Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Daughter...

Who can decipher Love,
or how can one tell how Love is weaved in another’s soul
or how it thinks, and feels and suffers?
I am the silence in which a river hides itself at times
At the bend of its course
In the womb of the earth
And I am the cry without a voice
inviting Love to come in
I cannot force it
I cannot dictate how or when or where Love
should express itself…
but if love does not return to me
as generous and spontaneous as it
comes forth from my own well, 
I shall not faint...
I would still invite it with open arms
again and again...
Through the humble offering of service
In the silent grace that accepts it all
while the heart awaits.


“Just because somebody doesn't love you the way you want them to doesn't mean they don't love you with everything they got”

Saturday, March 8, 2014

March 8, 2014

Been here and there traveling with my husband these last few couple of weeks; enjoying the freedom of one's self, and the warmth and goodness of this new place and home and the solitude and time spent with God—blessings and dreams surely come true.

I am in awe and in total humbleness and thankfulness to my Heavenly Father. Hard to believe where I was with my life merely a year ago; working under the wrath of a passive-aggressive boss who wickedly plotted against me after 13 years of exemplary work and dedication… and always daydreaming my day away in order to survive, wishing I had all that which I have today.  Freedom from bondage of the wicked and freedom from a job that made me terribly miserable for so long. 
 
Who would have thought it then? Yes, dreams do come true. And also something else sires: “But if you do what is wrong, you will be paid back for the wrong you have done” (Colossians 3:25). Oh yes, I have a mighty Avenger indeed. But you didn’t know that then, did you?  Certainly, what goes around comes around, so excuse me, your life is waiting.  I can't say how long it will take, but wait and see.   I’d already seen you weeping.

Our Universe is a very sensitive energy field and whenever we make a choice to think, feel, speak or act in a certain way, we are emitting energy into this field that must return to us in comparable form…

May the principle of cause and effect serves as your own personal 'boomerang'… for whatever we put out there for others will assuredly return to us.

Monday, January 27, 2014

January 27, 2014

There's an ocean of a deaf vastness separating me from Thee oh Lord. From where I stand in the distant, I can still see you in the small boat where you await, further onto the sea. Your eyes fixed on the meager of a figure on the shore, which is I... reminding me, perhaps, that it is You who orchestrate the events of my life?...

And the high tide rests in the deeps, and there's an old gentleness to the waves which caresses the sands... I should embrace the challenges in front of me, eager to gain all the blessings you have hidden in your eternal silence—the knife which wounds the soul of man... but my feet cannot move...

The dark, cold deep sea contains weird alien animals. I am frightened. I cannot go to you. My eyes have seen you, I have ran and fell on my knees in front of you. I have shouted at the top of my voice... there's not a doubt in my heart that You are taking care of me. I am blessed beyond all expectations... but why is it Lord, that I cannot hear you calling my name so that I can run to you?

I am feeling weighed down by this plethora of waters. Teach me oh Lord to behold your face so that I can rise above the waters and rest with you in heavenly realms...

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

November 27, 2013

I miss the familiar, and charming, and heterogeneous city of trees. I miss the Saturday Market, and coffee at Dawson's. I miss my winter garden with the frozen roses and the winter birds and visitors who inhabited it.

I don't miss the cold, and I have changed snow for rain. So I should be happy.

I miss Barnes and Nobles, miss my frequent escapades there and the memorable cafeteria with the music of Andrea Bocelli on the background; a cup of coffee; a cinnamon scone and the Selina Lake books I used to adored and leaf through, page after page, until each photograph was well memorized through my fingers.... a dozen books and magazines to take with me inside my bubble... because, I live in a bubble... a rare and wonderful bubble of comfort and luxury and invention and a thousand rare stories.

I want to sit down and be able to write again like I used to write when, regardless the amount of people I was surrounded by I was still able to concentrate and be inspired and be fruitful inside that precious peaceful bubble.

I haven't talked to the moon in a while. And I haven't got a wing under my heart for days and days. I cannot fly. And I miss my girls terribly and I often find myself crying when, really, there's no need for it. And if you ask me why I'm here I would not be able to really answer. But life is good. It is 'life' after all, and I'm still in it.

And thus, I still finding immense joy in the little things in life. I love my chunky white dishes and love that sparkle of pink wintery light in the bird's tree.

I finally got my scrubs today with the hospital logo in it... royal blue, and big and uninteresting. I am fortunate to have what I have. And yet, right after I got my uniform I went to that law office across the court house. A huge amount of files everywhere; a fat Angola cat; rabbit-like fluffy; mocha in color walked all over the files. He meowed at me when I pet him... I don't think I really want to work there.

I went to Wal-Mart and brought home a truck load of food for our Thanksgiving day dinner.

I am blessed. I am frightened. I am that child of long ago shrouded in night. I want to wake up and regain my usual self, but the dampness of frogs keep me awake during the day; a rainy song in my navel. I am blessed. I walk in total dependence.

Bethel Music - Walk in the Promise

Our souls wait in silence, in rest and in quiet for You, Spirit
In trust and dependence we walk in the promise of You, coming
With hope and healing in Your wings, with fire and with wind
You fall on us again

Our souls wait in silence, in rest and in quiet for You, Spirit
In trust and dependence we walk in the promise of You, coming
With hope and healing in Your wings, with fire and with wind
You fall on us again

Here we are waiting for this house to be shaken
For the boldness to carry Your name to the nations
Your signs and Your wonders to go now before us
For the weight of Your glory to rest as we lift You up...


Monday, October 21, 2013

October 21, 2013

I cannot wish for better days, or lovelier weather; so exquisite with chilly mornings and soft sunshine throughout the day; with nippy nights closing up as early as 5:30pm. By four, sunshine starts turning into a misty fairydust of a light; like a feathered vision of some sorts, the atmosphere gets imbued with itty bitty creatures that seems to glow and dance in the mellow afternoon light. It's the magical light of autumn.

My husband is coming 'home' to the house in the roses this Thursday. I'm excited. My heart is overflowing with mixed emotion, as we're finally getting closer to a definite move. One more week, and we'll be parting away from our home of 28 years; leaving behind some very dear people. I am shocking out of emotion as I write this. If I could I would shut my mind and my heart for a little while... if by doing so I could quieted my sadness away. What can I say? I truly want to believe with all my heart that we're following the path that God has called us to walk. May quietness and trust enhance my awareness of His presence.

Saturday, October 19, 2013

October 19, 2013

I love this time of the year. The autumn season makes my little heart burst with wonder, and admiration and enchantment and everything there is in life that's good and honest. It is so wonderfully quiet here in my precious garden; so lovely and glorious it looks all wrapped up in garments the colors of fairytales, that my soul shivers and words falter in finding the right words to express the earnest and humblest feelings of the heart.

A mellow and peaceful place to be—the garden under the autumnal sun. And so full of hope it is, that it is almost like having climbed some magical stairs all the way up to heaven. And I am now standing in the middle of this sanctuary where angels and invisible beings walk, and talk among themselves and watch in wonder.

Standing in the middle of this cathedral, I should say, where life and death congregate and dance in unison as autumn marks the transition from summer into winter, fills me to the core with awe and veneration. I walk on holy ground. I'm sure.

And what a treasure it has been... to be able to yet partake of another season near my garden; and be able to take with me all those precious moments spent here down this unmarked and unwalked journey ahead of us, as we prepare to part and engage in new beginnings; to nurture me, and help me grow in goodness and kindness.

Ad then there was also spring, and summer too. Here... here of all places, free to run and go as I'd pleased for most of the 24 hours of my days... no creature to disturb me, or tell me what to do. How blessed I have been. And how blessed I am to have a heart that understand its own blessedness...

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

October 9, 2013

Things replicate themselves in front of your eyes... sky and earth harmonize; they hold hands and dance to the magical tune of the morning... twirly twirly, birds sing, as they cross the opened space between sky and water. And you can't really tell them apart, or tell whether you are looking up or down, or if perhaps the sky has fallen down to earth and has melted atop the waters, or if maybe, is the water, that had decided to climb up the sky; persuading the clouds away into sleeping a little longer in the hollow of their liquid arms... Lake and sky are the same. They are one.

"Praise him, skies above! Praise him, vapors high above the clouds! Praise him, you highest heavens, and you waters above the heavens!" Psalm 148:4

Monday, October 7, 2013

October 07, 2013


"For thus says the Lord: Behold, I will extend peace to her like a river..." (Isaiah 66:12).

