized as ‘a territory under the complete control of a state’. In my view, the entire debate about the scope and definition began the moment ‘post’ was attached after the word ‘colonial’ to describe the study of colonial discourse.

 For one, the prefix ‘post’ directly entails a complete end of colonization which then implies that the period of European colonial control and domination is entirely over. However, as what the authors of the introductory reading emphasize, the “persistence of colonialism” is, up to now, still apparent through indirect economic, political, and cultural control of Western powers over its former colonies. In this sense, colonialism has not actually left us, but has merely evolved in a more deceptive form known as neocolonialism, a phase of imperialism that aims to globalize capitalism. As Gayatri Spivak puts it, “we live in a postcolonial neo colonial world”, which means that colonialism is still with us – fully present, ever-changing, and deceptively pervasive.

Although it is determined that the attachment of ‘post’ to ‘colonialism’ makes the definition of ‘postcolonial’ problematic, there is absence of an alternative term to describe the complexity of history and diversity of experiences in different areas which are subject to colonial control. It is a clear misfortune that there is a limit to what our language can actually define or describe. As such, it is quite understandable, in my view, that the term postcolonial is used to describe the entire study of colonial discourse, provided that if asked ‘when is the postcolonial?’ the answer should altogether include the “then” (colonial), “now” (postcolonial), and “not quite yet” (neo colonization). 

From what I understand in the introductory reading, the “in-betweenness” of the postcolonial period is exactly what characterizes it as an “anticipatory discourse” that incessantly searches to describe a condition that does not yet exist or has not yet come into being. With this, it is important to emphasize that the role of postcolonial discourse is for the “reflection and illumination” of colonial, postcolonial, and neocolonial subjects as well as their resistance against the dominant colonial forces in these historical periods. 

Moreover, it should be remembered that even with such broad periodization of postcolonial history, our understanding of postcolonial terminology can still remain problematic because some literary critics attempt to generalize the answers to when, where, who, and what is postcolonial. To generalize the complex and ambiguous experiences of colonial subjects is to miserably fail in seeing the different histories and conditions of colonization in various parts of the globe. The attempt to generally define and describe the colonial situation is impossible given the subjective experiences of colonial subjects and the complexity of their histories.

In attempting to know when is postcolonial, we are faced with the fact about the incompleteness and unevenness of postcolonial period. In attempting to locate the where is postcolonial, we are presented with the complexity in the shift from the idea of nation state to transnationalism. In attempting to answer who is the postcolonial, we are faced with “unsettling identities” of colonial subjects who are faced with the task of recovering and creating their own identities.

Lastly, in attempting to answer what is postcolonial, we are presented with the impossibility of defining an ever-changing term which, according to Spivak, is “never consistent with itself”. As long as colonialism continues to remain elusive, our understanding of what is postcolonial will remain to be uneven and incomplete. However, it is reassuring to know that the role of postcolonial discourse in the academe is to contribute in our understanding to reflect, recognize, and resist colonialism in all its mutated form.

Source: 

Childs, Peter; Williams, Patrick. Introduction To Post-Colonial Theory. London : Prentice Hall/Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1997.

Seneca: On Love and Nature

(An excerpt of my rapid impulse to write spontaneously this morning, the complete and more polished work will be sent to the person whom I address this piece for.)

 On Love and Nature

No, I'm not feeling fine, I still carry the heavy pains of disappointment and fear. You know how I hate talking about feelings, primarily because I consider containing emotions, in the form of words and explication, as a futile exercise of the heart. 

But for now, out of necessity, I guess I have to elaborate what I feel (which is not my usual practice) -- because, as you claim, we do not read each other's thoughts and do not step on each other's shoes, hence we need to voice out all that we think. 

The Cycle of Flaws (and things better left unsaid)

So what happens when you found the slightest strength to raise your concern towards a disappointing behavior and yet the other person is as forceful as you are to continue denying the existence of his flaws? What do you do? At first you insist, then he argues, and you just let things pass. You sleep with disappointment for a long time and wait until the day comes when the entire situation again recurs. As a result, your annoyance resurfaces, and your disappointment increases as you contemplate that you should have distanced and even shielded yourself, even before, from someone's intentional or unintentional lapses.

