chaff and grain

www.sweeneytoddmovie.com

Wicked, wicked release. Not for the faint-hearted.  Maybe not advisable for the depressed, clinically or otherwise.  Not for the angry unless you can manage on your own.  Not for the unforgiving nor the ADHD-OC mind. 

I don't know if the events were too predictable or I'd say its just how closely-patterned my disposition can be to Sweet Sweeney, that I somehow knew what the twists would be or more like how twisted things will get.

Johnny of my 21-Jumpstreet Days.  Lovely still.  Helena, how can one stop pining for that dove-like seduction?  And Tim Burton, dark, sweet-bitter genius puppet-master. He throws a line and reels it all in and just when you thought that that is all there is to it, he tugs at it one more and you get a dear world that is caught by the throat.  Revenge oh so sweet and maddeningly funny while you’re at it and then swoosh it goes and you are left soak to your bones. That’s my take to “Never forget. Never forgive.”  Something, I just can’t afford to linger in much longer.

My birthstone is ruby but this red scares me.  I love meat but would definitely take good care I wouldn’t go learn how to process.  And I would have to tell me over and over again, at times, "you're too powerful a person born into this life," but in the same breath, say "too weak at times to hold back a deathwish". There’s so little to differentiate between love and hate. I ought to choose well.

Hey, read between the lines. I love this film even if my stomach didn’t. And will forever remember how with a crease on her forehead, Mrs. Lovett sings to the boy, “Nothing can harm you, Not when I’m around you.” Imagine, I was hit in the guts and it’s my eyes that overflowed.

 

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me--the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and un-
suspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods--
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house--, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets
                          that I chanced upon,--
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and,
                                startled, gave back
my too-sudden image. Who knows? perhaps
                                                the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...

---

all this time and crisis after crisis, i thought you've been forgotten
this morning, as i wail in prayer, there you were, while i remain lost in you

I took this test when I was in my late teens or early 20s.

To this day, though I still have to understand the difference between Myers-Briggs  school of thought and Keirsey's when it comes to personlity types or temperaments, I continue to be amused and amazed by how these theories speak about how interesting a human individul life is.   Carl Jung,  I can imagine must have had such a ride getting into it all. And oh, I read we share the same (flip)box.

I thought I'd share these as my way of keeping my letters true to life...

Interesting read from
http://www.personalitypathways.com/

Dominant Introverted Intuition
INTJ & INFJ What is it like?

By Danielle Poirier www.RebelEagle.com
© copyright Rebel Eagle Productions

Without introverted intuitives, it is said that Israel would have had no prophets. Under deceptively conventional appearances lie perceptive minds that travel the breadth and depth of universal mysteries, contemplating its multilayered complexity, seeking the trends that will define the future. With time, clarity of vision comes. When it comes, they are propelled towards the vision and all their actions lead to it. They are perseverant behind a quiet exterior and will often come back with their vision long after everyone believes they have let it go.

What they see is so clear and obvious to them they are often surprised to find that others cannot see it as well. They may find it difficult to articulate the necessary steps towards implementation or to explain how each goal fits into the larger picture.

Their mind usually travels from the past to the future, seeking to fit a particular situation in a large context. It picks up patterns, symbols and images from different seemingly unrelated fields, identifies similarities and provides meaning. This can help solve problems by juxtaposing ideas, finding analogies or simply by rooting out the quintessential reality, discovering the origin in universal stories and human experiences, culling wisdom from the infinitely small to the infinitely large. Their mind naturally travels from the microcosm to the macrocosm.

They regularly have to face the difficulties of bringing dreams into reality. The time and effort it takes is always more than what their intuition initially suggested. They are determined, perseverant, inspired and often see things just around the corner, into the near or far future.

And from
http://keirsey.com/personality/nfij.html

The Portrait of the Counselor Idealist (iNFj)

The Counselor Idealists are abstract in thought and speech, cooperative in reaching their goals, and directive and introverted in their interpersonal roles. Counselors focus on human potentials, think in terms of ethical values, and come easily to decisions. The small number of this type (little more than 2 percent) is regrettable, since Counselors have an unusually strong desire to contribute to the welfare of others and genuinely enjoy helping their companions. Although Counsleors tend to be private, sensitive people, and are not generally visible leaders, they nevertheless work quite intensely with those close to them, quietly exerting their influence behind the scenes with their families, friends, and colleagues. This type has great depth of personality; they are themselves complicated, and can understand and deal with complex issues and people.