My eyes rest upon the glories of the land; skies a sapphire jewel above. A furtive mist reposes atop tranquil jade waters, satisfying it with peacefulness and myrrh and bird songs—as if perhaps some divine veil of sacredness and goodness had been purposely sent from heaven to wrap us all in undisturbed cheeriness, and shield light and intimate repose.

My heart sings to Thee oh Lord. And I marvel, and wonder, at how my tired feet of yesterday have found a softer ground today, and at how my wounded heart of exactly a year ago today, had been renovated by your Grace; given a new beginning, an unimaginable and wonderful beginning of freedom from fear and the wickedness of man.

And how far I am from them all today, Lord. And how close to You. Make sweet melody oh heart, sing many songs oh you my soul!

Something stirs the waters on the lake below, straight down under my balcony—perhaps the breezes who own the lake? Or maybe, is the angel who moved the waters of the pool at Bethesda in Jerusalem, or some mysterious and inexplicable waft of air sent all the way from the lost Paradise? I don't know. But it is like hearing God speak. His voice travels the space above the waters, and it moves up the waters and go deep into the wooded area surrounding it. Then, this same voice stirs the waters again. The sound of thousand tiny bells. A flapping of wings. And it goes up; straight up to my balcony, and into my room where I am sitting pondering upon these things and, entering right through my ears go straight into my heart.

What is it? Is it really You, God? God trying to tell me something; making known His desire of revealing His glory to those who knows how to listen and, wants to listen. For that's how I see it. And it brings me to my knees—this quiet, almost sacred murmur of shells over the water, healing the spirit by erasing loneliness, embarrassment and rejection.

Yesterday's trials must be forgotten. Must be put shut under the voice which moves the waters and make it sing. Perhaps, this is what God seeks to tell me?

"See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me" (Isaiah 49:16).

This knowledge is too deep and to high to even begin to grasp it. But I make it mine with an open heart and the trust of a child. I am deeply touched. I am your servant.




Wednesday, October 2, 2013

October 2, 2013

Sunny, delightful days surrounded by such a wonderful milieu... wonderful and enchanting to all my senses—a scenery so unusual and extraordinary everywhere you look, and walk and breath and all under a most wonderful and magical canopy of greens and birds of blues and reds. And there are also those remarkable morning songs and curious night whispers too... songs, or hymns of Nature, made by Nature... of small animals and unrecognizable birds... melodies which I had never heard before. I am enchanted. I am sheltered by the magic of the Appalachian Mountains. And everything there is feels so different and so unique and so wonderful... different and special in its own way—always so green and alive with sunshine and life and Nature.  

I cannot ask for anything better or a better place to be or better people to be surrounded by as a matter of fact... people ever so cordial and warm and so given to this fascinating thing called "Southern hospitality". Can I love this place any more? Ah I am in the right place. My soul is at home and it knows it too. I shiver and amaze at the thought of it all... at how my Heavenly Father, who knows my little heart so well and so deep, had us brought here from all places... a place never thought of, or dream of, or imagined the possibility of ever living here... Looking back at it now it all makes sense... I am dumfounded, and it is almost miraculously, really... miraculous, and inexplicably the way this transition took place... but God is an all knowing God, and He had planned and staged it all so well for us... in a strange and marvelous way.

I can't deny that I miss my girls terribly, and I harbor in my heart this rare blend of nostalgic and absorbing yearn for those wintry autumnal days of burgundy giant oaks and chilly breezes of the North. And I confess that very deep in my heart I hold this secret longing for a garden I once knew and loved; crimson colors of wine-red and maroon carving its floors with quietness and peacefulness. But I am at peace.

My little heart feels warm and happy. And I am forever thankful.

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

September 24, 2013

The lonesomeness to it... this kind of sheltered seclusion and quietness which, to my eye, is revealed in all its nakedness, like a sad melody... I can taste the strangeness which shrouds it. I can feel the melancholy which dresses it and gifts the acrid September air with sacred chants and sad low key songs... like an ancient European cemetery...

That's how the garden comes to me this morning; blanketed, as it is, by an endless gray sky, heavy with the prediction of rain... achromatic shades stretching out between white, and black and this sorts of low colorfulness which, in its own magnificent way, impels in me despondency and makes my heart sing low, and with the same intensity.

What I see around me humbles me and exalts me too. Transition. Fade. A final burst of green and growth. The falling away of the leaves and roses, the sleepy garden standing resolute and quiet, knowing its limits and times. It’s beautiful and tragic, as life and death always are.

And thus, I am strolling my sanctuary in slow motion; perhaps strolling it for a last time, or at least for a long while... I am leaving tomorrow to meet my husband at our new place. I may come back in the middle of October. I may not. And the garden knows this very well, and as a way of saying goodbye, it's been gifting me, out of its own free will, with unexpected little jewels: a single rose in sleepy bushes, a new growth amidst the dying... new bright colors under this strange, yet alluring peacefulness, so inherent of ancient cemeteries—roses, and petals posing as poignant collections of graves covered with seashells.

It’s beautiful and sad to watch, to witness, to walk and pray here one more time, and listen to the garden, as it relates its understory under the cold mornings of the end of another September.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

September 8, 2013

Delicious sultry days of pre-autumn in the Northern Hemisphere, serene and imperturbable. And how quiet the garden looks... and feels. Where have all those feathered friends and cheery chirps and twittering gone? And why isn't the garden no longer filled with musical sounds?  Ah these lovely late summer afternoons... they must have something to do with it!  One can't help but being quiet and feeling dreamy and wistful... and then... then there's this sense of wonder, and magic lingering in the cool afternoon breezes that inspires you to close your eyes and linger a littler longer under the sun; lift up your soul to the sky and dream and wish upon a cloud...  And hide too... hide away from the world. 
 
That's exactly how I'm feeling these days—sorts of like the wives of yesteryears; unbound by time and fashion... living my little life in my little world at my own tempo and only mindful of the important... of the rhythm of Nature, and the song she sings...

And how wonderful it has been—all through this spring and summer and now going into those astonishing magical days of autumn, free of the duties of the office, free in the spirit, free of undeserving unimportant people and all the confrontations and condemnations brought by binding obligations into our lives, while all the while there's so much beauty and goodness to live by out here...

Being free in the spirit, free in your soul to follow whatever dreams are dreamed; riding invisible waves, walking over colorful rainbows, of faith and hope and trust, growing in age as I grow in godliness.  To be free! And how marvelous and full my days are, and how very thankful I am... How satisfied my heart with gratitude and thanksgivings....

Saturday, August 31, 2013

August 31, 2013

It is such a lovely morning... brilliant, and colorful under a translucent bird-filled sky. My heart feels light, and bathed in a deep blue color; the color of faith and trust and total surrender. I am constantly learning to lean on my Creator rather than on my own abilities for everything in my life. It is such a wonderful feeling to throw wide open my window in the morning and be received by such lovely day, lift up my hands to the sky and let my soul be filled; be satiated; be calmed down.  

Saturday, August 3, 2013

August 3, 2013

A wispy hummingbird flew passed by me this morning while I was in the garden praying. Behind it, followed yet another—minuscule and as brightly colored as the first.  They hovered around me like a fleeting melody.  Swoon—they swam the air imitating a vessel mastering invisible waves. I watched. I marveled. My heart yearned for God.

All of a sudden, a divine assurance trickled through my mind and into my heart and soul—One day in Paradise; a hummingbird's tremor on the palm of my hand; music off the top of my head as two of these small hovering birds played with my hair. I saw me; my face turned up to the sky; laughing; joy crowing my head.

With a heart filled with gratitude and wonder, I sat by the patio table and opened my Bible randomly. I read: "Those the LORD has rescued will return. They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads" (Isaiah 51:11).

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

July 31, 2013

Lovely cool morning. Strange happenings. The swirl of events going on around me feel overwhelming. We cannot move the clock back. We must move forward. And thus, spending my days here, in the garden, I seek for signs while trying to store the magic witnessed in all the quiet spots of my person, that I may conjure them forth when needed it be. 

My soul yearns to be filled with the Holy Spirit; to hear God's voice in the deepest of my being, but sometimes I am deaf. I am the lonely leaf being carried away by howling winds.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

July 28, 2013

THE garden looks glorious resting comfortably in the palm of summer; sinuous and lovelier than ever. I am entranced by this green lushness and beauty; the amount of life buzzing, and bustling and growing in it; spellbound I am, rapt in light and deep thoughts as I see, and hear and feel—the hand which sustains it all; this hand which moves the skies and pours out the rains, creating, nourishing, caring for every organism in our beautiful world and beyond it. I am but a speck of dust in the hands of my Creator—waiting, as with all living thing under the sun to be feed and filled with His wonderful peace and light and every goodness there is. "For every beast of the forest is Mine, the cattle on a thousand hills. I know every bird of the mountains, and everything that moves in the field is Mine" (Psalms 50).