I do not kid you when I said that there are things ought not to be explained -- especially by chatty reasoning and argumentations because, at the end of the day, nobody wins and we go back to our solitary selves pushing for our "rightness" on things. Sorry, but I will ask you that I may be allowed to be a bit philosophical in my explanation. I know I always fail at making my thoughts comprehensible, but I would appreciate if you will spend time on re-reading and reflecting on things I seldom talk to you about. 

You see, many people fail at understanding because they do not use their inner sensitivity to gauge the concealed meaning in words. Sometimes, they also do not enjoy walking in the shoes of the writer and thus lose interest to think harder, beyond words, for the sake of clarity and understanding. So here goes my attempt to be talkative.

Connection Beyond Words (and the metaphor of "soul")

I believe that people, if they are meant to form any kind of relationship, must share "connection" that is devoid of words and physical gestures. That shared connectedness must emanate from the fact that, by nature, they are destined to share each other's being. That is true for people you consider as friends, lovers, and others you held deeply within. Most of all, it is true for the person you are considering to be your "life partner". 

In our lifetime, I believe that it is merely by luck that we find these people who "share our soul" so to speak. I used the word "soul" as a metaphor because the understanding between two people transcends beyond our own humanity. Some years back, I remembered how I wrote about fate and love as something that "which, if at all, we rarely find in our lifetime". In that sense, I am lucky to find, for now, that one instance where I met a fateful "soul" who crossed inside and wholly understood my being.    

That fortunate "sharing of the soul" I only once experienced with a long time friend. Things might have been very different right now, but what makes me cling to the friendship is that until now, whenever I look back at my past, I never fail to say, "those were the best years of my life". Those were great times because even without words, someone could finish my thoughts and share my sorrow. Talking was not a requirement to know that the other person feels awfully ill inside and that it only requires the meeting of eyes before we burst into laughter. I have to truthfully say that, I have yet to feel an experience that would surpass the feeling of ultimate familiarity with other people's inner being. In those days, sharing of the soul was not about the exchange of words but of sharing experiences, pain, and incomprehensible laughter.   

Attaining the Ideal (and us)

I do not know if it's right to say that I also expect that level of "soul sharing" to also be present between us and demand that it becomes more profound in an intimate, loving relationships like ours. Thing is, I do not think we have quite achieved that higher level of connectedness. I always look for that when we're together, but it seems futile to hope that one day, you will be able to completely understand my inner being without so much words to waste. There are too many distractions we need to address day by day -- whether we're together or far away. 

But in all fairness to us too, I do not think we have spent much more time completely alone together and share ourselves wholly. Yet if we finally do, could I expect to achieve this meeting of the soul, this higher level of understanding between us? And what if we can't attain the ideal? What do I do? Runaway, just like I always do, from people who do not share my understanding of things? Or should I wait for the grace of time and expend my energy, to discover the art of learning more about someone in the metaphysical sense?

On All things Effortless (and the concept of "wavelength")

We can laugh about this, but my insistence on the unnatural idea of "effort" kicks into this conversation. My view that -- "things that are deemed to be natural should require the least amount of effort (or better yet, effortless)" -- is ultimately reflected at how we look at nature. In the natural course of things, a leaf falls into the ground not only because of the frailty of the twig that holds it, but also because it completely surrenders to gravity, nature, or love. One need not exert effort in shaking its branches to let it fall. It is part of the natural scheme of things that a leaf shall fall because it has to let go of itself, naturally. 

Now, translating this natural occurrence into human relationship is comparable to two human beings who have the "same wavelength", so to speak. Indeed, the term wavelength is a natural idea in physics, being "the distance between two points in the same phase in consecutive cycles of a wave". We can compare the idea of wavelength to human relationships where it is possible that two people, who may be separated by distance, to have mutual understanding about each other's being. Still, in all fairness to both of us, our similarities on how we perceive a good and proper life is mutually shared. But I daresay, that is not entire picture of a relationship. 

Sharing the same "wavelength of the soul" requires better understanding of each other -- without constant reprimand, without constant reminder, and without endless talks on how to actually feel the emotions of another person. In fact, this is reflective sometimes, on my annoyance whenever people say "I'm sorry to hear about what happened" towards another person. I feel that the phrase could mean separating yourself from what the other person feels and, in a way, you subconsciously feel better about your own situation. Instead of saying how sorry you are about one's condition, wouldn't it be more reassuring if you just sit by silently beside the person, without a single word spoken, and share his misery? I think this is the opposite essence of the mantra, "misery loves company" -- in that way at least, you are able to place yourself on how the other person actually feels. 

