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A poem by Rumi:

Because I Cannot Sleep

Because I cannot sleep
I make music at night.
I am troubled by the one whose face has the color of spring flowers.
I have neither sleep nor patience,
neither a good reputation nor disgrace.

A thousand robes of wisdom are gone.
All my good manners have run a thousand miles away.

The heart and the mind are left angry with each other.
The stars and the moon are envious of each other.
Because of this alienation the physical universe is getting tighter and tighter.

The moon says, “How long will I remain suspended without a sun?”
Without Love’s jewel inside of me, let the bazaar of my existence be destroyed stone by stone.

O Love, You who have been called by a thousand names,
You who know how to pour the wine into the chalice of the body,
You who give culture to a thousand cultures,
You who are faceless but have a thousand faces.
O Love, You who shape the faces of Turks, Europeans, and Zanzibaris, give me a glass from Your bottle, or a handful of bheng from your branch.

Remove the cork once more.
Then we’ll see a thousand chiefs prostrate, and a circle of ecstatic troubadours will play.
The the addict will be freed of craving and will be resurrected, and stand in awe till Judgment Day.

(translation by Kabir Helminski and Lail Fouladvend)

Let Me Go.
(To all the girls I’ve loved before, will have loved in the future, have been presently loving)
by Michael Ian Lomongo

Let me go.
Letlet…
Mimi…
Let me go.
Letty…
Amy…
Mi amiga…
Let me go.
Mei-li… Gong-li… Agogo…
Let me go.

Amigas, dejadme que me vaya.

Michelle… Mabel…
Let me go.
Son les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble,
Tres bien ensemble:
Let me go.
Yeah.
Let me be.
Words of wisdom:
Let it be.
January, 2005

Menos Tu Vientre by Miguel Hernandez

(translation by Ian Lomongo)

Kundi sa’yong sinapupunan,
lahat ay pawang kaguluhan.
Kundi sa’yong sinapupunan,
bukas na dagling lumilisan,
baog at ‘di-mabanaagang
kupas na kahapon ang tanan.
Kundi sa’yong sinapupunan,
lahat-lahat ‘di mawarian.
Kundi sa’yong sinapupunan,
lahat kawalang-katiyakan,
lahat doon sa kalayuan,
abong walang sandaigdigan.
Kundi sa’yong sinapupunan,
lahat pusikit na karimlan.
Kundi sa’yong sinapupunan,
(na) kaliwanagan, kaibuturan.

Ganap.
(ni Miguel Juanjo (a.k.a. Wang-Ho) Tiamson Lomongo)

“Kailan kaya sasapit ang araw ng pagiging ganap
Ng lahat ng ating mga pinapangarap?”

Araw-araw, patuloy ang paghahanap,
Patuloy… maging ang pagpapanggap,
Patuloy ang pag-aapuhap,
Patuloy ang pagganap
Sa tungkulin, kahit walang kahina-hinagap
Sa katotohanang pinapangarap magagap,
Malanghap… Malasap!

Ano nga ba’ng nagaganap sa mga nagsisipagganap
Sa mga pagtatanghal na’ting kinakaharap?
Ay! Masalimuot na prosesong may kung anu-anong sangkap!
Mapa-dula man o pelikula, ang pagganap
Maihahalintulad sa pagdadalisay at pagbubusilak
Ng paglalaba. Mga damit na ginagamit
Sa pagharap sa sangmaliwanag, binabasa, pinapalo, pinipitpit,
Kinukusot, sinasabon. (Ang sabon, tulad ng tubig
At baha, lumilinis at pumapatay, sa pamamagitan ng bula…
Mga bulang tulad ng katotohanan, buhay, at dula,
Naglalaho, nawawala.)
At matapos banlawan, mga damit ikukula,
Isasabit sa sampayan
Upang sa liwanag ng araw masilayan.
Gayundin ang kinasasapitan ng mga damdamin, isip,
Guni-guni, panaginip, libog, pag-ibig, galit, pangamba, pananalig:
Dinadalisay, binubusilak, binabasa, sinasabon, pinapalo, pinipitpit,
Kinukusot, binabanlawan, ‘kinukula,
At saka ngayon pinaplantsa, upang maikubli ang mga gusot sa mata.
Mga maskarang tulad ng damit pinagpapalit-palit
Sa pangangarap na magampanang ganap
Ang pagganap.