I'm tiptoeing over my dream to retain it; be able to keep flowing, keep dreaming... and perhaps, keep the strangers away? For how would I ever forget and forgive myself for throwing away my dream—this Paradise-garden of mine? Would it be cared for when I leave... would it be neglected, ignored? Would it be loved? And if so, how well will it be loved? Would it be enough?

I'm taking it with me—taking my garden with me tucked in my heart in the way of memories... a wedding, a dear little fairy, a baby singing, bright nights, rose petals, a sleepy kitty amidst the hostas, the music of a saxophone beyond the garden gates, birds singing, the miracle of a hummingbird, the song of the cicadas, the gathering of four generations, a dog the color of the sunset, memories tucked away in my heart and mind to store them away so I can later carefully look at them with perspective that only time can provide.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

July 25, 2013

I'm starting to really enjoying the thought of moving South; the thoughts of a new home, the view of the wide opened country and fields and fields of peaches and lovely country houses adorned with yellow jasmine... of offering a final farewell to Father Winter and not even feeling a bit sorry for this... to fly along fireflies at the kiss of nightfall—like that first time, a few weeks ago when we visited what is to be our new hometown... and how these fascinating creatures came out that evening just to greet me; to welcomed me to their home with twinkling lanterns on wispy wings.
 
I don't know when it is most beautiful down there,—when it rains and the heat raises up and lies along the fields in delicate mists, or in the morning when you hear the most enchanting song you have ever heard and you look over the tall cypresses and white hickories and see the red cardinal shimmering in the light of the morning as though it were some miraculous flame. And them there are those lovely evenings of the South; soft and warm, growing dimmer and dimmer beyond sight, swooning away through tender gradations of greens and gold. I seem to be seeing it all now for the first time again, with new eyes... what a lovely, lovely place that is. And although my truest heart is still here, and part of it will always be, I am now embracing the expectation of a new beginning. I am ready for it. I am excited.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

July 14, 2013

And thus, we started with the cleaning process today... over 20 big garbage bags of clothes, linens and the sorts were given away... we also started sorting through the 100-million boxes we have kept in our garage for years and years, bringing them with us from one house to the next... till today. We laughed and wept softy... and cried hard over looking at some very dear and very valuable things—old photographs from when we were dating back in high school days, our love letters—hundreds of them, yellowish and brittle with years and the zeal of youth and love... old toys, kids' school cards and crafts, and a funny tender letter from a seven years old darling, which made me cry like a mad woman because this is the same darling I am now leaving behind... and well, we did a lot... a lot. And this is just the start. Someone is coming by tomorrow to help me clean the house and I'm calling someone else later during the week to help me paint an old bed white, and some of my thrift stored furniture in the reading room, which are going to go in one of the guest rooms in whatever new house we'll find... I bought market flowers for my daughter today and along with the lovely bouquet, I added an old photograph of us both, of when she was around 9 or 10. Soft evening light was shining in our smiling faces and we looked so young and happy.... I cried some more and then thank God for every blessing He has given us through all our lives. I then made a nice dinner for everyone... we had a lovely evening.

"Let love and faithfulness never leave me... I'll bind them around my neck, write them on the tablet of my heart..." 

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

July 3, 2013

Changes... so many changes happening in my life. Time to ponder and time to wonder and ask questions that perhaps, can only be answered in another lifetime? And then... then there's that delusion—that treasured dream from so long ago, now turned reality. A most awkward genuineness to me; for who would have thought the magnitude of disconcert? What to do? What voice to hear what heart to follow?
 
And there's that green... green place of my dreams calling us now. Green is the color in which that little town wraps itself with; idyllic and bucolic; always kissed by soft evening rain, and pastoral silence. Steam fog comes on bird feet. It sits upon the land looking over low slopes and river areas on silent haunches and travels upon invisible wings and moves on to give way to the minuscule stars that would soon follow; disseminating upon the land—one by one and have no other name than "fireflies". First one, then two... first just a few of them and before the night would have time to fully descend, it is magically lighten by minuscule dots of brightness so sweet; a glow so wispy and wonderful.... the ground is kissed by deer footprints too, and the shadows of tall laurel oaks and sycamore and words just falter, and I cannot fully express how lovely all is... Yet, I find myself unable to freely accept such changes; for I am leaving behind some very dear people... and the place I have known as our home for almost 30 years. And how will I miss my garden... this little garden of my soul... so pure, so teeny, so enormous... so apt to give and give and give... Oh dears, my little smiling heart is breaking...

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

June 25, 2013

It's been raining around here for the last couple of days... the sky's been low; leaden with torrential clouds and the garden is looking supple, and dense with the myriads of petals gifted by yielding roses; resembling the wet dark English garden of old books... I can hear the mystifying sound of raindrops hitting hard on the pebbles on the left side of the garden. It made me want to go outside and be drenched in whatever magic possesses the rain; dress in bluntness and truthfulness so vital. I am loving it. Looking, outside the window at how comfortable doves and birds seem to be with this kind of weather; never fearing, as I am too, so at ease with this estrange sinuosity in which the garden has wrapped itself with, and the gloominess that transpires and fills our earth with a charming sense of stillness and haziness and mystery...

From my window—the world is at peace. I am at peace. I am humbly grateful.

Sunday, June 23, 2013

June 23, 2013

Thankfulness

Wonderful, breathtaking brilliant days... and the garden is a gentle and generous benefactor... always always gifting gifting. The red-winged blackbird have brought the rains in—I'm sure. With such probing songs—Conk-a-reeeee, conk-a-reeeee. Intriguing as their onyx flight is. My life is so full these days, it is strange... full, and meaningful and bursting with life's sweet scent, like the flowers out in the little garden that hang like a fringe of jewels in their beds; wide awake under the gentle sun; serene, confident in life. I cannot be more thankful. Oh Lord how my heart loves this habitation of your house; this humble place where your glory dwells.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

June 20, 2013

It rained all day yesterday. Rain and thunder. And finally, towards the end of the day, a strong rushing blast of wind galloped through the garden with a loud laughter; lifting a column of pink tassels winding into the sky—myriads of rose petals. It swirled, and hissed, spitting vestiges of leafy remains all over it's floors. I don't like wind. Wind strings around my heart a shadow of fear. Its voices I hear—daunting charms in the mid-day air; snarled fingers in the labyrinth of my hair. But then, by early morning it had left us. And again, the garden turned into the peaceful oasis that it usually is. The silence was astonishing. There were hardly anything moving. There were no birds, and the leaves of trees and bushes simulated the calmness and sootiness of a pleasant dream... just this immense and comforting silence, and this sun-flooded garden of mine.

The whole sight jog my memory; inexorably reminding me of what has been happening with my life this year. It reminded me of those dark stormy early days of January and February. And how dark, and utterly angry they were. Frightening darkness washed over me. How could I had faced another month living under such desperate darkness and distrust of life? And how far has my lovely Father taken me... ushering me to walk with Him along paths designed uniquely for me... and how different things are now. How absolutely wonderful the days are. Oh I want to capture them in the palm of my hands, make them eternal; make them last, I want to swallow up my days whole, dress up in daylight and make night disappear, so that I can prolong this joy; this strange and unfamiliar bliss... oh, I am... I want to be wholesome inside! Blessedly revived from yesterday's gloom, sunshiny; instead of all dark, and stuffed up with black memories.

I am a resplendent swallowtail butterfly; a flittering wisp of eternal joy—what I shall be. I am a butterfly beseeching to land on the open hand of my dear Friend; sticking to Him as with the cobalt Velcro of tiny thorny feet; a butterfly bonking into God repeatedly as my wings whirl and dance time and again by the shout of His love.

I am in total awe. THANK YOU. THANK YOU.

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

June 19, 2013

Oh Father... you've been creating something new in me; all along those dark days of January and February when I had eyes that falter to see your glory, You were secretly preparing my joy. You were planning these moments for me, and this bubbling spring of joy that's spilling over into other's lives. I am baffled by this, and ever so thankful. I don't take credit in any way for none of my blessings.  Instead, I let my heart lean on You, and watch in delight your work in me.

