Month: June 2010

my element

i stand alone in the middle of a wheat field bathed in the ochre light of an autumn Sun. the Wind whips the ripened wheat stalks to a frenetic dance and carries the last strains of live’s lighting crashes in its wake.

if only…

but regrets cannot overtake me here. i am in my own world, where the low-lying Clouds slowly hide the face of apollo and rumble their ominous warnings of an impending tempest and the Earth undulates and groans in her birthing throes.

the Wind shrieks louder, and the wheat bow down, asking for mercy, asking to be spared. the Wind shows no compassion today and breaks scores of stalks as it flies through field. gold grains run after Zephyr.

i stand as the storm breaks, drenching my skin in translucent rivulets that slide down to Earth and slake her thirst.

lightning dances before me, scorching the wheat and raising up the sweet smell of burning. clean, clear, cleansing.

the Earth heaves once more and opens a fissure between my feet. the abyss is home beckoning.

i dive in.

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the house that hums

so here’s another city and here’s another lesson about life and its juxtapositions.

i now live a spitting distance away from a church. not that i spit on the church, mind. but it’s thatclose. furthermore, considering that it is sunday today, the walls of the house reverberate with the crescendo of the choral introit.

and i realized something that i took for granted in all my days running around spreading hellfire and hellion in my wake: i am descended from a long line of ministers.

the realization dawned on me during one conversation i had with my mother while we had supper one evening in this new city.  she was, as she said, “talking shop”. and she was describing one bible study she facilitated where the discussion centered on the apostles and how they were chosen by christ. and she was quoting biblical passages.

i think i’ve already mentioned it sometime in the cafe that since i turned sixteen i’d lived separately from my family and that it was only last year that we lived together again under the same roof. so, i still have a lot of getting used to with how a minister worked full time.

that evening while my mother talked shop, i, being more acclimated with the “darker” side of life, was taking in what she was telling me (bible quotes and all) with some discomfort.

“you seem to be converting a lost soul here, ” i said with a chuckle of unease when she mentioned yet another passage of paul’s letters to the corinthians (or some other old-world city).

“no, i’m just talking shop,” she replied. “your mom’s a minister, don’t you remember? if i were a brain surgeon, you’d be hearing about the gray matter and maybe how i sliced open a person’s skull. or i’d be spouting legalese if i were a lawyer.”

so there. over a meal of rice and fried chicken i got reacquainted with my ancestors’ vocation. yeah, my father was a minister before he went on and permanently donned a while gown and sprouted wings (to sing halleluiahs while perched on a cloud), my mother is a minister, and one of my great grandfathers was a bishop by the time i was born.

but before you switch over to another far more interesting read for fear that this is going to be a scheme to evangelize your lost soul, o dear reader of mine, let me assure you that i would not be converting (unintended pun) The Broken Coffee Cafe into a fount of salvation and redemption (not unless absolutely necessary and if i am under duress).

with that aside, let me go back to the point i was trying to make: about life’s juxtaposition and all that mushy bit. living next to a church – in a parsonage – is quite similar to living in an apartment smack in the middle of a city’s red light district and right next to a nightclub.

music still shakes the walls of our house. and although most of the members of the congregation are not from the same economic and social strata as those heavily made up ladies and men i encountered in another lifetime, they are somewhat the same in essence.  and most days, this place where i am currently staying is where lost souls still flock in – seeking meaning, seeking redemption, seeking acceptance, seeking solace, seeking the divine.

there.

i will not burden you today with too much philosophical musing.

have a happy sunday.

Broken Coffee Cafe Newsletter

Dear Old House in Cubao,

How are you keeping? I miss you. I remember how we spent a sleepless Sunday night packing up the remainder of our luggage to take with us on the plane. You listened in as mother, my two cousins, and I shared ghost stories while having coffee at 2 in the morning.

We left you at 4AM on a Monday for us to catch a flight to this new city. We arrived here at around 10AM (still Monday). A welcoming committee picked us up from the airport, and we drove down to the lowlands and onto the heart of The City.

We arrived at our new house, right in the heart of The City and in front of a main highway, around 11 AM, floating on a fog brought on by our lack of sleep.

We expected to have a quiet lunch with just the family and then probably catch more than forty winks before being presented to the general populace… But all was well – free lunch and good company. Short speeches and words of welcome all around. The rest of the day was filled with social calls from envoys of various affiliations who wanted to welcome mother.

In case you are wondering about this move and why we left you after staying there for a year (me) and four years (mother), it was because of mother’s new job. I’ll post more about this later, considering that I am still thinking of ways to weave a veil* over mortals’ eyes so that they would not know the true appearance of things. In short, I am still looking for appropriate pseudonyms for this new life.

Now the family’s here – including the feline members – and we are still adapting to yet another major move. There are still nomads who roam the earth, and their existence is not limited to the desert sands of Arabia and Africa. I have mixed feelings about this.

Oh yeah, the cats are fine. I know you’d want to know what happened to them after Luigi’s initial reaction of being placed in a cage with his mother and younger sib. He could have freed all three of them with his jumping around and shrieking like, er, a caged animal.

Luigi’s relatively fine now. I understand his situation because he did have a girlfriend there  – the stray across the street – and I am sure that they had arrangements and plans for their future before we unceremoniously whisked Luigi away to practically another planet where his interaction is limited to human feet and polished furniture. No birds or sewer rodents to prey on in here. Worst of all, his blossoming romance was nipped at the bud.

The two other cats are already quite adapted, and are now using the space beneath the sofa as their own command center. They have become quite adept at ambushing any pair of feet that dared cross their territorial boundaries – wreaking havoc on nice ladies’ stockings.

So far, so good. But of course, the other issues are reserved until I get to create the veil.

The rest of our cargo is yet to arrive. It’s still with the shipping company. Meanwhile, I’m off to do some shopping for household needs. We came here without pots and pans and I am hankering for boiled rice and chop suey for lunch.

Catch you later. Cafe’s still in business, although in (yet) another city.

Tah-tah and all those mushy bits.

All my love,

Feyoh

*refer to Percy Jackson, please

testing…

this is a test page for the blog…

(from lurchie’s long-time-ago discovery that MSWord 2007 has a nifty feature that lets a deranged individual publish diatribes from the comforts of Word’s interface. ahhh! the wonders of technology)