Counselors can be hard to get to know. They have an unusually rich inner life, but they are reserved and tend not to share their reactions except with those they trust. With their loved ones, certainly, Counselors are not reluctant to express their feelings, their face lighting up with the positive emotions, but darkening like a thunderhead with the negative. Indeed, because of their strong ability to take into themselves the feelings of others, Counselors can be hurt rather easily by those around them, which, perhaps, is one reason why they tend to be private people, mutely withdrawing from human contact. At the same time, friends who have known a Counselor for years may find sides emerging which come as a surprise. Not that they are inconsistent; Counselors value their integrity a great deal, but they have intricately woven, mysterious personalities which sometimes puzzle even them.

Haha they can say that again!
Now your turn...
:)

Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.Let it not be a death but completeness.Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence. I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.

~Rabindranath Tagore


Thank you dear Tintin for letting me in on your thoughts again.
Thank you for letting me find the words to my own thoughts of flight
Of letting be.


For C.
Flying away for now.

I've been in probably every refugee camp in the world and I've seen more people die than most—from disasters, from war, from hunger. And after a while it got to the point where I could not take it anymore.


Because I become the person I am photographing. Once, during a situation when I was photographing a child dying of starvation, I had to aim the camera and at the same time, turn my head away, because I couldn't deal with it. Their pain. Inside, every time, I was crying more and more, because all I could do is take the damn picture. Just a picture. Though I'm not out to save the world, it was getting to me.


You see, I don't take life too seriously— it's a big game. I've seen too many people die not to take it that way. How can I take things seriously I kept putting myself in these situations Not because I wanted to be blown away. I have my own feeling s about survival. When you are in situations like that you must concentrate on what's around you, and that alone. If you're married you don't think about your wife. Or you don't think of your girlfriend. Nine out of ten times I don't do stupid things, like stand up when they shoot. But I've seen others forget, stand up—and that's it. It's about being there. You have to be aware of every moment. Each time I went to a war I said, " Never again." And meant it. I didn't want to die. A couple of lifetimes ago, in the Iran-Iraq war, we were pulling out when the guy before me was killed; the guy behind me was killed and the guy near me had his heart ripped out. Only the cameraman and me weren't scratched. How do you explain these things?


You can't. So I tried to escape it; the portraiture I do now is of political figures, of well-known actors or actresses. It doesn't engage me in the same way; neither does it hurt me. My heart's not being tramped on like it was before; with celebrities it doesn't take anything from you here (holding his hand over his heart). But don't get me wrong. I take it seriously. When I make a portrait of a head of state (and I've photographed maybe sixty of them) my political opinions do not enter into it. I respect who they are, I appreciate their position, and I want them to look good. That's my job. What I'm saying is that their politics don't mean anything to me. Here's one example: Zia, the former Prime Minister of Pakistan, was said by many to be a bad guy. So I was in Pakistan and after I finished the official portrait some magazine had asked me to make, Zia requested, as a favor, that I take a picture of him with his daughter. And then he brought down this twelve-year girl, who was retarded. He was proud of her; he clearly loved her very much. That to me made him a good man—I don't care what his other politics were.


On another occasion I spent several days with Castro and I really liked him —he's funny, he's cool, he has great sense of humor and warmth (I mean as a human being here) and we went duck hunting, which is something of an honor. He has a plaque with the names of those he has gone hunting with engraved on it, and with all the Eastern European names and Russian names, I could only see one other U.S. guy—Ted Turner. But because our government says Castro's no good, we're supposed to hate him. It's propaganda, no matter what you say.


And the curious thing is that I know some of those sixty heads of state in a way writers can't, or maybe their own staffs can't. Because with a writer they have to be very careful; every word is measured, calculated, but a photographer is … harmless. I talked to Anwar Sadat, of Egypt, whom I had a good relationship with, for a long time about the '67 war—I gave him some belated advice about military maneuvers. And he laughed and put his hand on my shoulder. "I had to do what I had to do," he said, talking about whether or not he lost the war, saying that he needed to fight back for Egypt's honor. He was a good man. And when I first met Indira Ghandi I was taken aback. I had some big fat tough woman in my mind, and instead she was dainty, attractive, charming. And I just came out and said, "Madame Prime Minister, you are much more beautiful than your photographs." And she laughed and said, "I think they print all those on purpose."