You have anointed me with your Holly Spirit. My soul is in repose and I thank you for drawing me out of darkness into your precious light.

Monday, June 17, 2013

June 17, 2013

Mid-June. I see and feel spring ripening; reaching and stretching for the pinnacle of full blossom... as I pass; as I run and the world speaks to my heart in a thousand voices. The green is still unsullied and new, rich with the force of life. The trees don’t speak, but I know what they are saying, up there, up high, when they celebrate the morning and clap their leafy hands and chime their praises under moon and sun. My heart soars and my soul applaud in total recognition and gratitude to the Creator—oh, good, all-powerful, almighty friend. I praise Thee.

Saturday, June 1, 2013

June 1st, 2013

June... this is the month of June. Month of enchantment... Of little flowers-like wisps of fairy wings... and turquoise gemstones-like sapphire blue eggs and baby Robins hatching...

I love the month of June. Love its brightness and gentleness, love the miracle of life; brought forth with such power from apparent death by God's inexplicable and almighty creative force. My lips lack words; thoughts cannot stretch enough beyond logic and comprehension... for this amazing power is beyond all comprehension. So I'll just sit back and accept it. Accept all the colors and scents and rose petals beauty and trails of honey-dew perfume, and dust and iridescent wings and every itty bitty wisps of creatures with hoof-like feet and the such that the month of June brings.

It is magic. It is magical!

Thursday, May 30, 2013

May 30, 2013

"Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings" (Psalm 17:8)

Sunshine, quietude, brightness, contentment—like magical drops falling from heaven; showering my soul with many blessings. And this extraordinarily awesome brightness surrounding everything; enfolding me; pleasing the earth with joy and peacefulness and harmony.

The earth... it is like a heavenly cathedral overflowing with the presence of God. Every single warm, beautiful, generously giving light on our fair planet is reposing on my shoulders; brightening my eyes as it cleanses and purifies my soul and showers me with serenity and freedom, as it reconciles my soul with a broken self.

I open up my mouth so as to let that astounding light pour itself down my throat, and like some divine elixir it settles somewhere inside my ribcage. Now my heart beats with alpenglow and I know I’m not forsaken. I am loved.

An impression suddenly inhabits me. And the strange, yet marvelous notion that I am the apple of God's eyes settles, too, just like the light, in the deepest domain of my consciousness. I laugh. Like Sarah had once laughed. Such notion is too great of a notion to make it mine; make it personal, for what am I if not but a speck of dust before my Lord? Yet, I take it all in, I take that God's love goes deeper than the human mind can go, or understand and whoever touches me touches the apple of His eye—I am the pleasure of His heart; I am His little girl... I am I am!

This is my refuge.  Under the shelter of the Most High I hide.


Monday, May 20, 2013

May 20, 2013

I am drinking in my mornings in the cup of my soul. I am reaching out and grabbing it by its wing. I am flying with it, dancing with it as I've never done before or had felt in an enduring time... my soul—the thing that has had such wounds, that it was so hurt and had grown so dim and bent, that I was left in such darkness; blinded from the smallest light, and all that is good in me. And now, as I jog in the early morning, slowly, as though in an exquisite dream, how amazing, and how wonderful this new feeling running through my veins feels, and is... all my senses have been awaken to the magic of life, and I'm astounded and amazed at the splendor and beauty which surrounds me. Have all of it been here before? To see the morning, to see it as it is... to feel it. For it is more than just seeing it. You have to inhabit it, live it; feel the warm morning breezes rake its fingers through your hair and let the symphony of birdsongs guide you; guide your steps into this newness of life; to the edge of green peeking under cobalt skies. My sight feeling like thunder, brought forth on a crackle of light. The air is silk and gold vapor, a shimmering yawn; the moan of a door hinge opening to new possibilities, new hopes, a brand new beginning of a day—reverence and resurrection. I am utterly astounded by it all, swooning with love for all I see. This is the "drinking in". This is the "feeling it" I'm speaking of. This is the "letting that warm curative liquidness of love and hope heal you"—heal my soul, so that my eyes can see again and my soul, unchained from its slavery, could sing again... this bundle of bones that I am; these days turned to songs—I can touch them. Touch "la esperanza"—hope. My hands are prayers that worship God.

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

May 14, 2013

Morning—I am the owner of my mornings, as the world lays before me; new and wholesome, when I jog, slowly, as in a dream. With each step, and each breath I take, as my lungs expand, my soul sings a quiet song of thankfulness and recognition of God's mercies, and goodness, and everything that's good and worth of praise. And there, in the freshness of the new day lays so much possibilities, so much beauty, and kindness and righteousness... I can hardly believe how much things have change in my life after the hurricane of predicaments with which I began my year. And how can I lift up my eyes to the heavens, if it is not to give thanks with an open heart, and a gratified spirit? For I have been given stillness of mind, and the antidote to fight fear, and I have been giving a renewed hope and the endowment of dreams, and a clean heart. Perhaps this is the water that brings life to the soul flowing through me, water siphoned through steady bedrock, filtered with promises of hope and eternal life; a cool, melodic laugh rising up as I trip my way down the path where my feet want to take me. Perhaps out of my belly shall flow rivers of living water.

As I turn on the path onto the last lapse of my trajectory, alas... creation sings in the voices which fill the morning air. They seem to shout: "Glory be to Thee" Glory be to Thee, O Lord my God! And for what reason did my Father filled the air with birds and birds songs on the third day of His Creation, if it wasn't because my very name was fixed on His godly mind? I am the apple of His eye, I am the pleasure of His heart.

And thus, birds swim the air and I am one with them. If not in body, in thoughts, for I am certain I have grown wings in the beauty that surrounds me, as I jog and my soul focuses on this symposium of hope and faith between Creator and creature; this Presence ostensibly infusing new energy into my footsteps, making me whole with each stride. A God bigger than my wildest dreams; bigger than creation itself. And oh, I can see Him... in the morning air which rouses verdant young leafs on trees that smile as I go by.

The spirit of the Lord moves in the atmosphere; a sweet breeze upon my mornings. "I am the only Lord; I still reign upon the throne"—I jog and I hear His voice. Certainly, our world has not been abandoned to fate. God is in complete control. As in heaven, so on earth.


Wednesday, May 8, 2013

May 8, 2013

I want to dance now. I want to join David and dance before my Lord, for he has kept me safe in his dwelling, and He has hided me in the shelter of his sacred tent when my days were dark and all the gloominess of fear and despair kept me quiet and, like a child, sobbed my heart. 
 
And now, here I am, so full of happy life. Who could have imagined back on those dark days of February that the sun was going to shine for me so bright, and so gentle. How poor, how stripped of all I was then. But it doesn't matter now. I work and live in my own Paradise. And that's what matters. I live my life on my own terms and dictate how my hours are going to be. And all day long my soul drinks from the spring that never ceases, and I work the soil which yields my joy. I share creation and depend on the Creator in total acceptance and humble trust for my daily portion of joy and wellbeing.

Every hour spent in the garden is an hour of continuous nearness and friendship. But it is more than that... for the rapport is absolutely more profound, and purer and ampler in the sense and substance of the word 'friendship'. It is a Father-daughter relationship. It is the creature-Creator alliance, while the sky above my head bears the color of the delphiniums on a summer's day, and how blue it is, and how lovely, and yet, I see it does not convey the true nature of the color blue, for there is also this purple light in it; so deeply and radiantly beautiful.
 
I cannot help glancing at my watch from time to time while so much happiness is transpiring; pondering on where I was, and what was I doing only a few months ago at that precise time. And how fortunate, and blessed I then feel when at 1:00, at 2:00, and then again at 3:00 or 4:00 I am still here, where there is no one to belittle me or make me feel unworthy, and there is nothing but a dear sun-flooded garden and the glory of God.
 
Sometimes, a tired old pain would resurface. It comes in waves; hopping towards me like mad rabbits at the bend of the path. But it would be for just a little while; nothing as it used to be, when memories were a disagreeable, daunting thing, and a painful past still much part of my present. With the strength of wellness rising up in me I'm finally re-rooting in all that's good. My heart is full of thanksgivings.
 
Oh how my soul desires the simple. How I want to live in a simple world... with simple people around me. A world where I don't have to feel pressured to accomplish big things... give me the meadow flowers, and give me waking up to the first flock of Robins in the garden... give me the little things that bestow joy, and peace.
 
