Skip to main content

Divine Availability


Master, what must I do in order to be happy?

Do what you makes you happy.

But what if I do not know what will make me happy? How do I choose what to do then, Master?

Do what you want. Do what comes easy for you.

But Master, what if what I wish to do is to do nothing?

Then do nothing.

Will doing nothing still make me happy?

You will know that in time.

But Master, how can I be happy without doing anything? Others are happy because of their work. They find their place under the sky when they work on their fields. They care for their homes and their families which bring them much comfort and hope. People around me are consoled at night with the knowledge that something was finished that day, and that someone was loved. I have no such consolations, Master.

It matters not, my Son. Consolation is only for those who need to be consoled. There are those who may not need consolation, or may never receive it, because it is them who are called to give it.

Am I such a man who is called to give consolation?

I do not know, Son. That is something you will know on your own.

But how am I to prepare myself to console others? 

You must always be alone and still, able to hear the silent calls at night, and ready to leave by daybreak. Carry with you no burden that you may easily go where you are needed. Do not speak your name so that no one will know you. For to know is to possess and to hold someone down, and this you cannot do. Make no relations that enchain you. Doing this makes you free to make relations with anyone. You have to be a free man who opens himself up to a wide world, embracing it without any hope in his heart that it will be his, yet offering himself to be claimed by it. You will be a nomad of the earth but the kingdom of possibility is all yours. Because anyone may need consolation, the world will be your home, and your greatest consolation

Will such a consolation be enough to make me happy, Master?

It will be enough to burst your heart open.


  1. Anonymous9/23/2010

    Dear The Saint,

    If you have not encountered Hermann Hesse's works yet, I do hope you find time to devour them: Siddhartha -> Narcissus and Goldmund -> Magister Ludi (in that order). Some of your pieces have made me remember his lessons.

    Thank you for reminding me how much I miss writing down my own thoughts.

  2. Hello, my friend. Because of your suggestion, I have recently acquired his Narcissus and Goldmund. I have read Siddharta some time back, and I did enjoy it, using it even in class at times. Thank you for your suggestion. Hope to find time to start on Narcissus.

    And, yes. Do write again. I began my clearing room some years ago precisely because I missed writing, and just writing for writing's sake, even if I did not put my name on it. I'd be the last person to think of putting up a blog back then. But I think it has helped me in a lot of different ways. Why not start one?


  3. Anonymous10/27/2010

    I am delighted to read that, and hopeful that your encounter with this work will be a beautiful one.

    The more or less sensible posts for the past 3-4 years have been housed in a new home already. I tend to write, if not babble, about everything at the risk of being schizophrenic, haha. I've decided to distinguish the trivial posts from the insightful ones, and have placed the latter in the new blog. My life seems more organized now through this act.

    Cheers indeed, my friend.

  4. I hope so, too.

    That's a good thing to do, organize and filter and do an inventory, and it's something I wish I could do here also. Write and write and write, and then judge after. It's one of the most painful things that somebody who writes must do; it's like hurting your self. Perhaps that's the reason I haven't cleaned up my mess here. Sometimes I shudder at reading my older posts. I just can't bear it. Or sometimes I just fear it will take a lot of energy and time.

    That's a step. Signals another beginning. Makes room for things new and fresh. Keep your best work, throw away the average and hate the worst. I've though about that, too, leaving this room, and start all over again, or just leave altogether. I'm sorry I speak about myself too much.

    But here's to new beginnings, my friend. Good luck! Maybe someday I can find you.

  5. Anonymous10/30/2010

    Self-censorship wasn't as painful as I thought it would be, if only because I savored the power of eliminating the vessels of naivete. I've cringed numerous times during the pruning, but it was less regrettable, more of amusing, actually, to read myself grow. But tiring nonetheless.

    It is your choice, but it would be a misfortune you leave - I may not be able to reach to that clearing.

  6. Good for you! It is indeed both delightful and difficult to see how one's writing, which signifies one's life, has grown or changed. It lends you a mirror of the past, and locates where you are now.

    The clearing looks for you, we never get there on our own. I can't say here how I entered it--maybe everything I've written here is just that: a narrative of how I chanced upon that holy space.

    This sounds self-mythicization, and I apologize for that.

  7. Anonymous11/03/2010

    Your myth – your clearing - is just as good as what I have crafted for myself. It is a story wedged between you, the actor, and you, the object/source of reflection. There is no demeaning vanity in this context, so no apology is called for.

    After all, we can’t all be like the great Gatsby, who’s privileged to have a personality of an unbroken series of successful gestures. We need a buffer.

    …Which now reminds me I must not abandon Fitzgerald.


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Fields of Amorsolo

The first National Artist in Philippine history, referred to warmly as the “Grand Old Man of Philippine Art,” Fernando Amorsolo (1892–1972) still stands today as a looming figure in Philippine art responsible for being one of the artists who helped define what we up to now visually imagine as essentially Filipino. The images of rural life, of golden fields below clear blue, blue skies; the smiles of farmers which diminish their weariness as they plant, harvest, and winnow rice;most especially the iconic figure of the Filipina maiden working in the fields—the beloved dalagang bukid--; these, I believe, even after generations of Filipino painters since Amorsolo, have remained in our hearts and memory. Amorsolo did what great masters do for their country: bestow upon it its own icons, represent its native beauty, that is, to give its people and lands an identity and a face. There are, however, as many intentions for art as there are works of art. And these intentions will always remain in…

Without Why (The Rose) II

Lifetime is a child at play; moving pieces in a game.
Kingship belongs to the child.

Heraclitus, Fragment 52

The child at play never asks itself why it plays. The child just plays; and if it could, it will play as long as possible, it will play throughout its life. See its delight and witness its smile.

If it would never go hungry or if the sun would never set it too will never leave its playmates and playthings. Time flies at play because it stops or suspends time. Time -- as we grownups only know too well -- is the culprit for order, schedules and priorities; yet for the child, there is no time, there is only bottomless play. It is we who impose that this or that should be done at this or that time. We stop the absurd and supposedly endless play ("He does nothing but play") because we insist that discipline, order and priorities be instilled in the child at an early age ("He needs to learn other things beside playing"). So that the child will become like us one da…

A Love Sooner than Later

BROWN PENNY William Butler YeatsI whispered, 'I am too young,' And then, 'I am old enough'; Wherefore I threw a penny To find out if I might love. 'Go and love, go and love, young man, If the lady be young and fair.' Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, I am looped in the loops of her hair. O love is the crooked thing, There is nobody wise enough To find out all that is in it, For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon. Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, One cannot begin it too soon.

One cannot begin to love too soon--conversely, one should not love too late or in life's demise. That waiting for the "right time," or the "right person" to love, what are these but the cries or sighs of an unready, even tired, heart? One becomes ready only when one begins to understand love slowly (or again), and one understands love progressively when one, simply, performs the act of love. Love, like mos…