A soul in need of prayers guides me to his grave

If souls go out their way of the netherworld to ask for prayers from the living, how eager would these souls be once they know of a person who is as eager as to pray for them even without them asking for it?

And how the soul helps you out especially when you, the intercessor, never know what the name of the soul is! 

The soul I wanted to pray for was the soul of the father of a childhood friend. 

But this friend would not give me the name of her father no matter how I insisted. 

It might be because this friend resented over my non-appearance to her father's funeral. 

I was broke at the time, nothing to even buy load for my cellular phone to contact and inform her of the matter. 

I was even too sick to walk my way to the wake. 

Because of this, I never knew the cemetery where the remains of her father was to be buried. 

After burial, I was able to secure some money to contact her and asked for the name of her father -- for prayers! 

But she would not reply pertaining to her father's name. 

I was thinking, she might change religion that never believes in soul-praying. 

Well, enough of speculations! 

The soul would find ways to let me know of its name. 

For, souls are in dire need of prayers. 

Souls even visit the living through dreams to tell of this intercessory need of theirs. 

I left everything to the soul and I let myself forget about it. 

One day, I came to visit my mother's grave. 

After praying for my mother's soul, I decided to do "slow-walking" towards the interior of the cemetery while saying another rosary -- this time, for other souls whose mortal bodies are buried in those grounds. 

Along the way, towards the end of the cemetery, I noticed a freshly-laden grave with the name"Severino" of the family name of my friend inscribed on the marker. 

"Was your father's name Severino?" I asked my friend via text message. 

Her reply was vague. 

A typo error, it could be understood as "no" or "yes" by our dialect. 

But a common neighbor of ours whom I had never seen for years came to our house and I had the chance to ask for the name of the father of our common friend. 

And the reply was: "SEVERINO!"

The boy in the pad

The following entry is recorded in my diary dated June 7, 2008, 1:47 p.m., Saturday:

THE TWO DEVILS

I had another dream... a night dream... and it was very real! In my dream, I was sleeping in my room; and it was relatively very dark. Suddenly, two devils put their weights on me in the middle of my sleep. Hardly could I breathe! I prayed the "Hail Marys" real hard over and over -- until I uttered the prayer in my mouth in reality. I woke up in the darkness of my room... very similar to the situation of my dream. I had this dream in a "bachelor's pad" I had rented from September 2007 to January 2008 before I transferred here in this room. Many things happened in the pad, and I am writing them here.

THE EVIL EYES

There was one incident when I was locking my door to go somewhere, I was aghast to see the face of someone whose eyes were transfixed in the direction of my door. My eyes met his! -- and it was like I saw satan's eyes! I looked down suddenly, I didn't want him see my reaction. He was a man in his early 30's. And he was able to help me before one way or another.

THE KILLINGS ON CHRISTMAS DAY

December 25, two of my nephews were with me in the pad. I had a sudden feeling in the afternoon to take them away from that place the soonest I could. Off we went hurriedly to the nearby market without even looking at anybody we met along the way. An hour and a half after we left, two men in that house were killed! Killed by the man with evil eyes! I returned to my pad the day after. I consoled the family with my presence -- in the wake, in the Mass, and in the burial.

THE PRESENCE OF TWO SOULS

There was an eerie feeling, but I was getting used to it. One night, I woke up in the middle of my sleep and sensed strong in my spirit the presence of two souls standing and staring at me and the boy sleeping in my bed. And the dog that never wailed before, wailed at that moment. I prayed for the souls.

THE BOY IN THE PAD

One of those killed had a son, a four-year-old boy, who lived with me in the pad. This was before the death of his father. Nobody in that house took care of him. In his tender age, he was already a thief in the market and afflicted with sores in his legs. I felt compassion for him -- mercy! I fed him, bathed him and treated his wounds. And the sores healed.

He liked me -- he felt loved. The feeling was mutual because I felt needed, and I was longing for friendships.

His family -- especially, the aunts and the grandpa -- was very jealous of me... except his father.

It was him who prodded the boy to practically live and sleep in my pad -- in my care -- after seeing improvements with his child.

Jealous family attempted several times to take away the feelings of the boy towards me -- but to no avail.

Yet I was hit by millions of arrows of pains and aches right through the center of my heart because of jealousy of the family.

Undoubtedly, it was them whom prophet Don warned me about:"...I see someone who doesn't like you and they are working against you. It's actually the spirit of witchcraft."

But I had a prayer: 

"Lord, let the father of the boy feel the way I feel for his son; and let the feelings of the boy towards me be transferred to his own father."

I came to a point when I decided to stop all this in respect to his jealous family. 

The father pleaded with me through his girlfriend [to continue taking care of his son], but I was already firm. 

When the father realized that his son was able to sleep outside my door in the darkness of the alley one night after many pleadings of the boy to enter, he was moved to pity for his son. 

And that started the answer to my prayer. 

The following day, the father was a changed man. 

He took care of his own son -- bathing, feeding, guarding, going out and eating out with him. 

All of a sudden, the boy distanced himself from me. It hurt me deep in my spirit. 

