Skip to main content

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?

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Good mother, good academic?

I wrote this four years ago. The struggle remains the same, so yes, publish. And god, I so want to be over this dilemma. 2016. Yesterday I was proofreading my manuscript at home when the Little Big Boss came over crying. I had to put my pen down and console her. She didn't want to leave my lap so we compromised. We put her play doh on the table and I tried to work while she played. It went smoothly -- for about five minutes! Haha! The Artist in Residence is familiar with this scene. Starting when she was eight years old, she had to come along with me to academic conferences. She'd stay in her chair reading, or drawing and writing in her notebooks. People praised her and commented on how she was remarkably well-behaved. I had no idea just how remarkable her ability to sit still and focus was, until the Little Big Boss came along. With this one, sitting together quietly for a stretch of time is a much bigger challenge. The things that kept the Artist content at conference...
Post a Comment
Read more

Lola of Maipon

It's all too easy to fall asleep under the blanket of everyday life and to smother dreams with the mundane things I surround myself with. But once in a while, along comes a sparkling vision that jolts me out of my daily sleep and reminds me of the existence of convictions and worlds so different from my own. "Our beloved LOLA of Guinubatan, Maipon, Albay is the last true messenger of God. So, let us follow her holy teachings so that we will gain TRUE SALVATION without sufferings and without death." In another story I, the intrepid heroine, the adventurer seduced by mysteries, the pilgrim in search of truth, would follow them back to Guinubatan from Session Road, thirsting to see and hear their Lola for myself. However, it's all too easy -- much safer! -- to fall back asleep under the blanket of everyday life, and to smother dreams with the mundane things I surround myself with. Then along comes 9 a.m., and really, it's time to down the dregs of coffee at the bott...
4 comments
Read more

Mambunongs, Mumbakis, and National Artists

In today's Sunday Inquirer Magazine. It is early morning of February 26, 2009. Felipe Cornelio motions to National Artist Ben Cabrera to be seated. This man in leather shoes, jeans, collared shirt, and baseball cap is a mambunong, or an Ibaloy ritual specialist – a shaman, if you will. He looks up to the sky and back down to the hefty, black, native pig hog-tied at his feet and in a soft, almost inaudible chant, he lets the spirits of the land know that Bencab, who has built his house upon this land, is making this offering to them and he invites them to join the feast. In the same breath he also calls upon Jesus Christ to bless this sacrifice. The mambunong steps back as his assistants drive a wooden stake into the pig’s heart. The spirits will surely hear the pig’s cries, and they will come to grace the occasion. The mambunong pours tapuy, or rice beer into a glass, chants over it quietly, again addressing the spirits of the land and Jesus, and hands the glass to Bencab, motionin...
Post a Comment
Read more