So portraiture is something I feel connected with. When I photographed the defenders in Speak Truth to Power, there were moments where I could see the photograph, where it really worked as a representation of that person. When I met that the young Burmese activist, Kha Hsa Wa, I didn't know the meaning of his name (white elephant). I just looked at him and thought, "jungle," trying to make a connection to his situation, and asked him to get up on that elephant. In the case of Oscar Arias of Costa Rica, I had photographed him several times before in his role as president of that country and know he is a warm and real person, besides being a leading intellectual and a very bright man. But I took this picture at his home in Costa Rica, to make it about that very personal humanity he has. Bruce Harris is another one, working in Guatemala—very definitely a real person. We went out at night to this area with ten year-old prostitutes, little girls; the police shoot them to get them off the streets; I couldn't believe it. He took me to the cemetery where some of the street kids he helps were killed by the police and others and have been buried. We spent a few hours there and as we were leaving we walked through a corner we hadn't been to and I said," Christ this is perfect," and took the picture that's in the book. It just worked right away—I threw the rest of the stuff out. Kailash Satyarthi of India, who frees children from slave labor, was another case in point. I had photographed him before in India and enroute on another trip, as we were passing by, I said, "Let's try a reshoot." So we did, and it worked, because kids hang on Kailash all the time, he's a big, friendly guy.


Because when you are doing portraits of unknown people they have to be interesting enough that people stop and look at them. Abubacar Sultan from Mozambique was the first person I photographed for this book, at the home of Ethel Kennedy—and I felt immediately that the picture was successful, in the sense that it is how Abubacar should look- he's handsome, strong, a true individual. And with the nun from Guatemala who was tortured, such a sweet girl, Dianna Ortiz, we must have 300 other frames where she might look better, but then all of a sudden she looked down, in a private moment of recollection, and that was the picture that was real.


The reality in portraiture is that if the subjects are comfortable they will fall into the best pose on their own. It's going to happen. I never touch anyone, move him or her around, even if there is a hand that looks in between somehow. I just let them find their own space. Something happens between a photographer and a subject and when it happens, they know it, too.


Marina Pisklakova from Russia, who runs the domestic violence hotline, kept saying, "I don't deserve anything, to be singled out for this." Nice woman. We were in my studio on East 11th Street. Suddenly a little ray of light came in and crossed the wall where she was standing and I moved over very quickly before it was gone—that was the picture. We discussed doing environmental portraits from the beginning of Speak Truth to Power- in their own country, in their own place. But after a while it was clear that because of money and time and other constraints, that couldn't happen as we had thought, so we started doing the portraits here and there, wherever. It was complicated, but sometimes things worked amazingly well, in spite of it all.


Such as when I was in Czech Republic doing President Vaclav Havel that morning; I was happy. He had canceled before twice, and I only had ten minutes with him, but even so, I still like him—for what he stands for, for what he's done, and just as a person—I liked him an awful lot. But I was leaving the next morning, when Hungarian mental rights activist Gabor Gombos showed up at midnight. He came up to hotel room and I had him stand in a corner of the room and backlit him – and it actually worked out!


When Kerry told me the story of the government of Algeria looking for Anonymous and that he would be killed if found, the picture to take was obvious. I didn't know it would become the cover of the book and everything. Right away I told them what I wanted to do. I saw the whole picture in my mind– the Middle East was part of my territory as a journalist from way back. Before we left America, I told my assistant Melissa to find out how to make a hangman's noose, so she downloaded plans from the Internet. I didn't want to take it with me, knotted, in the bag, because, well, it's Algeria. When we got there I went into the souk and I told the shopkeeper I needed a length of black material. "What kind," they asked me. "The kind you use for a bag on someone's head when you're hanging them," I replied, and they all started laughing. So I got my rope, my bag, and started working on the knot. I found the place I wanted in the middle of the desert and we started to photograph. We were over the horizon from anything- the security issue was a big thing. At one point, off in the distance we saw a truck, a semi, and I got really paranoid; we waited until they had passed. I worked fast; didn't want to take long. But the timing was crucial. I wanted it to be high noon for this picture; I wanted the sun to be harsh, and the environment to be primitive and ugly, nothing living, emptiness. It says it.


Words and pictures have a continuing struggle for primacy. In my mind, a person can write the best story in the world; but a photograph is absolute.