Losing Meaning in Words

How I long for people to just feel each other's presence! I long to witness that moment when one actually reaches for the same wavelength -- without saying anything because words, in itself, do not have pure intentions, in the same way that raw thoughts and inner feelings have. The moment you convert feelings into words, it loses its natural form -- that is why we have poets who, with all their might, try to capture emotions in its purest form through poetry, but still couldn't quite make sense of an experience. This process makes writing more powerful than speaking because of internal communication and because of the time spent thinking about words closest to the thought. Composing words, as they are, is an attempt to physically manifest thoughts, but it is not the actual and pure thought you held deeply. Meanings are concealed in words and it is only through sensitivity that we can unlock its true intention and significance.

Now, going back to the nature of "wavelengths", it may seem that I am only painting an ideal picture of what relationships should be. But why should I not when lifetime companionship is what is at stake here. You see, I only want to experience being with someone who holds a complete understanding of myself, in the same way as I hold a complete understanding about who he is. This understanding, I demand, should be devoid of words and lengthy explanation and thus require utmost sensitivity of feelings towards one another. It does not take constant reprimand and reminder to fully understand what the other person is feeling. One can gain complete understanding through sensitive observation and careful examination of our differences and similarities, as it is already given that both of us have different cultural orientation and life experiences that molded us to who we are now.
(Some very personal paragraphs are deleted.)

Letting Myself Fall (like a leaf)

You know, there is greater wisdom for people who insist that they are right but just keep to themselves and wait for their rightness to manifest in the future... there's greater wisdom in that, than those who argue in high pitch sounds about their correctness. You should care about what other people think because it means you are sensitive and you care how they might feel. (I caution you to separate this from voicing opinions on politics and social issues. These ideas are solely about thinking before you blurt out your words in whatever forms -- be it may in the form of jokes, serious opinion, or burst of anger.)

All of these can be attained by inner reflection and sensitivity, which someday, I hope we will both attain and eventually share. I know you might insist on its impossibility but experience, as well as important insights on nature, tells me that it's possible. I only insist on the natural meeting of both our soul and being -- because I believe that it is ONLY when I feel us sharing and meeting at the same wavelength that I can completely let myself go, like a leaf surrendering to the a bigger force of nature or love. If not, then I expect you to, one day, go back to these meaningless rants -- and understand beyond words -- why, in the long run, I did not let myself fall. 

On Voltaire's Candide: soon, I shall cultivate a garden

Voltaire's novel, Candide, was surprisingly an easy read. I loved the fantastic plot and the humor I get in every chapter. Since my computer is not conspiring with my impulse to write, I'm gonna give a quick overview of the book. 

Basically, it's a battle between optimism and pessimism as a world view. Dr. Pangloss embodied optimism through his philosophy that "all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds" -- that is, everything that happens in the world, even mankind's suffering, is part of God's "grand" plan.

But with the events witnessed by Candide -- rape, murder, disease, earthquake, betrayal -- he came to conclude that optimism is simply "a mania for insisting that everything is right when everything is going wrong." 

On the other hand, pessimism is characterized in the person of Martin, an extremely cynical scholar who accompanied Candide is his travels. Martin believes that God has abandoned the world in his view that "man was born to live in either the convulsions of distress, or in the lethargy of idleness".

Like a balloon with a broken string: Murakami's Wind Up Bird Chronicle

After a month of reading this book (always before I get to sleep), I finally conquered Murakami. Conquering in the sense that many ideas from his other works became more familiar to me.

First, what I like about the author is that he understands women -- actions and overall psyche. The theme about the complexity in the mind of a woman appeared both in Norwegian Wood and The Wind-up Bird Chronicle. For instance, in one of the passages, May Kasahara pointed out how girls just like to be mean for no reason at all. Just like that: the mood for nothing. I know many women understand this and Murakami spelled it out for us. 

Anyhow, I'm not going to give a review of the book. It would take me hours to summarize the plot of the 600-page novel. But what I need to say is that the feeling of loneliness never leaves me when I read Murakami's work. It's how he presents his characters as ordinary people -- so ordinary that it makes you ask if there's ever a meaning to our fleeting existence. This inner self is just too chaotic, too complex to understand.. and yet there's the outer world that demands order and normalcy from us. 