"I will be fully satisfied as with the riches of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise you" (Psalms 63:5)

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

April 24, 2013

Then, in the garden... a taste of magic in the air; a shadow here, an angel there...

It's spring time... it's magic! The earth has been awaken by golden sunshine, tree branches are filling up with joyful buds, tulips are embellishing the earth; which in turn, is dressing up in supple greens, and velvety splendor... like a joyful magic carpet...

I have so much to say, so much I'd like to share, but words escape me... only feelings, the consciousness of beauty and the power that is around me... and thoughts--thoughts and beliefs that hover from my heart, like magical butterflies are possible these days...

A light is shinning upon the garden. It's a different light. It leads me to my Creator every day. And there I am, to the world, apparently alone; yet I'm surrounded by the Light, my eyes may not see the spiritual realities that surround me, but I know I am not alone.

"O world invisible, we view thee,

O world intangible, we touch thee,

O world unknowable, we know thee,

Inapprehensible, we clutch thee!"

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

April 23, 2013

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11


Exactly around this time of year, last year, I was going through some personal tribulations in my life which inspired me to write this little poem here:

Daylight is an old man sitting outside the jagged shack...
Hand on cane chin on hand.
And his old soul is a butterfly sitting in the brink of time.
A moment decisive. And me too--tested has been the day.
Empty handed I befall lips sealed windswept
I am the old man.


Then I wrote: "Have you ever felt this way before?... And I was struck all at once how life was out there going through its regular courses, and I was caught in its whirlpool; suspended, waiting, caught in a cell within a cell; between living my life and not living it the way I want to live it... I know... there will be better days... "
==============

I'm astound and thankful and incredibly humbled reading this now a year later. At how much it has happened in my life since then, and how God had had to work in me through tribulations and anguish so that I could finally have a chance to live my dream.

I knew back then, that the life I was living was not what I wished or wanted it to be, but I was unable to break free from the circumstances that were hurting me. I was bent and broken; yet I discovered I have an amazing ability to adapt. I can get used to anything, however uncomfortable, unhealthy or unwanted. I recognized the pain; I knew that I wanted something better, yet, fear of change paralyzed me and stopped me from taking action to achieve a fulfilling life. God needed to intervene.

Getting out of a bad situation it is incredibly difficult. Change is scary, even if you know that changing will put you in a better place. Nevertheless, I still waited upon the Lord; waited for Him to work in me that what I wasn't able to do for me. Faith kept me wishing. And I knew. Somehow I knew that there were better days ahead in my future.
  
And that future of then is now my "today". I am living yesterday's dream; and it is just exactly as I had dreamed it. This doesn't mean, however, that the transition that took place in my life was easy, or what I had expected it to be. Before the freedom and before the light, there was a lapse of terrifying darkness and fear which created a great deal of suffering in me. I could not see how God was guiding me through this awful period in my life. I could not understand how God's plans for my life was going to evolve. There are times when the Lord will lead you in directions you never imagined. He can come up with plans for our lives that are very distinct. Yet, He always has the best plan.
 
Perhaps I am not bound to win, but I am bound to be happy. I may not be bound to succeed among the powerful, but I am bound to live by the light that I have and bound to a full recovery from the past and from old pain and a fractured sense of self.

Give Him time and, as surely as dawn follows night, there will break upon the heart a sense of certainty that cannot be shaken. --Amy Carmichael

Saturday, April 20, 2013

April 20, 2013

It has been cold and windy for days and weeks. Wind has its own song to sing and it would not depart until the last note has been sung. Hence, I've been patiently waiting. Waiting for the thrill and wonder of silence, and the stillness which follows the departure of gusty winds and blustery weather. Nonetheless, I've been working in the garden incessantly; which to me it simply is the essence of bliss and a joyful life, and total wellbeing.

And what delight it brings to my soul the stanza sung by the sun... the earth has been awaken by golden sunshine, tree branches are heavy with joyful buds, tulips are embellishing the earth; which in turn, it has been dressing itself in supple greens, and velvety splendor... like a joyful magical carpet.

I am free; free in spirit. This is the deep, abiding peace between my heart and my Creator, and it cannot be taken away.

I've dug up a new flower bed, and planted a Climbing Orchid Masterpiece rose there. I've also bought an Iceberg floribunda rose and planted it in the Golden Unicorn garden, or the rotunda where roses are queens, along with the delphiniums and peonies.

I have discovered two new peony bushes growing in the rotunda this year... like magic, they have risen up and swelled. I'm learning that as a garden matures plants will reseed themselves. When the seeds ripen the seed pod explodes, sending its seed in all directions. Many plants are sown by seed which has been eaten and excreted by birds. Trees can grow unexpectedly where squirrels have buried nuts and forgotten them.  But there are yet other times when plants would simply arise from the grown in a supernatural way; plants and flowers that you had not planted or otherwise would have never grown, if it wasn't because they're simply gifts; flowers and jewels of the earth gifted to you by the Creator of every life. 

And what does it matter if this "gifts" emerge where they were not suppose to, or grow where you hadn't anticipated it if they're always in the right place? Always little blessings like stars scattered all over the land.

I like to call these flowers "heavenly surprises"—little gifts from my Heavenly Father... I'm always so thankful for such precious gifts.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

March 23, 2013

March is such an unpredictable month... my sun loving heart is much against the impetuous March; the deceiver March—a teaser who seeks to keep you under its spell by promising flowers and sunshine and warmth and balmy breezes too soon. March lets you believe that the long winter days are over. But then, its wheels turn; unexpectedly and harsh, and you wake up to frost clumps growing on my eyelashes and eyebrows; breath billowing white again... and it is frozen creeks again, and freezing cold river waters, and the garden a sea of mist, poked by the tips of trees and bushes turned archipelagos of fog.

But the worse of it all it is always the wind; freezing howling winds—the holy language of March. The March winds: As much as I try, my soul would not befriend them.

This evening, from further down the garden as dark approached, all that could be seen was the tall roofs of the neighboring houses, and above and beyond the insipid night fog. There are times when March reminds me of my own life—the faith's wheel hesitate, it gets stuck in a rut in the road, the eager early blooming flowers of all that is good and edifying to the soul are surprised by late frosts. I can only see ice-edged daffodils hanging their heads in sheepish dismay. The bursts of my energy for work and inspirations get blocked too in the juddering teasing mood of March, and wilted like frost-bitten petals, bloomed-too-soon.

I think of the fake March and think of those who delight themselves in putting on appearances up an appearance of love for their own conveniences, or gain.

also of the truthfulness of Jesus. I am in awe, and my heart rests in knowing that . Thank you, Jesus, for not putting up with an appearance of love. You are the real thing, you are the Defender of your children.

Friday, March 22, 2013

March 22, 2013

Fog last evening... and then, from further down the garden as dark approached, all that could be seen was the tall roofs of the neighboring houses, and above and beyond the insipid night miasma.

Then this morning—snow. We woke up to a fine powering sugar dust of a snowy garden... Ah, it must have been the angels again! They think my garden is a bundt cake, and often delight themselves in dusting it! It must look terrific from above with a thin glaze of frost dripped over it or just a powdered sugar sprinkle of light snow.

I'm afraid of winter... it goes on forever collecting in the garden; so it seems. There are times when March reminds me of my own life—the faith's wheel hesitate, it gets stuck in a rut in the road, the eager early blooming flowers of all that is good and edifying to the soul are surprised by late frosts. I can only see ice-edged daffodils hanging their heads in sheepish dismay. The bursts of my energy for work and inspirations get blocked too in the juddering teasing mood of March, and wilted like frost-bitten petals, bloomed-too-soon.

I wish I could be like those people who always see the positive side of life... my soul struggles sometimes as it desperate looks for the smallest light... the tiny flame of my sacred heart. Life is beautiful; yet terrifying.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

March 17, 2013

“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also” (John 14:1-3).

I'm exhausted. My feet are sore and there's not a bone or muscle in my entire body which does not ache. But it is a good tiredness. And it is a good weariness and a body fulfilled by the goodness of nature and a labor of love—the readiness of the garden, the cleaning and pruning and the collecting of dead leaves; the painting of weathered furniture and things, the sowing of seeds; planting and replanting of the spring garden.

And thus, I am living out here again; mainly during the warmest hours of the day, which start at midday and end around four in the afternoon. Mornings and evenings are still mostly cold, but the nippiness hanging from trees and still bare branches foretells a distinctive story... a story of sunny days and delicious warmth, and balmy evenings and starry nights.

