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Out of the Blue

This morning at a meeting in Star Cafe on post-calamity early recovery with a Benguet municipal mayor, a UNDP documentation and community journalism maven, and some people who expertly flow back and forth across the bounds of governance and civil society, somebody passed me a book of love poems.

Feigning absorption in the discussion on disaster risk reduction I held the book under the table and opened it to a random page.

Wrestling

Our oneness is the wrestlers', fierce and close,
       Thrusting and thrust;
One life in dual effort for one prize, --
       We fight, and must;
For soul with soul does battle evermore
       Till love be trust.

Our distance is love's severance; sense divides,
       Each is but each;
Never the very hidden spirit of thee
       My life doth reach;
Twain! since love athwart the gulf that needs
       Kisses and speech.

Ah! wrestle closelier! we draw nearer so
       Than any bliss
Can bring twain souls who would be whole and one,
       Too near to kiss:
To be one thought, one voice before we die, --
       Wrestle for this.

                      -- Louisa S. Bevington (1845 - ?)

With one ear still tuned in to the meeting, I thought to myself, Yup, that's the essence of community work right there. Love. And Wrestling.

It's been a year since Ketsana/Ondoy and Parma/Pepeng. Where are we at now?

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