I am sure there's Toru Okada or May Kasahara in any one of us. For instance, my understanding of the self   was expounded by May Kasahara. I could relate about her grim views of the world and her preference to see ducks than people as they come "flapping through the air and land on the ice, but their feet slide and they fall over. It's like a TV comedy!". Ah, that happiness that arise not from being with people but from observing nature -- from seeing creatures who do not know us or couldn't care less about us! Like May Kasahara, I do wonder what ducks think "deep down inside, about ice and stuff." 

But you can't know everything. You are placed in this world to know people which is almost impossible to do. As May Kasahara pointed in this question:

"Is it possible, in the final analysis, for one human being to achieve perfect understanding of another?
We can invest enormous time and energy in serious efforts to know another person, but in the end, how close can we come to that person's essence? We convince ourselves that we know the other person well, but do we really know anything important about anyone?" 

I share her skepticism. I also share her confusions about the future:

"So you're going to stay here a while longer?", I asked 

"I think so. I might want to go back to school after enough time goes by. Or I might not. I might just get married -- no not really" She smiled with a while puff of breath. "But anyhow, I'll stay for now. I need more time to think. About what I want to do, where I want to go. I want to take time and think about those things." 

"Tell me, Mr. Wind Up Bird, did you think about those kind of things  when you were my age?" 

"Hmm. Maybe not. I must have thought about them a little bit, but I don't really remember thinking about things as seriously as you do. I guess I just figured if I went for a living in the usual way, things would kind of work themselves out all right. But they didn't, did they? Unfortunately."

It was a good one month read. I must admit that the middle chapter about historical parts bored me a bit. I also thought that the ending of the complex plot was not as "neat" as Marquez's (of course Murakami is never comparable to Marquez). BUT! I'd like to commend Murakami for bringing up that inexplicable loneliness n every one of us, even those who are "living in the usual way" like Toru Okada. 

And so, I'll end this post with few of my favorite quotes from the book: 

"I'd be smiling and chatting away, and my mind would be floating around somewhere else, like a balloon with a broken string."  

"Here's what I think, Mr. Wind-Up Bird," said May Kasahara. "Everybody's born with some different thing at the core of their existence. And that thing, whatever it is, becomes like a heat source that runs each person from the inside. I have one too, of course. Like everybody else. But sometimes it gets out of hand. It swells or shrinks inside me, and it shakes me up. What I'd really like to do is find a way to communicate that feeling to another person. But I can't seem to do it. They just don't get it. Of course, the problem could be that I'm not explaining it very well, but I think it's because they're not listening very well. They pretend to be listening, but they're not, really. So I get worked up sometimes, and I do some crazy things."  

"To know one’s own state is not a simple matter. One cannot look directly at one’s own face with one’s own eyes, for example. One has no choice but to look at one’s reflection in the mirror. Through experience, we come to believe that the image is correct, but that is all."  

"It's not that either one is better," he said. After a brief coughing fit, he spat a glob of phlegm onto a tissue and studied it closely before crumpling the tissue and throwing it into a wastebasket. "It's not a question of better or worse. The point is, not to resist the flow. You go up when you're supposed to go up and down when you're supposed to go down. When you're supposed to go up, find the highest tower and climb to the top. When you're supposed to go down, find the deepest well and go down to the bottom. When there is no flow, stay still. If you resist the flow, everything dries up. If everything dries up, the world is darkness. 'I am he and/ He is me:/ Spring nightfall.' Abandon the self, and there you are." 

Adele's Music: "Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead"

It's not everyday that I get moved by a musical performance. The great thing about music is that it transcends emotions to any kind of listener.

I'm so touched with this performance by Adele.. so moved by the song.. coz.. i don't know..i think..i thought to myself, gosh I must have sung same song if.. if I wasn't too careless tsk... That fact I guess moved me.. and I wept with her.

Retail Therapy @ BookSale

It's almost a history that I spent 262 pesos on books today. Call it retail therapy: searching for cheap books at Booksale for hours and hours. The search-for-good-books-among-harlequin-crap-activity drained all my anxieties.. ah life!

I awarded myself -- for coming up with a Plan B on my career.. and my life.

Here are the "great-find" books that fixed my day:

• 37 php - John Irving's The Cider House Rules - apparently I loved the movie so I got to read the book!
• 37 php - Margaret Atwood's Bluebeard's Eggs and Other Stories - coz I thought I gotta learn her writing style.
• 37 php - John Le Carre's The Secret Pilgrim - I read from somewhere that it's a good book. Hope they're right. 
• 37 php - Ernest Hemingway's For Whom The Bell Tolls - borrowed this last year & I deserve a copy, don't I?
• 32 php - Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet - I should know how to read a play!
• 37 php - Isabel Allende's The House of the Spirits - I loved the movie and how much more the book!
• 45 php - Haruki Murakami's The Wind-up Bird Chronicle - gotcha on booksale, Murakami! 

