in sight

moments, awakenings, visions and reflections

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Monday, April 05, 2004
 
I've decided that since i have another
more personal blog
this site will be my concept
blog...

i think that
this will be a gift.

when the time is right
all shall be revealed.


Sunday, February 08, 2004
 
I’ll try
to write this in the language
That you’ll understand
You say that I’m modern
while you are playfully postmodern
Truth be told I don’t really understand
You, as often I tell people that
Have read much more than me
So without any doubt
Have Surpassed me
your older brother,
and Father too in ways
I also don’t understand
the promises made
to our parents’
face
to be home
on time and stay.
Now they
resort to
hiding car keys
with
maids
clocking
arrivals.
Tonight like
so often
too many You
ask to leave
under
the mat.
I placed the key
to our home.
But
I don’t anymore
know
if
it’ll



fit.




Wednesday, February 04, 2004
 
self publishing

zip lock bags remind me
of old notebooks
and my blue organizer

but all things
have life spans

abundant harvest
of fresh thoughts
though sealed,
and somewhat safe
can still stale



Thursday, January 08, 2004
 
time to resurrect this blog and re-define my destiny

i went to UP on tues to get Randy David's book
"Nation, Self and Citizenship: An Invitation to Philippine Sociology"

(one of my favorites of 2003)

I wanted to get it at a student price so i called one of my younger brother's
friends and asked her if she was free to come with me

Trisha said that she was waiting for her teacher but it was a technical free cut
so i went to the new spiffy CAL building which came out of nowhere when i had
my stint in UP last 2001

the moment that i revel in is i entered dressed in my usual office attire:
polo shirt and black slacks only to see the whole class stiffen from their conversations
seeing this reaction i went up to the teacher's podium and placed my water bottle on
the desk saying "Good morning everyone."

I would have gone all the way if i knew who the teacher was and the class
which i found out was a creative writing course.

i think i would have given them homework of watching Waking Life and writing a paper on it
I can just imagine the face of the teacher receiving these papers out of the blue in the
next meeting :)


Tuesday, February 25, 2003
 
Turning-Point
"the road from intensity to greatness passes through sacrifice." -Kassner

For a long time he attained it in looking.
Stars would fall to their knees
beneath his compelling vision.
Or as he looked on, kneeling,
his urgency's fragrance
tired out a god until
it smiled at him in its sleep.

Towers he would gaze at so
that they were terrified:
building them up again, suddenly, in an instant!
But how often the landscape,
overburdened by day,
came to rest in his silent awareness, at nightfall.

Animals trusted him, stepped
into his open look, grazing,
and the imprisoned lions
stared in as if into an incomprehensible freedom;
birds, as it felt them, flew headlong
through it; and flowers, as enormous
as they are to children, gazed back
into it, on and on.

And the rumor that there was someone
who knew how to look,
stirred those less
visible creatures:
stirred the women.

Looking how long?
For how long now, deeply deprived,
beseeching in the depths of his glance?

When he, whose vocation was Waiting, sat far from home --
the hotel's distracted unnoticing bedroom
moody around him, and in the avoided mirror
once more the room, and later
from the tormenting bed
once more:
then in the air the voices
discussed, beyond comprehension,
his heart, which could still be felt;
debated what through the painfully buried body
could somehow be felt -- his heart;
debated and passed their judgment:
that it did not have love.

(And denied him further communions.)

For there is a boundary to looking.
And the world that is looked at so deeply
wants to flourish in love.

Work of the eyes is done, now
go and do heart-work
on all the images imprisoned within you; for you
overpower them: but even now you don’t know them.
Learn, inner man, to look in your inner women,
the one attained from a thousand
natures, the merely attained but
not yet beloved form.

-Rainer Maria Rilke