I'm always thinking of another garden while in my garden. A garden faraway from my garden. A future garden outside this earth. Jesus said: "I go to prepare a place for you."  In my Father's house are many dwelling places... My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.

And thus, I choose a garden for my future dwelling place. On warm afternoons, where the sun hits full and warms the boundary of the florid paths, the smallest single wing turquoise birds will congregate in flittering jamborees, sip their nectar with straw shape tongues and start the winds whirling with their placid quivering... I catch them fluttering and flapping in the sunshine, and stand there with them; arms out wide; face lifted to the light while waiting with sheer anticipation for them to land on my finger tips. My little heart laughs with joy. Somewhere in the distance angels watch and laugh too.

Oh, the beauty of the promise! My heart of heaven loving hearts yearns for a thaw, hoping for a ribbon of warmth to sneak its way into this sin infected world and wrap every good thing in it with a turquoise bow of eternal life.

Perhaps... perhaps this garden-mansion of mine it's being built as I write; it is coming together beautifully; planted and designed to my own heart's desires by the Master Designer—the Living One. Or maybe... maybe it has already been fashioned and it is now ready to be inhabited; until finally it can be taken possession of... I don't doubt this. I know it with total certainty. It's a promise sealed by blood.

"The LORD will surely comfort Zion and will look with compassion on all her ruins; he will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands like the garden of the LORD. Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the sound of singing" (Isaiah 51:3).
 
Oh, we haven't been forsaken. My heart sings one pure, long note; it beats with heavenly glow.
 
 

Saturday, March 16, 2013

March 16, 2013

"Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame" (Song of Solomon 8:6).

Pristine sapphire skies, sunshine on my face; dancing in a circle of sunbeams—I stand in the middle of the earth... is it easy to fly to fly without moving? Ah, it must be you, Spring, knocking on my soul's inner doors.

Love... my little heart is bursting with love. Love is in the air; it dances above the fields, it flutters about the garden; it dashes in and out...

Love; every single warm, beautiful, generously giving light on our fair planet shining directly in my face. You can taste it, drink it; soothing—like some mysterious and miraculous substance... love, love is everywhere...!

Tulips are wearing elaborate creations of gowns in glorious colors for the upcoming ceremony of flowers... you can see their crowned heads waking up from their slumber; out of their hiding places, as they are summoned out by warm light and bird songs...

I've been working in the garden for hours every day now; working with the earth, freely from the heart, breathing the air from my own Paradise's peak. I’ve been wild with joy in my yet somewhat sleepy garden; stirring slowly under the ground; slowly waking up. And I... completed and embalmed in a sacred sisterhood with the earth; sharing this awesome world with all the voices of the Universe.

Life. Life is as strong as death. And I can feel it and see it stirring beneath my feet. Life cannot be contained or restrained. It is a magical thing. Mysterious and magical, as everything that cometh from the hands of God is. It is miraculous. And the garden is its receptacle. It is the vessel where life and death become a resurrection and a promise; an act of conception, beginning, impetus, genesis. A miracle performed in the name of love in the most grand sense of the word.

I am speechless.  I can only stand before Thee in total humbleness and devotion.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

March 7, 2013

I started working in the garden again. My sleeping rose garden looks more like fields stripped down to their essence than a garden; in its washed muted hues of drab taupe and brutal with winter.  But today, a strong bright sun is pouring down, making me squint in its brightness, as it washes me clean and fills my soul with gladness and forgiveness.

And thus, I cleaned, and worked the soil, and pruned and cut dead stems and old stalks down to the ground, making way for the new shoots that are already emerging from the crown—the columbine, candytuft, pearly-everlasting and the lilies.

The Mourning Doves are starting to engage in their courtship rituals, filling the air with mystery and bonding sacraments; wing flaps, head dips and the intricacy of a song that's more to me the spirit of a lament than anything else.

I want to capture this feathery weeping in the palm of my hands, but it runs rampant in the hands of the wind instead. It flickers—that song. And it mutates; it scurry on the ground like the pearls of a shattered necklace, as the sun, too, shimmers and twinkle through naked branches in cobalt hues stolen from the skies.

The skies.... I lift my face to it and reach my arms out wide. I too, like the birds, have grown wings on my back. "Are you up there... are you?" In my heart. In my soul. In my very being You are.

I wish to be filled with overflowing peace, to have my very self wiped clean, refreshed, revived with the pure joy of the Spirit. I pray for the wounds of my heart to be healed and for those who had hurt me... forget forget; move on... but it's not easy.

The Mourning Dove's flapping/gladding flight brings me back from my reveries just in time to realize that it is 1:30 pm, and I am exactly where I wish to be, doing that what I love to do.

I am blessed.


Sunday, March 3, 2013

March 3, 2013

The colors of the garden is that of a staunch and burly chromatic nonsense. It is the same spectral color of the skies; which this morning are low and heavy with early rain. I imagine that from the garden floors leap this invisible joy; wet and supple, which stretches and swells and spread throughout the entire garden. This is only perceive by the natural world, and perhaps, also by those with heart opened to the infinite love and thoughtfulness of a powerful and sympathetic God; the God of creation, who while fashioning each tree and shrub and flower had us on his mind.

And thus, I see it too—this happiness with which each plant and each tree shrouds themselves with on rainy days. And I see they're playing dressing up too. As in readiness to step into some regal ballroom. Because, well, they're dressed up in itty bitty sparkling stars made out of water, and they're wearing necklaces adorned in jewels of perfect spherical rain drops and globular trinkets and charms so pure and dazzling, my heart leaps with joy.

Isn't this delightfulness; this pleasure flourishing in the soul, precisely what I had wished for years and years? To be able to stay home; having not the need to go out into the world to make my living in an office cubicle, wishing throughout my days I could be free. Free to be here, just where I am today?

And why is my heart anxious then? Why am I distress by the external? And how ungrateful the heart is; how deaf our ears to the voice of our heavenly Father when He speaks to us in the hour of need.

"Look at the birds"—He says. Have they not fear of what tomorrow have reserved for them? If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe me, or feed me?

I have so many things I wish to write; so many things to say, but the words come on as ghosts, fragments, intangible wisps. I am patient.

Friday, March 1, 2013

March 1, 2013

MAYBE... maybe I'm from another world, or maybe I have been influenced by aliens for a very long time and I just didn't know it... Or perhaps, I'm just living in a dream where somehow, my soul is connect to a soul containing divine mysteries—to Eve, and her lost Paradise?

Whatever it is, whatever name it has, I feel it. In every place and in every time. Passed onto me from umbilical cord to umbilical cord since the beginning of all beginnings—this hunger; this yearning... a deep desire for the unspoiled paradise of humanity’s beginning... a longing for a life unmarred and unending.
 
It is normal—this longing we sometimes feel inside. Within us there is this ache for Eden, a pristine paradise where mankind and nature live in perfect harmony, because... well, we just don't.

But who said life was going to be easy? In fact, most of the time life is too complicated, it isn't always perfect, and it doesn't always go the way you wish it would, but there is also good in life every day too.

Often, during my day, I have to remind myself to spend less time thinking of the problems I'm facing and more time thinking of the possibilities. This is sometimes a hard thing to do, or achieve, but we must try to fill our heart, mind and soul with feelings of love, optimism, and gratitude.

Thus, I am trying to mend myself and restore the balance in my life that somehow had been lost this past month... trying to get back into tune with acceptance of oneself and trying to bring all my discarded and forgotten parts into the whole.  Hard to do, but I must embrace what is truly important and let go of the rest.... focus and count my blessings and make the most of whatever comes my way...

There's one thing which gives radiance to everything in my life... it is the idea of a loving personal God bigger than all my problems... 

Monday, February 18, 2013

February 18, 2013

Father... a stage in my life closes up; a new one opens up; new beginnings. The sky has been wild and tumbling for far too long... but you have shown your mercies upon me even when I didn't understand this at first. You have given me the strength of trees, the vertical stairways of flexible cambium beneath the brittle and frayed edges of bark, the way they can bend so deeply without breaking and, I wonder what there is in me, if it wasn't because of you, that manages the same kind of strength; for you had allowed me to stand up to a devil of a wind as it raked and lashed at me—like the trees in the winter landscape...

You have comforted me; my soul is at peace; my eyes dried. I have accepted that the past is dead, and I'm now ready to celebrate endings, for they precede new beginnings—the beginnings that you, in your infinite mercy and wisdom unwraps before me... I'm throwing my dreams into space like a kite, I don't know exactly what it will bring back, or what you have in store for my life... a new job, a new home, a new state; perhaps warmer days and milder winters. My days are in your hands, Father. I don't know exactly were I'm going... but if you continue to guide me as you have always done, I know I'm heading towards the growing light of the day.