Mabuhay ang BookSale!

A Good Song I ought to Share

Great song from my favorite UK band, Keane. 

Reminds me of the London Bombing.

Lyric's really poetic.
Tom's a total singer/performer.
I love how piano sound's so prominent in their songs.
Perfect song for a perfect morning.

Here's Perfect Symmetry

Soviet Kitsch, Regina Spektor, & the Unbearable Lightness of Being

Just finished reading Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being and I felt like praising the book by giving a short write-up. Because of the 50-peso book bought at Booksale, I became familiar with some concepts in philosophy and religion. 

Here are the ideas I’ve learned from the book:

·         1.)  Nietzsche’s argument of eternal return that everything recurs once we experienced it and that the recurrence itself recurs and ad infinitum! Das Schweste Gewitch (the great burden), as Nietzche puts it.

·        2.)  the last movement of Beethoven’s last quartet wherein he inscribed “Muss es sein? Es muss sein! Es Muss sein!” (Must it be? It must be! It must be!). I thought that every time I’d be caught making major difficult decisions, I might as well just remember to utter these phrases.

·        3.)  how the character Tomas used the story of Oedipus to criticize Czech communists. Communists claimed they didn't know what they were doing and thought that this absolved them of their guilt over the atrocities they’ve done to the people. But unlike them, Oedipus held himself responsible for his action and punished himself to suffer in the end.

·       4.)   the rather funny idea of shit in religious discourse: does God have intestines? did Adam emptied his bowel on Eden? did they have intercourse in paradise? Lol. Or as Kundera puts it, “Either/or: either man was created in God’s image – and God has intestines – or God lacks intestines and man is not like Him."

The best chapter for me in the book was Part 6: The Grand March. I loved how Kundera defined the word kitsch as “the absolute denial of shit” as quoted in these lines:

“Kitsch is the absolute denial of shit, in both the literal and the figurative senses of the word; kitsch excludes everything from its purview which is essentially unacceptable in human existence.
Kitsch causes two tears to flow in quick succession. The first tear says: How nice to see children running on the grass! The second tear says: How nice to be moved, together with all mankind, by children running on the grass! It is the second tear that makes kitsch kitsch.”

From reading this chapter about kitsch, I now understand why Regina Spektor named her album as Soviet Kitsch. Like Sabina in the story, Regina moved to America wanting to escape kitsch – to hide the fact that she comes from the former Soviet Union. She perhaps feared that people might ‘over sensationalize’ her struggle as an artist persecuted back home. But the more rational explanation would be Regina Spektor’s approval of Kundera’s definition of soviet kitsch as “the vacuous aesthetics of communism".

I had the ‘eureka moment’ when I read that part because it was overwhelming to know that your favorite musician actually read the exact same book you’re reading and you realized that this may be the reason why you understood her way of thinking.

Lastly, I thought that the book Soviet Kitsch had a really beautiful ending. I was moved at how the couple, Tomas & Sabina, (now old) put their dog to "sleep" also because of old age.  This is a beautiful passage from the book:

"She was experiencing the same odd happiness and odd sadness as then. The sadness meant: we are at the last station. The happiness meant: we are together. The sadness was form, the happiness was content."

It was perfect, the book's ending.. as when the couple was about to sleep, "a large nocturnal butterfly began circling around the room". Wow what beautiful read. 


(For more information about Regina Spektor's take on Soviet Kitsch, visit this link.) 

30 minute poem written inside XU library

Palm Trees

To be swayed by the wind
and yet remain standing --
your grace is mending

my thoughts: how I have legs
of those size but are plagued
to take a step, to go
with the flow of gushing air

That invisible push
you resist from the roots 
and you grip the earth
without mashing its crust.

My world is made of dust
and the wind sings the sound
about us on the ground

blown to wander, lost
and without roots.

First Stanza of an Unfinished Poem

Wrote this "poem" after I first got 70% of my teaching salary. I felt it's not yet done... or is it? I don't know.