Samantala, patuloy sa paghahanap…
Tuloy-tuloy maging pagpapanggap…
Tuloy-tuloy sa pag-aapuhap…
Tuloy-tuloy sa pagganap
Sa tungkulin, kahit walang kahina-hinagap
Sa — katotohanan, kabutihan, kagandahan, kaligayahan –
KaGANAPang pinapangarap magagap
Malanghap… Malasap!

“Kailan kaya sasapit ang araw ng pagiging ganap
Ng lahat ng ating mga pinapangarap?”

Ganap.

Ika-14 ng Disyembre, 2004

Ano nga ba ang isang tula?

Isang marikit na kasinungalingang binihisan. Isang katotohanang ipinararamdam lamang. Tanging sa pagpaparamdam lamang nito hindi nagiging kasinungalingan ang katotohanan. Isang katotohanang ’singhalaga at ’sintago ng miniminang yaman.

Sino nga ba ang nakakakita na, sa katotohanan, kulay-asin ang dagat?

Walang sinuman. Gayunpaman, nagpaparanas ito, wumawagayway, ipinapakita at sinasalamin ng mga binuo nitong bula ang kulay ng gasuklay na buwan. Nasa kanyang hiwaga ang higit niyang kagandahan.

Hindi maaaring tumambad sa atin ang tula nang hubad. Mga buto ng tula lamang ang taglay ng mga tulang hubad. At ano nga ba’ng mas papangit pa sa mga pawang kalansay lamang?

Ingatan, mga manunula, ang diwa ng tula: isang espinghe. Hayaan n’yong matuto silang bakbakin ito tulad ng balat ng kahoy… Ay, tulad ng dalandan! kaylinamnam ng itinatago nito sa loob ng kanyang mala-planetang kabilugan!

Ingatan ang inyong sarili, mga manunula, laban sa mga bungang walang-balat, mga dagat na walang-alat.

Kailangang umubra ang tula gaya ng sa banal na misa.

Kailan kaya darating ang manunula na hawak sa kanyang mga daliri ang tula gaya ng paring tangan-tangan ang ostiya at nagsasabing: “Ito ang Diyos!” at maniniwala tayo?

- Miguel Hernandez, spanish poet, 1910-1942 (Tagalog translation by Ron Capinding)

I love Jeanette Winterson!

It’s true, and every lover knows this deep in his/her heart to be true: when one loves, one becomes a stalker of sorts…

With the regretful sigh and the little blush of a lover,
ian

—

The Lover’s Passion
by Rumi

A lover knows only humility
He has no choice
He steals into your alley at night
He has no choice
He longs to kiss every lock of your hair
Don’t fret
He has no choice
In his frenzied love for you
He longs to break the chains
Of his imprisonment
He has no choice
—

It was easy for me to get in, the door was unlocked. I felt like a thief with a bagful of stolen glances. It’s odd being in someone else’s room when they’re not there. Especially when you love them. Every object carries a different significance. Why did she buy that? What does she especially like? Why does she sit in this chair and not that one? The room becomes a code that you have only a few minutes to crack. When she returns, she will command your attention, and besides it’s rude to stare. And yet I want to pull out the drawers and run my fingers under the dusty rims of the pictures. In the waste basket perhaps, in the larder, I will find a clue to you, I will be able to unravel you, pull you between my fingers and stretch out each thread to know the measure of you.

- Jeanette Winterson, “Written on the Body”

Do you believe in love at first sight?

I do.

Saw this little book “The Alphabet of Grace” by Frederick Buechner in the bargain bin of NBS, bought it (for P50), and fell in love with it. Lent it to someone who, of course, lost it. And then, after some time, I serendipitously found and bought a new one (for P300). It’s about the spiritual experience of, in his own words, “a part-time novelist, Christian, pig.” What caught my attention: the title. What I loved in it: a very human, semi-mystical approach to spirituality.