Here's my story: in early 1977 I noticed a couple of paragraphs in the New York Times about people escaping from Vietnam. Associated Press had just signed me up with carte blanche to cover the whole world, and complete editorial control. (The first person before or since to get it–that was the deal I made with them.) And I went to the president and said, "Boat people. Here's a story I want to do," and started making calls all through Southeast Asia to AP bureaus to find out more. No one, no country, was letting the refugees land. You couldn't even find out about them. At first, I went back and said the story was impossible to cover. Then I had an idea and got in touch with the Thai Marine police (I knew Thailand very well) who had been shoving the boats right back offshore to certain death. I told them would like to go with them on patrol in the Gulf of Siam. They OK'd it, so we headed for the most likely point in northern Thailand, getting there at 4am when a refugee boat had just pulled in; the Thai authorities were getting ready to cast it off again. It was Thanksgiving Day in 1976. I suddenly asked the Vietnamese if I could go with them— I bought gas and rice – they had no fuel or food. There were forty-nine people aboard that fishing boat, including children— in the hold that same day a baby was born. The Thais towed us back out to sea and set us adrift. On that boat, there was no room to lie down, so they all had to sit up straight, waking or sleeping. I cannot describe the despair. There were dramatic pictures of mothers with half-dead children in their arms but something even worse was there. Whenever you go to refugee camps in a war zone where terrible things have happened, where bodies might be stacked up, and disease everywhere, you still find children who gather before the camera with a smile. This was the first time in my life that no child smiled. I called the pictures, "the boat of no smiles." The boat was hardly moving- they didn't even know where to go. Then we were approached by another Thai boat with a megaphone ordering me off at gunpoint— they were afraid someone would let them dock knowing there was an American aboard. I had mixed feelings about getting off. I wrote the story and sent the pictures immediately, and they ran. Peter Arnett did a story also and a few others. Within a couple of days the administration asked the AP to present the photos to Congress. And Carter said let them come to America. The Congress had been thinking about it, sure, but the pictures did it, pushed it over. To me that was the only thing I ever done that I cared about, valued. Pictures do work, at least sometimes. They carry conviction. Go back to the pictures in Speak Truth to Power and you can look at them in another way. These people, those faces, are the person next door. These are real people, and the pictures prove that no one made this up— they are the evidence that they exist. Ordinary people, doing extraordinary things.


--Interview by Nan Richardson October 2, 2000, New York City

Article Source
http://www.pbs.org/speaktruthtopower/hr_eddie.htm

Photo Credit and another good article
www.nis.wvu.edu/2002_Releases/WarPhotogs.htm

Happy April Fool(moon)'s Day !

 

Today I officially start my new life.

Traveling to a new environment tomorrow.

New pictures after then, I hope :)

 

 

And thank you FRMP.

 

Giraffes, how did they make Carmen? Well, you see, Carmen ate the prettiest rose in the world and then just then the great change of heaven occurred and she became the prettiest girl in the world and because I love her.

 

- Excerpt from KENNETH KOCH’S Rose, Where Did You Get That Red?

 

 

May my love be free…

 

To know no bounds and yet know its place. 

To listen to its merits and understand and forgive its faults. 

To take it as it is and as my own and deny not its sweetness nor  its power. 

To melt with it like a child embraced by tenderness. 

To rejoice in its past and remembering and to be totally present to its surprises and visits.

To allow the leaving and grief as necessary and then to heal everyday to prepare for another meeting and yet another leaving. 

To stand witness to the truths of that loving, taking that which expands the horizon and sealing with prayers and kiss that which has to be sent to flight.

To know that should it find its way back, it is no longer a stranger and that it deserves a place to stay.

 

To dance with abandonment and yet with both the graceful and wild rhythms of my soul.

To prepare for a feast for those I love and fill our cups with each others’ thanksgiving. 

To feed the hunger and bittermost of absences.

 

To be happy in knowing my gift has been taken in and returned with as much. 

To allow myself to be possessed by love’s grace knowing and trusting it will not desire for my death but will grant a life beyond my limited expectations.

 

May my heart be faithful..

 

 

To the trust that has been placed before me—to care for, respect, and cherish.

To the love that has been allowed to take place in my soul. 

To the infinite grace that has been borne out of longing and waiting in vain, in despairing. 

To the One whose faithfulness can be depended on to cover my own.

 

/15th of September

 

 

16th of October              *             Cenacle Retreat House

 

What's wrong this time?

I keep logging in just to see my newly layouted BN blog.

Mostly white space, mid-tone gray to black text, no extra lines to separate or border elements and that oh-so-delightful band of turquoise blue...

Oh please let me stare at it for all eternity.

