Simply Be

From its haven in the anxious dark,

Quiescent chrysalis breaks forth in winged glory

To herald the manageable rapture of a new day.

Break the butterflies free.

Bask in the privilege of Being.

Be that Truth.

Be that Joy.

Simply Be.

Becoming Joy

Festivities for the Loi Krathong holiday had begun.

I peered at the ugly shadow of the graying sky. At first it was simply darkness without texture - indifferent, not promising. It seemed like a portent of something perhaps missing in life.

Then, a commotion.

Natives from the nearby hill tribe of Chiang Mai began chattering excitedly, They are bringing out the kongming lanterns!

I had learned as much that in Thailand, people released lanterns for good luck. When they set one free, they believed that they were letting their worries and problems go away. One of the tribal folk also disclosed in a whisper, You know secret to enlightenment? Give lantern gift to monk.

I watched with curiosity as the fire starter at the bottom of the rice-paper balloons was ceremoniously lit. The lantern frames were carefully held down as the fire burned - timidly at first, then fiercely. The lanterns slowly swelled with hot air. One by one, then in twos and threes - bloated fireballs were released.

The entire scenery was breathtaking. I had previously seen lit pyres of ceremonial baskets floating onto lakes and ponds, but not fire afloat in the endless sky.

Thai sky lanterns

The kongming gamboled in the heavens like jellyfish bobbing through murky water. They banished whatever mourning there was into dancing. My sackcloth of grief had been loosened, and I was girded with gladness.


The Lord of the Dance had presided over all, enjoining me to dance, dance!

And I lead you all, wherever you may be
And I lead you all in the dance, said he.

It was a celebration. Under the luster of a Thousand Lights, my happy feet cavorted in the joyous intersection of time and eternity.

Becoming Truth

I began to think of the soul as if it were a castle made of a single diamond
or of very clear crystal in which there are many rooms.

- Teresa de Avila, Castillo Interior

How does one capture rhythms of the written word? What is the elusive imagery recurrent in literary works? What pervasive leitmotifs abound? My mind tires wrestling with the dissertion topic that has loomed large in front of me. For the past Almost-A-Year. 

I've been on a mountain-top resort accessible only by driving on treacherously curvy slopes of dirt roads. The house on the Street of a Thousand Flowers has been my sanctuary for afternoons of writing in semi-seclusion. I literally take a breather in the scent of Benguet pines breaking through the windows, after which I focus on the intimacies of my interior space. A more interesting preoccupation, it seems, at the moment. 

The writing area is just outside the curtained wall of the bedroom. Behind it to the right is a Corridor of Doors each of which opens up into a labyrinth of hidden rooms and secret niches - large and small. In some concealed corner, a wood carving of a wooden icon stands guard. Crossed spears arch over a passageway. A gentle push on the paneled wall to the right of the framed kalinga dancers reveals a stairway into the maids' quarters.

I pass through successive chambers, climbing short flights of steps through a network of alcoves - each a promise of architectural ingenuity and mystery.

Ultimately I enter the Place Most Holy, an inner sanctuary of indigenous Ifugao ethnic art.

This hideaway is a storehouse of strung jewelry beads, antique ceramic plates, and wood carvings of animal figures and anitos. I survey a row of tribal deities, awed by the immutable power of their impassive face.

In this Room Most Revered, I find refuge. It is as if a veil has uncovered the True Form where the Presence of Beauty dwells.

It is my Araby.

My Interior Castle through which my soul passes to achieve union with Truth.

Perfection.

Becoming Me

Above all the grace and gifts that Christ gives to His beloved is that of overcoming self. – Francis of Assisi

Inca cola and coca tea.

The first keeps one awake for three straight days. The second is often recommended for travelers in the Andes to prevent altitude sickness. Take both for an experience guaranteed to be as glowing as that of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.

It is with such high hopes that I embark that early morning to see the hitherto Lost City of the Incas above the Urubamba River Valley. The train starts in the old town of Ollantaytambo, chugging downhill on monotonous wheels for almost four hours into the Sacred Valley and the Andean foothills.

Then I board a bus that zigzags its way up along the crooked staircase of the Picchu mountainside, passing colorful villages and herds of llamas along the way. I feel like I have stepped into some unreal world.

Borne away, cut off from time and space, I finally reach the final ascent - almost 8,000 feet above sea level. It is as close to heaven as I can hope to be.

I gaze frowningly at the tranquil panorama of the Incan citadel. With lucid recognition, I scan the stone terraces leading up to the Temple of the Sun, now bathed in a warm light. What was once lost in dreams now has been found. There under a watchful sky lies certitude. All the rest hangs on mere threads and trivial contingencies.

The dazzling impact of the radiance about me has given me a fresh discovery: that it is first necessary to take a path of descent, before I can even begin my upward path toward luminescence.

It has reminded me that I am continually evolving, wakening, and embracing my authentic self - the truest form of Me, the one whom God sees, the one inherently loved and gifted by His spirit.

It compels me to surmount my petty self, so that I may become whom I am created to be. It urges me on to capture redeeming moments by which I can be the light that blazes out to discover from ordinariness a new and meaningful organization of experience.

For only then can I rise from the bottom up to achieve the transcendence of My Being.

UURP!

A Merry Retelling (John 2:1-11)

A member of the wedding party in Cana of Galilee doth recount the event in his own words, for it was truly a feast to remember:

And the third day there was a marriage in Cana of Galilee. And both Jesus was called and his disciples to the marriage.

And when they wanted wine, the mother of Jesus saith unto him, They have no wine.

And Jesus saith unto the servants, Fill the water pots with water. And they filled them up to the brim.  

And he saith unto them, Draw out now and bear unto the governor of the feast. And they bare it. 

When the ruler of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, he was amazed. Verily, I … (glug)… declareth this the tastiest vine of the fruit ever.

And everyone began to be friends with their merry. And the governor of the feast saith, It is might to rake merry and ge blad. But the governor of the feast knew not whence it was, and so called the bridegroom.

And saith unto him, Every man at the genibbing doth set forth glood wine, and when man have vrell drunk, then - that which is worst: but thou hast wine the good kept until now… (chug).  

Thus the people rejoiced. And the treberation lasted preveral days and nights.

This beginning of rimacles did Cana in Galilee of Jesus, and fanimested forth his glory; and his disciples believed on him.