Self-respect

When we think others are 'devoid of respect' towards us, we, sometimes, demand respect from them. But why do we think we are disrespected? Why do we know? What are our basis? Why do we think? We think because we are doing what we are thinking. We point our index fingers at others; but three fingers are pointing at us. Let us see within ourselves first. Maybe, it is we who are devoid of respect towards our own selves!

Silence is wisdom

Interpreting a poem varies and depends on or is based according to the consciousness -- or, life experiences -- of the readers. But, mostly, not according to the very experiences of the poet as he wrote the poem! If a reader had the same experience as the poet, he would agree and understand the outpourings of the heart of the poet. If a reader disagreed, it might be because he had the same experience but not at the same level of experience as the poet. He may have an experience of allowing himself be bitten by an ant when the poet is being bitten by a swarm of ants which is not a one-time experience but an experience on a regular basis. Same experience but of different levels of experience. When a reader who knows nothing of the experience as the poet's and is silent as to make a comment, silence is wisdom.

Humility in the eyes of a lily

Humility, in the perspective of an erring humanity, is not the absence of pride, arrogance or conceit but the acceptance of having these in one's self that makes one humble. When one says he is humble, do you think he is humble? No, because he is, actually, proud of being humble (spiritual pride); but when one says he is proud, arrogant or conceited, he is humble enough to accept that which is truth within himself. Here begins the road to perfection. For: to be perfect, one needs to recognize, first and foremost, the fact that he needs to be perfected. This is humility; and it draws God to the humble. For, only God can bring to perfection every imperfect human being. Human attempt to perfect his own self only tempts himself to justify or hide his mistakes. Justifying a mistake or hiding it, makes a man think of it often, thus guilt-ridden. It is hard to forget a mistake when, in the first place, it is not forgiven. God, being a Merciful God, is always forgiving; but it is man that cannot forgive himself so that Divine Forgiveness cannot take effect upon his person. Not to forgive is not to forget! And to forgive is to accept. To accept is to confess. To confess is to expose. Expose yourself before God exposes us; but when exposed, be humble enough not to justify so it won't magnify.

In the heart of a lily

Once there was a lily that opened its bud for the first time under the heat of a noon-day sun. It happened in an inland pond, a lake in the heart of a city. As soon as it opened its petals, the lily-blossom saw a grove of old trees standing mid of the lake. "There's something on the trees!" -- said the lily. It felt something, Someone, the Presence of the One that created the lily: His Feet resting on top of the trees. It saw the peak of an Ancestor Mountain rising in the west, the hills looking down on the lily. It peeped through the hills and saw the plains where stood buildings, houses, and structures -- and where lived most people: the east. Farther off, it saw the gulf and the island city. "What is this place, an Eden?" asked the lily of the place of its beginning. It looked up again to the great mountain, partly hidden by its jealous and possessive Mountain Wife. "Both are meant for each other. Who can separate the two? They stand together forever!" said the lily sympathetically. (But, unless one has the faith to move and plant the wife mountain into the gulf!) It, then, panned its eyes to the right and saw the mountain sons and daughters of the Great Mountain and its wife: the mountain ranges of the city standing left of them -- and hugging. It had the chance to go up the mountains and saw the city as a great theater looking down the arena in the east. It had the chance to go down the plains and saw the city as a great cathedral: the peak, the altar. Or a wide concert arena: the peak, the stage. It had the chance to climb up the hills and saw the city as a huge cinema: the hills, the balcony -- the mountains or the plains, the big screen. The lily, in the course of its tour, noticed the feeling of a fair-weathered climate condition of the city (and typhoon-free, at that!) so unique in the whole country. But the city of its beginning has gradually lost its innocence. By its beauty and fame, it has become proud (so proud as not to accept the truth it has become proud!); and by its beauty, fame and pride will it find its own destruction. "There's still hope!" said the lily. "Humility is our last hope. But humility is beyond humility in words. Humility is, initially, recognition of the Real Presence of JESUS CHRIST in the Holy Eucharist as shown through our reverence, worship and love: first, by the priests; for, parishioners are a reflection of their own parish priests!"

A dream of gray and white

I dreamed again in August of 2011. Was the dream a closer look to the previous dream I had of an airplane explosion? The effect of the explosion was like a boulder -- of the immensity I cannot describe! -- that fell from the sky; and great was the impact so that the city was in a mess! The scenario was like in the aftermath of a war! Local economy was paralyzed. All I saw was misery. It was in gray and white -- the vision of the dream. And I woke up so desolate and exhausted from the feeling of a bleak experience.

The photo and the dream

I took this picture early January 2011, a year after I dreamed of an airplane explosion. When I saw the plane preparing to land in the north of the city, I remembered the dream; I immediately took my camera. I was following the aircraft with my camera to get a nice view of the shot when I was aghast to see it came to pass on top of the mosque: I immediately clicked the button. The photo and the dream: any correlation?

Airplane explosion

I was out in an open expanse and standing in the city of my birth. 

Facing north of the city, I saw an airplane bigger than an airbus preparing to land in the northeast. 

I was miles away from the airport, so distant as not to see it; but I knew the airport was in the northeast. 

Everything was normal except the size of the aircraft. 

It is bigger than I normally see. 

It looked like an inflated balloon in the shape of an airplane. 

But I saw it was a real airplane. 

Everything was fine -- BUT! -- the moment it touched down the runway, it exploded incomparably great that the ground I was standing on trembled. 

I saw the trees and structures in the skyline trembling. 

It was like the whole city trembled!

The island city

I found myself on the edge of a big city, sitting where the waves and the sands met. 

Beyond the great waters of blue was an island of green. My eyes were fixed on the island, but it seemed I was not looking at the island. Around me were eyes of other races fixed on me, but it seemed they were not looking at me. 

Then, behind me, a block of white texts came scrolling up from below. 

I read as it went up. 

I panted and I sighed as I grasped the essence of every line of the piece that I read. It felt like the warmth of the Hand of Love, holding the very core of my being. 

And, all of a sudden, I was caught up in the high heavens. 

As the wind carried me to the heights, I saw the island below and an isle beside it becoming stones midst of sea. 

Then, as if stones thrown into the sea, the islands submerged -- the bigger island first, followed by the isle beside it. 

And the sea rippled mightily towards the big city and other areas surrounding the two islands that were lost. 

A word and another flashed on the scene one after the other. "Island," it read -- and then, "city."