In my Wallet

A pen that marks blood and love

to lined yellow surfaces

is crushing my paper bills

like stacked leaves lying below

the school pavement, creeping

for the color of the soil.

Haiku Speech.

Last night, I attended a culmination activity for Sulat Dula 2 -- a playwriting workshop held at Xavier University. I was there to support kapwa Davaowenyos and former Davao Writers Workshop Fellows Hanna (from Ateneo de Davao) and Heny (from UP-Mindanao).

Anyhow, during the activity, one of the panelists Ametta Taguchi (Palanca Awardee for full length play) gave a short yet memorable message to all writers. She said:

"Love to write.
Write to Love.
Love".

It was like listening to a short yet meaningful haiku speech. ^_^ (Bow.)

Within and Without.

Because sleep did not serve its purpose last night, I sought refuge in our old shelf. I looked at what was left there. My old books in order: Twain, Maugham, Wilde, Baker, Gogol, Sartre, Kafka, Miller, Austen, Dickens, Fitzgerald, Walker .. side by side with Japanese dictionaries, Spanish - English books, Dansk-Engelsk, Engelsk-Dansk, and my old, old Thesaurus.

I did not pick out any one of them. Instead, I stared blankly at a pocketbook of short stories. I freed it out from the dusty shelf. I started reading in random.

Knut Hamsun's "The Call of Life" about a young man wandering on the dark streets of Copenhagen where he met and made out with a woman who had just been widowed. 

"A man marries. His wife is thirty years younger than he. He contracts a lingering illness. One fair day he dies. And the young widow breathes a sigh of relief"

Ivan Bunin's "Sunstroke" about a fleeting romantic encounter of a lieutenant and a married woman on a ship.

"The breeze had died down, the room was stuffy and dry, as in a wind furnace... And he remembered yesterday and this morning precisely as if they had been ten years ago."

Johannes V. Jensen's "Lost Forests" about the relationship between the owner and his slave who sought freedom in the forest. 

"In such wise the slave's spirit was deepened. As his longing brought infinity into time, so his world became infinite, and his thoughts boundless. Every evening the slave  stared thoughtfully into the distant west, and each sunset brought more and more depth into his soul."

Then there's Herman Hesse. Oh yes, how could I forget. After many years, I reread one of my favorite stories: "Within and Without". 

"There, in Erwin's beautiful script, he read the words: 'Nothing is without, nothing is within; for what is without is within'."

That  phrase caught me anew. Nothing is without, nothing is within; for what is without is within. I lingered at my favorite line, repeating it over and over. Finally, I acquired new understanding of the phrase which I found in the words of the character named Frederick:

"'Take this with you as my parting gift. When this thing that I am now placing in your hands ceases to be outside you and is within you, come to me again! If it remains outside you, the way it is now, then this parting of yours from me shall also be done forever!'" 

It was Hesse who once said, "There is no reality except the one contained within us". Very true. My life is my reality. What I am searching for is already within me.  I tried to alter that once... failed as I might... and as fleeting as it was...  within and without ---

there's love, I carry on.

Today @ Breakfast.

Poetry for breakfast and I'm full already -- in mind, in heart, and in consciousness. I'm just gonna post some of my favorite  poems. I read them again this morning -- like food, I devoured words. 
I thought that, before I leave Tagum, I should ponder upon my quest in life. I have to feed my soul with thoughts and constantly be reminded what my journey is for.


The Road Not Taken

By Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy & wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference

A Thing Of Beauty

by: John Keats

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Love One Another

by: Khalil Gibran 

Love one another, but make not a bond of love.

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other's cup, but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread, but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone.

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.

For only the hand of life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together.

For the pillars of the temple stand apart.

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow

If 
by: e e Cummings

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,

And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie,

    Life would be delight,-

    But things couldn't go right    

    For in such a sad plight

I wouldn't be I.

If earth was heaven, and now was hence,

And past was present, and false was true,

    There might be some sense    

    But I'd be in suspense

    For on such a pretense

You wouldn't be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,

And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee

    Things would seem fair,-

    Yet they'd all despair,

    For if here was there
We wouldn't be we.

WARDROBE PHILOSOPHY

Grounded on truism, my literature professor back at MSU-Iligan, Mr. Anthony Tan, once lectured that there are only three things to fulfill before one ceases to live: first is to write a book; second, to have children, and third is to plant a tree. Of course he was talking about leaving behind something to be remembered for, a legacy – so one could continue “living” even after life. I find this rather odd because the idea contradicts with what my mother preached when I was young: “once you’re dead, you’re nothing” – a mantra which, for me, meant that she sees no mystery in death but its inevitability.

