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Showing posts from August, 2008



Nakita ko itong lumubog
paglapit ko. Sukbit ang lungkot

naglayag sa huling hardin
ng mga liwayway ng dilim.

Nag-aabang, dalwang bisig
dala'y itim na batong nagniningning:

Lulunurin ka nila, hija.
Lulunurin mo sila, halika.

Hindi ko siya nabuhat.



Bukas, may makaaalala din.
Ihip ng tadhanang di man dumaplis

sa puting panaginip: matang pininid--
hindi makikita ang mahinahong silip.

Nagtatago dahil payak,
tahimik dahil banal,

bukas malalaman din.
Sinusulat lamang ang talaga,

binubura ng hangin anumang
pag-aanyo. Kumukupas ang papel:

di na binulatlat (baka di na maalala).
Nawawasak ang tapat sa kamay:

nang hindi man naibigay,
ni hindi man inalay.

Remember Who You Are


When will this madness end?


I looked at the moon last night and it said: "YOU ARE NOTHING."


"To make light of philosophy is to be a true philosopher." (Pascal)


How will I know if it is YOU?


"We'll never know," she said.

And I replied, "THANK YOU. I guess I never want to know. Knowledge is pain."


How do I solve the RIDDLE of you?

I need to remember who I am,
So please set me free.


Funny thing how we forget who we are under the blow of emotions.

Emotions do not have identity: being rough and amorphous, they cannot give one any definition; one moment you are a tranquil sea, the next a raging storm. (The story of my life.)

I know myself because I think my self--or I think there is such a thing called self. I have to think that there is a permanent substratum like a seabed which supports different waters at different times.

Emotions, however, destroy all such beliefs of a unity: Watch me act and play the fool in this stupid charade and masquerade. Fo…



Tinignan ko ang aking sarili.

Bagsak na korniho, buhat ang hanging
likha ng mapang-aping isip: wala akong balikat.

Pasanin lamang ang sa iyo.

Pinid na daluyan, lagusan ng dalwang ilog
pabalik sa lalim ng dilim: wala akong mata.

Ano ang nangyari sa iyo?

Ligid sa liig lumadlad ang gintong pulupot
ng Haring nakabayubay sa gitna ng dalwang burol.

Gawin Mo akong bundok.




Jenny, is he lovely?
Does he know that you were lonely,
Waiting--Was it just yesterday
When I saw you sigh?
Seas divide as time suspends,
Our highest hopes fall at the end;
Against and within them
your soft eyes rested, tested
A broken vow, a promise forgot:
Why wear the ring if he is Not?
Ah! No matter, another bedazzles, smiling,
A new song, an ignorant stand-in:
I was not told before I saw him.
I was not told you already loved him.




Nagising ako kaninang umaga:
Ako pala'y mag-isa.

Napansin nila ang aking katahimikan.
Hindi nila nakita ang taas

Na pinanggalingan ng aking mga salita
Bago nabasag sa paanan ng bundok.

Sa tuktok ako sumisigaw,
Hindi sa kanilang tainga.

Bumaba ako sa dapithapon:
Hindi nila ako nakilala.



What I (re-)learned last night from E

Stay happy.Do not look for what is not there (echoes my saying: "Huwag hanapin ang sarap sa butas ng donut").Do not think (echoes my good friend's saying: "Walang isip-isip!").No such thing as helping because it's going to go back to you some day (echoes my belief: "Give until you bleed").We stay sane not for our own sanity but for those who love us. Because, true enough, if it were only me or about me, I, too, would have crossed, or would without hesitation cross again, that fine, terrible line between the madness of love and the sadness of madness. Thus, learn to pick your mania.

Pulpit Puppet


I do not like the way that I have been teaching as of late. Well, at least for the past two days.

And I don't know why: it's not the content or the philosopher--Kant in my philosophy of man class and Heidegger in contemporary philosophy. To be sure, I love these two and they're not new to me. Is that it then?--that it's because I am so passionate about them that I mess it up; like the way I introduce a woman I admire to, say, my family and friends, who may nonetheless not see what I am seeing and also find it all the more absurd to see how "obsessed" I am with her? If teaching is (and will always be) a kind of introduction between students and the matter of thinking, could it be that the teacher's love for, say, a philosopher can hinder or even ruin the introduction--and prevent any genuine familiarity or legitimate understanding between them?

Ah, so that's why I sound like a preacher recently; and that's the last thing I want to be. When I heard m…

White Knight


I now wonder why all along it was Batman whom I idolized. We see in idols what we want to see in ourselves. Idols are measured by the intention of our gaze; an intention which proceeds from a lack in me which is then deployed to that which may fill the gaze in order to fulfill any such lack. I idolized Batman because he was what I was not but thought I could be: rich and strong, dark and alone.

But idols never jolt us, never unnerve or displace us. They stand on their ground precisely because I distance myself from it, in order to all the more gaze upon it--like the golden calf. In short, I put them in place and maintain them there in an absent presence which fulfills me as the inverted me: the pure demon or God.

Until I saw Two Face: my perfect, shattered mirror. As shattered as half of his face; a demented angel, a holy demon, my lost brother.


Secret Joy


Secret Love
Doris Day

Once I had a secret love
That lived within the heart of me
All too soon my secret love
Became impatient to be free

So I told a friendly star
The way that dreamers often do
Just how wonderful you are
And why I'm so in love with you

Now I shout it from the highest hills
Even told the golden daffodils
At last my heart's an open door
And my secret love's no secret anymore

C.S. Lewis once wrote that hell might be not having anyone to tell how happy you are.

Joy explodes: a bomb, a flood, a hurricane. It is loud and shatters all known silences of the mind and heart; it sounds out hollow all that stands and shimmers and glows in projected glory--and are shattered under the blow of joy.

Happiness is a nimble child carrying a hammer.

But happiness, too, wishes to build. And so it gathers itself, takes its time, pretends to be patient. Like a storm which gathers itself over silent and distant waters.

When at last it unleashes its fury, joy becomes indifferent to whateve…