This is really wrong.

 

Rollingstones

PAINT IT BLACK

 

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
I see a line of cars and they’re all painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a new born baby it just happens ev’ry day
I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and it has been painted black
Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts
It’s not easy facin’ up when your whole world is black

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the settin’ sun
My love will laugh with me before the mornin’ comes

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
Hmm, hmm, hmm,...
I wanna see it painted, painted black
black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black
Yeah!

Some major work  for the office finally got launched last December 21.  It is a collection of 12 songs about our sea and the people who live and love with it. Filipino friends and fellow environmental advocates led by Joey Ayala were instrumental in bringing this project to fruition, while me and my teammates of information officers felt like obgynes or in more third-world context, like barrio midwives that just had to be there at the right place at the right moment.

 

And what Beauty we now cradle in our midst.

 

Buzznet is my  place of rest, of creativity, of comfort, of challenge. 

And so allow me to say thank you by sharing this labor of love:

MGA AWIT NG MAGDARAGAT (SONGS OF THE FISHERMAN). 

 

Lyrics from one of the core songs I loosely translated. 

Noypi Buzznuts, if there’s a better way to put it let me know. 

 

SANTWARYO

Lyrics by Joey Ayala

Music by Cynthia Alexander

 

Kung korales ay sing-hugis

Ng pag-asa

At ang buhay ay sing-kulay

Ng isda 

 

Saan pa nga ba

Magtatagpo ang dalawa  

   -- buhay at pag-asa 

 

Kung ang lambat na umaapaw ay

Sagana

Sa biyaya ng likas

Na pagsinta 

 

Saan pa nga ba

Sisilong at magdaragsa  

   -- buhay at biyaya 

 

Santwaryo -- Sa dagat

Santwaryo -- Sa puso

Santwaryo

Ng buhay at pag-asa 

 

Santwaryo -- Ingatan

Santwaryo -- Tanuran

Santwaryo

Ng buhay at pag-asa 

 

SANCTUARY

If corals are shaped

Like hope

And life is as colorful

As fish

Where else

Will both meet

    -- life and hope

 

If an overflowing net is

Rich

With the grace of true

Love

Where else

Will take shelter and go in abundance

   -- life and grace

Sanctuary -- In the sea

Sanctuary -- In the heart

Sanctuary

Of life and hope

Sanctuary  -- care for

Sanctuary --  look after

Sanctuary

Of life and hope

 

 

Yes, it is Christmas however we feel or think, may we find it so.

 

----

* With consideration of the shared intellectual property rights of the collaborating artists and the non-commercial purposes of our public office, I shall be sending the mp3  files as requested (by email)  and to those who’ve been part of my work and photos. This hopefully is to solicit more interest in the whole collection and eventually support for our campaign and in the same breath, sustain the creative and generous people whose works make our advocacy colorful,  far-reaching and life-giving.

 

To me, one of the simplest and yet most beautiful love songs written in our language. Beyond excuses and realities of human frailties, it speaks of its hope from the personal to the larger life. Mga Kapatid sa Kasentihan, I’ve yet to do a translation.  If in case you find a line or two catching you by the throat, you might want to take the challenge and share it. If you would like an mp3 of the song, just message me your email ady. Would like you to experience the full song.  I think Gary would want that also. 

 

Gary Granada's

KAPAG SINABI KO SA IYO

 

kapag sinabi ko sa ‘yo

na ika’y minamahal

sana’y maunawaan mo

na akoy isang mortal

na di ko kayang abutin

ang mga bituin at buwan

o di kaya ay sisirin

perlas ng karagatan

 

kapag sinabi ko sa ‘yo

na ika’y iniibig

sanay maunawaan mo

na ako’y tagadaigdig

kagaya ng karamihan

karaniwang karanasan

dala-dala kahit saan

pang-araw-araw na pasan

 

ako’y hindi romantiko

sa yo’y di ko matitiyak

na kapag ako’y kapiling mo

kailanma’y di ka iiyak

ang magandang hinaharap

sikapin nating maabot

ngunit kung di pa maganap

sana’y huwag mong ikalungkot

 

kapag sinabi ko sa ‘yo

na ika’y sinisinta

sana’y ibigin mo akong

mulat ang yong mga mata

kayaman kong dala

ay pandama’t kamalayan

na natutunan sa iba

na nabighani sa bayan

 

halina’t ating pandayin

isang malayang daigdig

upang doon payabungin

isang malayang pag-ibig

kapag sinabi ko sa 'yo

na ika’y sinusuyo

sana’y yakapin mo ako

kasama ang aking mundo

 

 

----

Para sa isang mapagpalayang pag-ibig

Para sa  lahat! 