In a film about death, Les Invasions Barbares, it seemed to me that the characters Rémy and his friends arrived on a final idea that no amount of isms could resolve the meaning of life, and that perhaps answers to questions of existence do not even matter. On the other hand, American author, Henry David Thoreau, justified his choice of living in the woods to live deliberately and “suck out all the marrow of life". He did not want to face death and discover that he had not lived.

Even I find it stimulating to mold and slowly polish my own take on the idea of death and meaning of existence. However, I believe that accumulating experiences to fine tune my beliefs requires moments of contemplation only gained when given the luxury of time to exist. A personal philosophy, like all things, is a constant flux – like a craft polished over time. It is this blank slate where we carve our own story during our lifetime. It is this exercise to train ourselves to look at things the way we see them.

For now, at twenty two, I believe in merging of great ideas and molding it to become one’s own, unique philosophy. I believe in the uniqueness of our own experiences that is dependent on the context we are in and the paths we choose to follow. Surely, Rémy and friends, Mr. Tan, Henry David Thoreau, and my mom attained their respective philosophies not necessarily because they subscribe to a great idea of existence, but because they feel life differently.

For me, isms are just general thoughts to constantly stir our consciousness. They exist mainly to be affirmed. I consider myself as merely subscribing to ready-made ideas of Atheism, Agnosticism, and Epicureanism (devotion to sensuous enjoyment) – recognizing, affirming, merging, and tailoring these philosophies to suit my own idea of living. However, I believe those who weren’t able to stumble upon existing ideologies and philosophies – such as people who are in straitened circumstances or deprived of education – are the ones who genuinely craft their meanings of existence. I find mystery in knowing how people crushed by misfortune and grief mold their personal philosophy. I aim to know how old people living in shelters dwell back on their past and come up with their almost final view of existence. I can almost envision the emergence of a field exploring individual conception of life.

In all these wonders about the richness of individual philosophy, I consider the subscription to a belief in God(s) to be the weakest form of personal philosophy. For one, it is a kind of belief instantly passed on from parents to children, further dictated by society and existing traditions. Another misfortune of theism is that it provides the easiest answer to the almost incomprehensible complexity of our existence. I cannot fathom how one can narrowly attribute everything to one stranger in the sky, to an ancient book, or to an oracle. This dependence of a ready-made conception of God can be equated to a lack of attempt to wonder, question, and create a genuine personal philosophy fit for an individual.

This leads me to ponder that perhaps the reasons why majority of people on earth subscribe to religion do so because it is an easy belief to digest and a comfortable idea to take hold. Most of all, it is widely available – seen through a symbolic representation of a church or a logo or a statue and practiced through prayers, songs, dances, and worships. It is this ease and comfort in providing an easy answer to existence that makes most people succumb to a theistic belief.

Most often, one of the attempts of my friends to shake my belief of non-believing is to tell me to look around and see how vastly wonderful things around us are. I agree, indeed beautiful, I’d tell them. Almost predictably from there, I would then be asked: so, do you ever wonder how all these have been made? I wonder of course, I’d answer, but because of the complexity of its beauty, I cannot give a fair easy answer. The thing is that my lifetime is not necessarily built on finding out how everything was made but why I am presented with such grandeur and what I should do to devour this privilege to exist.

My problem with theistic belief is that comfortably wearing one ultimate, tailor-made idea wears off easily overtime. It may be a comfortable dress to wear, so to speak, but ease deteriorates when one later realizes that he actually does not own his clothes. In this world, we started out naked but are normally capable of choosing our own clothes. We choose, mix, fit, and match from among the existing colors, designs, and styles of wardrobes in our closet. We pick our clothes depending on our surrounding conditions. Believers are comfortable in their uniformed attires. Subscribers to an ideology suit their attire based on what exist in their closets. Non-believers make their own clothes.

From this wardrobe philosophy, I’d say: I currently wear different tones of green; meaning I see life manifesting itself in music and nature. Morning walks, for instance – I love to smell the wounds of freshly cut grasses and feel heavy fogs brushing against my skin, while I hear classical music coming from the earmuffs of my mp3. For me, existence is painted in the sky – seen through how it changes colors with every step I take.

This is how I dress myself for now – in different tones of green.