Saturday, February 16, 2013

February 16, 2013

Find me in the river
Find me there
Find me on my knees with my soul laid bare
Even though you're gone and I'm cracked and dry
Find me in the river, I'm waiting here...

Friday, February 15, 2013

February 15, 2013

Señor, ¿dónde quedó todo aquello que me decías cuando me revelabas los secretos de mi vida en tu Palabra? ¿Serías ciertamente tú, o sería mi propia necesidad, que me engañó?

Life is not behind you; it is in front of you.....

Sunday, February 3, 2013

February 3, 2013

Night closes over my head... approaching shadows loom in the distance; they will dance around my feet. I shall not fear. Under His wings my soul shall abide.

Tomorrow I shall walk before them in silence and peace, for you Lord are my shield and my glory...

"I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord". From Psalm 27

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

January 30, 2013

Looking outside the large window at the office this afternoon—can the soul be transported to another place and time through what we see and feel?

The dim grayish light of rainy days; the skies low and dampened and opened to contemplation inevitably hurling me back in time to a long gone past. I am again six or seven years old, and I’m sitting in the old bench with blistered and peeling white paint that someone has placed in the far left corner of the front porch ages ago; ages before I was born—the same old bench where, at night when fireflies and frogs begin to disclose our future by way of poetry and songs, everyone gathers, and where everyone gossip and laugh and sometimes even cry.

I am a ghost wordlessly looking at this world which lays before me, all of a sudden so utterly new, so estrange; looking at the same skies sprawled today before me; beyond my window; feeling the same dampening in my bones. The rain has eased and left behind a world that it is only gray in color; a world which bears within itself a kind of sorrow I’m secretly akin to. I’m looking at the vultures hovering at close range and cannot understand why these birds take pleasure in the world of the dead. I’m I dead? They’re not really birds, like the birds I see today against the darkening of the sky outside my office window. They’re dinosaurs of the air; disgusting to my eye. I am cold, but it is not the natural nippiness in the body on a given rainy days; it is more like a forbidding fear; an inexplicable apprehension that brings coldness to the soul and won’t let me move. It prevents me from running away.

Pepe comes out of the house at that moment and say something. I cannot hear him or seem to understand what he’s saying. And I don’t care either. The skies are calling. I can hear their overcast voices singing to my ears. I’m waking up to life. Waking up to feelings I cannot name yet.

Why does my mind go back to that time and unimportant moment in my life? I don’t know—but it does, somehow it does, and it is associated with rain and rainy days, and who knows with what else…

Monday, January 28, 2013

January 28, 2013

January 28, 2013

Small thick flakes started showering us late last evening. It snowed all night and in the morning the landscape was a fair-haired maiden; covered in white in its entirety. It is an enchanted world out there. Every tree and every branch is wearing new frocks embellished with twinkling stars. Bushes and old roses were gifted too with earrings and necklaces made out of icicles and gems in the purest of white. Birds are everywhere; twirling and whirling with a renewed happiness almost tangible to the eye—like little children playing outside on a snowy day. Do they get to make their own snowmen in their bird’s world?

And thus, for just a moment in time the hushed voices of silence were lifted up and the garden opened up again to bird songs and imagination and dreams and innocent joys.

I could hear Elinor’s song being sung by the Northern fairies: “Let us walk in the white snow, in a soundless space; with footsteps quiet and slow, at a tranquil pace, under veils of white lace.”

When I came back home this evening, every drop of snow had melted away… rivers of water poured forth from above and below cleaning the skies, cleaning the earth… and thus, the wheel of time is turning.

This afternoon, at the office, when I looked outside my window as I always do around that time when shadows starts gathering up themselves, I didn’t see the slant of green light over the tired fields across our building… it is the kind of light we get to see during our winters. It is a different light—greenish with gray undertones. It is a sad light. But today, at exactly 4:18pm, I saw only blue against the last remnants of white, and the light was promising; it carried within itself a faint intonation of spring... could it be? Could it be that things are starting to change, or is it just the figment of my imagination?

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

January 15, 2013

“…Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things (Philippians 4:8).

I want to sit at the edge of a waxing crescent moon and collect thoughts and visions of beauty; words of wisdoms… to only think of whatever is pure and whatever is lovely. But the mind must be trained on this. It is a continual struggle. And then, the atmosphere has turned blue—the blues of a pitiless January, which persist on piercing my soul with a thousand knives; daggers of ices and stalactites that freeze and obstruct the miracle of light. And there’s a whole world out there of ground-and-ceiling growths made of ice that are as intriguing as they are strange—merciless demons in ice garments; wrapping roses in attire of ices; frozen dew on the ground and the formation of ice in standing bodies of water. And inside… inside dwells an allegory; an absurdity. Ices treating with contempt all that emanates from God. The atmosphere where dwells the soul is quite complex; it reflects micrometeorological conditions; ribbons and needles of ice in some intricate patterns—much like the outside.

I don’t wish to reason with faith, but I often find myself struggling with doubt.

Thursday, January 10, 2013

January 10, 2013


I live inside a glass snow-globe. Particles of ices fill the edges; snow moves with the wind creating magical deposits on the crystalline walls of my restricted world. Snowdrift—big, fluffy flakes swirl and jump; they go up and down rapidly, like miniature Ping-Pong balls; each competing against each other, as if in the quest to find new and better designs of themselves… new patterns, new forms—to set a record in time?

And outside this goblet where dwells my spirit lays the Great Unknown. The vastness of an emptied sky assembled in ice and grayness so thick it deprives the eye from its ability to focus, and thus, it is not able to distinguish whether the bird outside its scope is a Horned Lark, or perhaps a Black-billed Magpie of a solitary traveler—like me, in this sallow world of icy jumping cottons, attempting to interpret life outside our snow-globe world.

Is it really someone out there—a power beyond our own in this vastness of nothingness? Or are we alone? Is there someone greater than all our fears controlling each and every one of the micro snow-globes orbiting the Universe? And have we been left to the mercies of a kind God or left we are to some capricious being who cannot, or would not, free us?

Ah, to be able to break free from the glass which imprisons our spirit…

To have a world without borders is to have faith without borders.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

January 9, 2013

White is the color which directs the language of my heart—and what I see. White extends itself onto the bleakness beyond my window, and it covers roofs and branches of naked trees—indolent as they are to the ruthless power which distort, and bend them out of their dignity. And how my soul desires the wisdom of the naked tree on a winter’s day—to be able to carry upon my shoulders the burdens of my own snows and the ices which are the essence of humiliation, and anger, and yet be able to stand, like the trees, unbroken.

A tree I’m not. To have my eyes fixed on the sight of the cross at the top of the tower on the old church is to be fearless… but even there I see snow—a white heavy bleakness covers its foot, and above it, the harshness and despondency of a lifeless sky. Hopelessness.

I must seek the humbleness and meekness of the trees on a winter’s day. I must.

Friday, January 4, 2013

January 4, 2013

It has been said: “If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also”… Lord, teach me to love the way you love. My soul is exhausted from trying. Perfect I am not.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

January 1, 2013

How astonishing, and fascinating, the Natural World is. And how capricious in its own right. It's been so very cold around here. We're hitting the 1-digit degrees in the early morning, and nights are long, and dark and chilly. The sun hasn't come out in days, if not weeks, and a blanket of snow covers the land. Yet, with the cold front arrived the robins. Aren't these little creatures supposed to be the 'harbingers' of spring? Too early in the year to arrive. But they have. Hundreds, if not thousands of robins arrived in large flocks before the year's end.

I love these little creatures. Love birds, but the American Robin... ah. They look more like wanderers than true migrants to me. And I like to think of them as acrobats and ballerinas of some gypsy circus. I laugh imagining wearing fanciful circus suits and midnight black textures and dreamy dressed and petticoats and lotus tops as they perform daring acts on the ground, under the shrubs, in the trees and roofs... a feast for your imagination for sure!

What is nature telling us, or what are the birds foreseeing that we humans cannot see, or understand? Where do the birds go to when they disappear from our view, and who brings them back, or command them to go here or there and then to appear out of nowhere in flocks of orange feathers and mystic songs? I'm truly are in total awe with birds.

And then, something real marvelous is happening. Days are lengthening! Ever so slowly they're lengthening, but they are. How amazing and wonderful this is to me! I am so anxious for bird songs, and crocuses and light and lovely mornings and warm evenings...