Am thinking of translating it to Tagalog someday. I tried, and never got past the introduction. Will have to find time, someday.

— (more…)

Anicca*: This Too Shall Pass
(Strains of a Brewing Song in My Mind, In Honor of Friedrich “Superman” Nietzsche and Siddharta Gautama “Buddha”)

—

* Pali word (pronounced “anicha”) meaning “impermanent, ephemeral, changing”

I have long been searching for answers
To the questions that nag my troubled mind…
I have long been seeking the healing
That would ease the pains of my restless heart…
And I grew older, but none the wiser.
Yes I grew older, but none the better.
And so it came to pass.

I craved for life, I craved for beauty,
I craved for the lasting joy that’d end the misery.
If only life were always good
If only life could stay this way, then maybe I could,
Yes I would, find calm.
Then maybe I could… learn to love
This world, this place, this life.
And so it came to pass.

“You’ve got to seize the moment
for it shall surely pass.”
And so it came to pass.

Then one day, I had this experience
It seemed to me the greatest moment of my life
I felt so happy, I felt so sad
Yes it was crazy, like mad
But I felt so strong I could love the world, and I mean everyone!
I felt so strong I could take whatever life’s got to offer
Be it pain… be it joy… be it sadness… be it love.
I smiled… I cried… and gave thanks.
And then I realized: this, this too shall pass.
This, this too shall pass.

I wanted the moment to last forever.
I wanted it to stay (Please stay).
But if only for that moment,
I’d be willing to take whatever has to come!
And so it came to pass.
This, this too shall pass.
This, this too shall pass.

Then one night, I had this experience.
It seemed to be the most painful moment of my life.
I felt so angry… stewing in my misery…
And through gritted teeth, it feeelt… sooo lonely.
And how I wanted the moment to just fucking go away
But it wouldn’t let me have my way.
I wanted it to end… I wanted it all to end.
And I cried… and I smiled… and whispered:
This, this too shall pass.
This, this too shall pass.

My love for life compels me to say:
This, this too shall pass!
If I wanted a moment forever,
If I wanted forever in a moment
I must see the moment arise and pass away.
This, this too shall pass.
My joy, my pain, my love, my life.
This, this too shall pass.
Seize the moment, seize the day,
Let it go, let it pass away.
This, this too shall pass.

This too shall pass.

—

Michael Ian Lomongo
October 24, 2003
Vipassana Meditation Course
Sico Farm, Cavite

For Sharon (And All the Many Brave People in the World)

I stood
Like a statue
Unmoving, unseeing
Not speaking, not wanting
To break
The fragile silence that
Engulfed us like
A wall oppressing,
Suffocating, separating
Me… from you.

But I was dying to live!
And breathe, and see
The many things I haven’t seen
And move, and do
The many things I haven’t done.
How I longed to look at you
(Take a long and good look at you.)
To speak, and be, with you.
Oh how I yearned to touch,
Feel, and love you.

But then again, as always,
I was afraid
Of you, and me,
And the many things
I haven’t seen and done
(And of I-don’t-but-God-knows-what-else).
And then again, as always,
I had to hide
And be content
To peek from inside.

Suddenly, brave as an angel
Come down from heaven, you
Freed me from the chains
I myself forged
And wound around me.
You looked at, talked with, me
And with a smile, shattered
The walls of timidity and fear
That imprisoned and prevented
Me from loving you.

And then, I could breathe, though gasping
And so, I could see, though squinting
And more, I could move, though trembling
And yes, I could speak, though stammering
And now, I could feel, though numbing
At last, I could love, though wanting.

Err… This is to say
“Thank you”
For “I love you“?

From “The Book of Lights” by Chaim Potok:

“From the age of fifteen until the age of twenty-one he lived in the apartment world of his aunt’s whispery talking and his uncle’s coughs and brooding silence, and he did not know which was more frightening. For a while after his cousin’s death he thought his family had somehow been singled out for a special curse. But he talked to friends and found that throughout the neighborhood ran a twisting river of random events: parents died in slow or sudden ways, children were killed, relatives slipped young from life. The world seemed a strangely terrifying place when you really thought about it. He tried not to think about it too often.

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