Spectral Light

The Springtime Cometh

Blessed is the flame that burns in the secret fastness of the heart. - 
Hannah Senesh

Daytime might sizzle in Oahu but when the sun goes down, Waikiki gets even hotter - ablaze with flame from tiki torches and neon lights from lounges and bars on Kalakaua Avenue.

But tonight, despite pale stars that have gracefully slid into their places, day is slipping into eternal dusk.

Waikiki has gone dark.

It is in times like this that I call to mind how on the mainland, spring parts the curtain of night with a light offering. 

Not just any kind of light.

Candlelight.

One that flickers romantically from a vintage metal elephant lantern with cutwork flower patterning on its body.

The elephant in Hinduism and Indian culture is a symbol of intellectual and earthy strength. It is a sacred animal and is considered the representation or the living incarnation of Ganesha, the elephant-headed deity riding a mouse.

I love the symbolism. Sensitivity. Wisdom. Loyalty. Reliability and determination.

Perfect.

It is said that somewhere in Africa, the elephant has a secret grave where it goes to lie down and unburden its wrinkled gray body. 

A hollow place of long echoes and tangible silences. 

Of semi-darkness.

But right here, right now, though only on my mind, how far that little candle throws its beams. Like a distant star, it is thowing thin shafts of illumination through the darkness. Spectral like spring's true beauty and goodness. Beautiful and surreal.

I settle into a chair, hopelessly seduced. 

Cocking an ear to the quiet rumbling and purring from an elephant soaring its spirit away.

Whistling the happy tune of my youth.

Attentive to cricket song counterpointing the wind serenade of distant bells.

Ready to refresh my soul with streams of dancing water.

For the springtime cometh.

Song Of Myself

The Springtime Cometh

Just living isn't enough, said the butterfly. One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower. - Hans Christian Andersen

I used to like myself.

A.LOT.

But in years past, not so much. I've been riddled with self-doubt and lost my confidence.

Although I won't verbalize it, my recurrent dreams attest to it. In those, I cried because I couldn't find my way home. I'd have the wrong cell phone and couldn't call home for help. Or I'd be at a conference where I couldn't locate the meeting site nor go back to my hotel room.

At other times, I wasn't packed in time for a trip. Or very often, I'd be in a play and couldn't remember my lines.

But thanks to spring, I've resolved to stop feeling small. Just when I thought of adding another retinol product for my wrinkles and not speaking ice cream anymore (as if this were the solution to regaining my self-worth), spring bestows on me a present.

A song of myself.

So I'm pressing, Pause, to hum notes of happy thoughts of me before me.

Like these.

I would have been named Amador (lover of God, my Mum said) had I been a boy. For a baby girl (which I turned out to be), her name choice was Adoracion - the most beautiful name ever, according to her. I was my parents' offering of adoration to God.

I was a carefree tomboy dressed in shorts and a t-shirt in my pre-teen years. (Horrors, my Mum would say.) I never had a doll and didn't want one.

My ambition had been set early. I wanted to be a radio announcer and a TV personality. I actually had the naive audacity to audition for a stint when I was in high school. My other passion was writing. Proud to say that I got a call back from the editor of a local mag and was once invited to write for the prestigious Philippine Collegian.

In my teen years, I was muse of the basketball team and (ahem) darling of several male MYF'ers from some choice churches in the Manila District. How could I not be, with a waistline that easily matched the famed 17-inch measurement of Scarlett O'Hara (give or take a few inches)?

My first job was a whopper. Just turned twenty, I became an English instructor in the university I graduated from. Whenever I went on summer vacation at the poultry farm, my relatives, including the farmhand, referred to me as the scholar from the big city. 

My parents and six brothers (with the exception of First and Youngest Brothers after we had quarreled) adored me. The back gate of our home had an arched adornment that displayed my American nickname.

Enough said. I feel better already.

I'm now certain that I can easily find my way home. No need to pack and no intricate transport needed. The only line I have to know and say is, Home is where the heart is.

But wait - just one more thing.

Today, I'm celebrating.

Because... 

(To be continued)

Wind Serenade

The Springtime Cometh

Some soft chime had stroked the air; And though the sound had parted thence, 

Still left an echo in the sense. - Ben Jonson

Do all the talk and anxiety over the raging pandemic get you a little down?

Me, too.

My heart gets a little heavy.

My steps get a little slower.

So what can I do to kick away the sadness and gloom?

I keep thinking of spring who delights me with yet another gift to enliven my heart.

A wind serenade.

Light and calm, it emanates from this string of temple bells. It's a Mother's Day gift from First Daughter. 

I hang it on a tipped branch of the lilac tree shading the deck. The chime, inspired by ancient Chinese bells, works in harmony with the wind to create gentle, soothing tones.

There are orange-chested robins arguing in the trees beyond and the muffled hum and chatter of voices in the street but apart from that, the air is quiet and perfectly unspoiled. 

As if the world were holding its breath.

Beholden to the temple bells jingling a tune like some fairy announcement.

The sound is like a whisper.

A serenade of spring.

(To be continued)

Water Dance

The Springtime Cometh

The Springtime Cometh is the title of an E. Y. Harburg poem.

Look within. Within is the fountain of good,

and it will ever bubble up, if thou wilt ever dig. - Marcus Aurelius

There comes a day when I have to break up with winter.

It’s usually somewhere around the middle of February when the snow days have lost their luster and the gray skies don’t look like they are ever going to cheer up and all the leafless trees look like they are auditioning for a part in an Alfred Hitchcock film.

By March, I'm fuming, Enough already.

That’s when I tell winter he has been a supercute date for the holidays and I really like mistletoe and carols and sleigh rides and he is totally hot in his all-white tux.

But now?

I’m over it.

There’s a new special someone in my life.

On this happy bright day, meet my spring. Let me tell you what he has brought along.

A water dance that can rinse away the troubles of the day.

From a bird bath and fountain right here on our deck. Don't you just love its antiqued verdigris finish? It's a Mother's Day gift from Second Daughter.

Like a penitent sinner in need of sanctification, I touch the splashing reservoir of water. It feels like silk. Smooth and warm bubbling past you. Full of life.

I sit close by on a splintery bench. The sun is bright, and it strikes everything evenly. The water flashes it back so blindingly that I close my eyes and just listen to the water tumbling onto the basin, droplets spilling on the floor. Its steady tinkle is soothing, the sound rhythmic, almost hypnotic.

And I begin to dream of water. And to think that the spirit is a fountain.

It pours out with an inexhaustible spray of ideas, but only as it continues to flow will more and clearer streams of water come.

(To be continued)