Monday, December 24, 2012

December 24, 2012

Walking the solitary garden late this afternoon. Lifeless shadows marking each footsteps; austere the gloominess that hung petals of silences upon rose trees. And there the naked branches of the old gnarled tree-like birds' claws imprisoning its prey the December wind.  Such melancholy possesses the grass made out of leaves...

There's so much to hear in the wholly silence of winter, so much to see in the unfathomed nothingness which greets the eye and guides the heart to a land made speechless; land of silence and grayness so profound—a robe made out of questions tangled in the past - twisted in a future deeply entrenched in paradigms.
 
And who am I if not this oblivion which with the naked soul must clothe itself with?
To hide from one's self.

It is so deep this longing...
This sense of belonging in the land of the dead.
December 24, 2012
 
December light has a unique mystery to it. It scatters unfathomable signs all over the landscape—jewels of goldenrod, ochre feathers and winds made out of ice that must be interpreted in sentiments; difficult as it is to utter it in words, for one most feel this light in order to understand it, and be able to appreciate it.

This December light—it transports you to distant lands, and it dresses you up in snow garments like twinkling starts made out of ice and silence. And as I sit in my chair facing the garden, I am that purple-winged bird singing out its solitary essence in the solitary garden.

An eternal hunger opens in the eternal womb; created in eternity the soul that sees and hear that which it cannot be elucidate or even be understood.

My soul hungers for Thee oh Lord of eternity; that my eyes be opened to the unseen and my heart to the quiet stillness of your Presence; which is everywhere, and in everything under this December light.

Friday, December 21, 2012

December 21, 2012

My eyes scan the desolate landscape and I shudder as a cold wind sweeps the dried leaves across the garden's floor. I hadn't been here in ages—so it seems. The silent of darkness, like a shroud, wraps the garden when I leave the house every morning; yet again enveloped by darkness when I return to it...

It is the same, day after day. Days are too short. Nights are too long. And how my heart longs for it... to be there, to live there again, yet, only able to hug it from whatever conform my soul can find behind the window.

I miss it... I miss this dear precious place where I find so much comfort and solace. But I am here today—in the garden. Frozen mist hugs it, obscuring the solitary expanse, and I feel this immense love for it, as if perhaps it were a living thing with a living soul and a heart that, just like mine, can feel and it can cry and love and let it self be loved.

It murmurs hushed words, like lovers do, and I can hear it breathing and feel its loneliness as if it were my very own... a little chickadee trapped in longings so deep. But then I realize that today is the Winter Solstice; a day of rebirth—of renewal. It won't be too long now. Longer days will return, tip toeing slowly the sun will return; the song sparrows will start to sing again...

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

November 20, 2012

The skies possess a strange and quieted lowliness to them. Ominous rows of cumulus clouds—foretellers of what’s to come, glide swiftly through this immense ocean of nothingness; fast moving, shifting and vanishing themselves into oblivion, as do the creatures and forms and mythical gods they hold in their bosoms.

And it seems so close to the earth—the sky. From my second floor office window, I look up at this cloud-cluttered sky bath in ritual shadows, and I am at the bottom of some strange sea. I’m sitting in barren sea floors, looking up at the upheaval of foamy waters miles above my head. A dove soars by and it is a seagull in the chill November wind. I can see its shadow slowly gliding the waters above. I am trapped. I cannot swim myself to salvation.

Then, as clouds part, I see it—leaning against the ominous sky: The Cross on the Old Church Tower.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

November 1, 2012

The moon wanders the earth in a dreamy state. It ambles the cosmos which houses me, rising above the early morning’s bleakness like a pale queen among its servants—the murky clouds, which camouflage her and then, unhurriedly, scurry away to give way to this most remarkable apparition: The silvery goddess of the night gliding the skies as it plunges before my eyes to its unfathomable place of rest.

And every day and every morning from my office window I see it and marvel at how strange and miraculous a thing is to be able to observe such an astonishing planet so clearly from our own obscure one—drifting away the heavens at her own pace; elegantly and perfectly akin to mystery and the immeasurable like a faultless magical ball suspended in bliss.

And to think that the moon is absolutely real, that somewhere; wherever it may be, it moves and travels around the Earth and returns to its starting position, and it shifts the tides and alters and modifies the atmosphere… it is not a just a figment of the imagination—the moon, for although I cannot go to it; nor explain where it cometh from or where it departs to, it is always there to see… and believe.

Ah if only we humans were given but a glimpse of God’s presence in the same manner; perhaps a sight of yet another planet—God’s planet; perfectly perceivable from our own diminutive and miserable one. Plain and obvious to the limitedness of humanity. To be able to look out my window every morning and, as with the moon, see it standing in the heart of the cosmos—God’s dwelling place shinning down on us; like a sunburst pearl hanging in the dubious sky of my mornings.

Wouldn’t we humans be less skeptical then?—more of a believer than a non believer? Less prone to sin I would imagine too. For it would only take to raise our eyes to the heaven to see and believe. The chronicles of humankind revealed and reminded by the substantial.

Oh this shyness of God… this most unfathomable and incomprehensible barrier which separates Creator from creation is inconceivable to me… this persistence of God, as I see it, to dwell in anonymity; imperceptible and concealed from those whose heart yearn for Him. How to interpret this otherwise? And how to live by faith with only the words of man written on a book made by man? Is there really a God? Are we predestined to damnation? Is the human race left alone to what it has been until now or is it really something more?

And then again, how not to believe… and how not to see, without seeing, that He is that ‘Who’ which spreads out the skies over the emptiness, and the one who suspends the moon over nothing? (Job 26:7)

“If we look about us, to the earth and waters here below, we see his almighty power. If we consider hell beneath, though out of our sight, yet we may conceive the discoveries of God's power there. If we look up to heaven above, we see displays of God's almighty power. By his Spirit, the eternal Spirit that moved upon the face of the waters, the breath of his mouth” (Psalms 33:6)

Saturday, October 27, 2012

October 27, 2012

The sky shifting,
Shapes, colors,
Tints transmuting the landscape as I ponder the world outside
Minute by minute, hour by hour the eye sees...
Life passing through the dullness of the late afternoon
The slavery of the soul prolonged over the clock…

Freedom! Who would lay it before my feet—before the small death of my every day?

A life of pondering and wonderment ensues behind the tinted windows
How my soul longs to be free,
To ride with the wind that scatter goldenrod days outside
Free from the slavery of survival
To follow my own star and my own inner compass.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

October 25, 2012

Outside the large window, on my right side, stands my world— exposed as it is not only to my vision, but onto my soul as well; which seems to have succumbed to the same tranquility carried on by the morning outside; wet as it is, and swathed in the first fog of the season.

And what a fascinating world this is—a world of ghostly figures and ethereal forms and mysterious shapes thinned by fog; diluting in the bleak miasma outside, from where they seem to coexist so peacefully; beckoning me across my window to a far more irresistibly and wonderfully world of mysteries.

As I gaze at what transpires outside, a wistful feeling takes possession. From the fog, shapes and outlines starts to materialize. Trees and rooftops, the obscure façade of the old stone church—all surface mysteriously and slowly come into sight, as if they had never been there before and only now decided to appear, being summoned by the whim of some great magician.

How wonderful these autumnal mornings are; so rich with whimsy and daydreams. And now, our little world has turned crimson and mellow and wintry nights have brought up the warm fleece covers and woolly quilts and cozy comforters out of the closets.

Nights are stretching. Somnolent mornings are lingering in their slumber and it feels as if the sun would never rise again. It is difficult to relinquish the comforts and reassurance of the cozy nest and have to head into the glooms outside each morning. Ah how I wish I could enjoy the warmth of my bed a little longer; my home and the peaceful feeling which it seems to be swathed in, by turning my back on duties.

I should reflect that staying in bed longer would avert me from witnessing the wonderments of life as it rouses to the mysteries and stupors of a new morning. I should consider myself blessed for having a job to go to each day. But could there be something more absolutely restorative for the soul than the attainment of our heart’s desires?—I wonder. What encourages us to deny our reality, submit cheerfully to unwonted duties and follow the path that has been pointed out… by life, by fate, by whatever?

Life is a vicious circle indeed. There’s no such thing as a freedom cycle. Abundance, prosperity, joy, and health are always threatened by struggle and survival. The positive; the negative—complimenting each other. No way out I see, other than to put our faith and hope in God’s promises.