That was why I took home with me my two nephews on Christmas day. I was very lonely. I could hardly hide it so that the family was rejoicing over what happened to me. 

THE FALLING BOY

December 31, 2007. After burial, I had a dream in my afternoon sleep -- this time, concerning "a boy in the pad."

It was so VERY real that I decided to transfer residence as soon as possible.

And I found this room I have rented since January this year.

It was an abrupt decision; I never wanted to see the dream happen. And who will want to see it happen?

The vision suggests it is to happen in that place.

This dream was short and sudden -- like injecting itself from nowhere into the void of my sleeping imagination.

Shouting at the top of his voice, a boy was in the act of falling! His eyes were looking downward -- in great fear and panic.

I was in great fear and panic as I was watching the vision.

I woke up suddenly.

THE FATHER OF THE BOY

Let me tell you something about the father of the boy.

He, too, was very difficult to deal with. I stopped delivering native snack food to his store because he would say he already paid me such and such deliveries which actually he did not pay.

I kept offering to God for him those sacrifices.

I felt bitter, but I felt more compassion for the man.

From my place, during the night when he was usually drunk, I could hear practically all his sentiments towards his family.

He had no room of his own. He slept outside -- in the makeshift store attached to the house of his father.

My prayers were incessant. Tears were even on my cheeks.

Because I knew God looked so kindly on that man, for God came for the likes of him into this world -- but I am worst.

A drunkard, he was also a "call boy."

I even heard him say he was a "thorn in the throat of his family."

Many prayers and sacrifices passed.

Then came a time when his own father granted him a room in the house.

I was very happy.

And I was happier when I came to know this: he asked for forgiveness for the kind of life he lived before the tomb of his mother on Christmas day -- morning.

And in the afternoon, he was killed.

THE SMELL OF PAINT

On my last day at the pad, I suddenly smelled a paint. A paint used to paint a coffin?

When I came to remember the man, my plugged electric fan, all of a sudden, stopped rotating.

I knew it was the soul of his -- in the midst of me.

I prayed and prayed for the soul -- until the smell vanished and the fan resumed.

Was it thanking me for everything?

I thank You, Lord Jesus, for everything.

[The blogger's note: The boy is now nine years old and is already in the custody of his biological mother in South Davao province. The vision never happened. Prayers may have prevented it while prayers are still on-going for the soul of his father in purgatory. The killer, a constant butt of jokes and a bullying underdog of his victims, is serving his sentence in the Davao Penal Colony reduced only to a few years for pleading guilty of the crimes he committed.]

Theft in the sidewalk

My pocket "point-and-shoot" camera and a pair of slippers were stolen! In the tiredness of my body for incessant walking Friday last week, I stopped in Claveria to take a rest in the sidewalk before I could go on to a government hospital to sleep in its compound where it is safe; but I found out later at dawn, I slept the whole night in Claveria and was a victim of theft. In my life as homeless in the vicinity of the hospital, I have met a nine-year-old boy who is fond of collecting cartons, plastic bottles and cans and his young mother who likes to put on make-up at night. They sleep at daytime at DMC hospital and are busy at night in Claveria: the boy, a beggar; the mother, a prosti. Not all seen about the hospital building have patients; a few are homeless persons trying to take shelter in and to say they have patients is to save them from the shame of being known of having no homes. But a homeless can detect one who is also homeless. And when they come to know other homeless individuals, they are happy they are not alone. My friendship with the boy began in the steel swing where I frequent myself every morning and ask him to join me in the swinging. This connection transitioned gradually into like a deeper friendship as truth of our existence gradually emerges as well. I had the chance to ask him why he likes me: "Kay gusto man kog amigo." (Because I need a friend.) Why me? "Kay wala man kay balay." (Because you are homeless.) At first, he said they have a patient admitted in the hospital; but later, I had doubts because his conversations were different every time I asked him about the patient. My feeling was supported as true when, one evening on my way to downtown, I caught him in the sidewalk in Claveria with his blanket on ready to sleep. When I revealed I too am homeless, he is connected to me like my own shadow, asking me to go to Claveria every night where he begs and sleeps. Friday last week, on my way back to the hospital walking from downtown via Claveria, somebody was following me and calling my attention: the boy! I was already very tired of incessant walking all day because earlier I went to the feast of San Francisco de Asis in Tagakpan. I promised him I would bring them "lechon." But something went wrong. I returned the rice and lechon I "sacked" for the boy and his mom. I never ate my share in the feast to be able to "sack" my share for the boy and his mom. But a man from the church rebuked me upon exiting: "Welcome mo diri para mamiyesta pero sa sunod ayaw mo pag-sacking og pagkaon para makakaon ang uban." (You are welcome here to feast but do not sack food next time so other visitors can eat as well.)  I returned the food. And I had to go to the nearby Pantatan (Catfish) Festival in Tugbok where everyone could have a share of one grilled catfish and rice. I was happy to have something to give to the boy and the woman for dinner because they eat only once a day. I rested in the sidewalk with the boy that Friday night but was able to sleep the whole night unknowingly while his mom was on her particular trade that evening. It does not matter if my camera and slippers were stolen; what matters is the friendship that I have found in the person of this youth.