Haay ‘tragis…

 

 

 

another photo op...

saw up on my upper right buzz page

"Comments 400 by me"

ey i thought milestone

wanted to take a shot

but cam's batt is dead

and then i clicked on the link

and number from the screen was gone

:(

seems to be losing a lot these days

time, mind, respect, patience, center

gotta find me a lost-and-found corner soon

 

Why oh why can i not have more time for and with my Photos?

Those who speak Pedro Arrupe's language would understand my pain:

 

Nothing is  more practical than finding God.

That is, than falling in love in a quite absolute and final way,

What you are in love with,

What seizes your imagination,

Will affect everything,

It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning

What you will do in the evening

How you spend your weekends

What you read,

WHAT YOU KNOW THAT BREAKS YOUR HEART

And moves you with joy and gratitude

Fall in love

Stay in love

It will decide everything

 

 

Ahhh this Light

 

 

How a person can speak so much of the universe within and without? How without shame can one declare one's strength and frailty at the same time? How a  person long gone whose birth 101 years ago marks the passage and the questions of our own lives is such a humbling thought.  Humbling but at the same time enlarging and draws from deep the desires to be whole and be part of it all.

Music from "Il Postino" and Pablo Neruda to  accompany us this Sunday afternoon.

 

I wheeled with the stars

And my heart broke loose with the wind

- POETRY

 

Walking around it happens

That I am tired of being a man

The smell of barber shops makes me sob out aloud

- WALKING AROUND, 1935

 

Tonight I can write the saddest lines

Write for example the night is shattered...

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her

- TONIGHT I CAN WRITE, 1924

 

After everything

I will love you

As if it were always before

- INTEGRATIONS

 

I love you as certin dark things are to be loved,

Secretly, between the shadow and the soul...

I love you without knowing how, nor when, nor from where.

- SONNET XVII

The sitting down for some talk and coffee and quiet drive happened. And so much more -- a much-awaited dinner last weekend with old best girlfriends and a photo is going to get published soon. And no one has forgotten anyone.

I'm beginning to think, this could very well be a magiclist.

And I say thank you.

---

When I loved myself enough

I began pouring my feelings into my journals.  These loving companions speak my language. No translation needed. -- Kim McMillen

 

There are some people I've been missing the past days.  People from the dead past but who still walk the earth somewhere.  To me they're friends, people I'd wish I could sit down for some talk and coffee, or one quiet drive perhaps.  Me to them? I do not know... But such is life.  Now how to keep them from haunting me that's the tricky part.

So I ask Neruda to sigh it out:

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

 

Go read the rest of  IF YOU FORGET ME and know what I mean.

  

 

 

Inspite the circus that is happening in this part of the world, there are those who choose to continue their life and work in the Philippines.  Stories on the local news have never been so depressing to the collective psyche as it is now. Anger is one thing while fatigue and indifference is another. And so it is very convenient, almost acceptable  just to say, "I quit!"...But life bids.  And so we answer. With our eyes wide-open.

On 18-21 August  2005, I'm taking part in the first Philippine  Environmental Documentary Film Festival here in Manila (Gateway Mall, Cubao, Quezon City). My office, government at that is sponsoring a portion of this endeavor.  Movies in times like these?  I say, we should. Perspectives need to be seen.  Visions have to be cleared. 

The stories may be of heartbreak but they just might be of awakening of a people's spirit as well.  I was born to this country and she nursed me well. I choose to believe that I will live to see her fully alive. These days, I am one of the many  who has been experiencing never ending birthpains for the Philipppines. That's how I see  what is before me. For now, there are still many gifts that should keep us from simply giving up. 

Please come and watch. Kababayans, please tell your families and friends who are  here.  We still have  a lot of work to do.  And there are still people willing to do the work.  Good works. We can be part of it all,  first by listening and seeing the other sides to the stories.    

Salamat.

 

 

PIleazzzz somebody take me to the doc.  This Buzzbnet bug's too much for me to handle!  Been doing the posts since last night. 

Or is it therapy?  Been kind out the past days til I came back and fire away on the keyboard and went through old files.

 

And it's that day that easily drives one crazy...

Good thing there is photography, and poetry and people who share these stuff and all that's in-between.