gift of the ocean

 

As I stand on this rock

feet kissed again and again by restless waters 

eyes awakened by the stars

the past, the future at present 

retelling, reliving 

foreseeing

 

Look,

see the path you have walked,

the magic uncovered,

the stories written.

Inner compass has stood true,

knife of insight cuts clean,

whole of being

aligned,

both woman and child.

 

Home has been there all along, 

love abundant, river flowing.

It is generous, 

knowing,

kind. 

Potent,

powerful.

So steward with precision,

move with clarity,

act with courage.

 

Your journey begins again

and all will be well.

process

Let yourself feel it.

All 

of

it

.

.

.

In the quiet,

do you see that part of yourself 

revealed?

The depth

 of your humanity,

the breadth 

of your love,

your capacity to break your heart open

and still 

.

.

.

keep it open.

Show yourself grace,

with the same kind of tenderness

you seek. 

We were built to  l o v e,

to be vessels

for the very same energy 

that brought the universe into existence.

Push and  pull,

compression and  e x p  a n s i o n,

b

r 

e 

a

k

i

n

g,

transformation.

You are ever-evolving.

offering

h e a r t   

expanded,

bursting at the seam s ,

laid bare 

for those who can hear it




I sing, 

soul open wide,

my body

a vessel

filled 

to be poured out and emptied



go ahead,

feel

trace the bumps and lines

 of my scars

and feel the quiver of 

your own




take it

as a gift 

from the giver and beyond

an offering of love,

a healing

balm

improv

 f     l     u     i     d ,

 s  e  a  m  l   e  s s

in   t u n e   with  oneself

words  of truth  f l o w i n g, 

unhindered, 
no hesitation, trusting, 
fearless

p r e s e n t, 

n o  judgement,

alert 

to the  s p i r i t  

  t   r  a   n s  m  i t t i n  g     

bright  e n e r g y

 heavy 

v u l n e r a b l e

r e a d y   to   r e c e i v e,

ready to 
g    i  v   e



- Jireh Calo

love letter to my sister

you were Isabel, 

I was Nadine, remember?

the untouchable queens of Harvard Street

from behind our green fortress 

we entertained
our guests, 

 the curious neighborhood boys

they dared

ask questions,
leave letters in the mailbox,

 even climbed right onto our roof

perhaps
from there they heard
the loud voices in the house

that betrayed

our secret 

truth

remember when we used to play with fire?

we took apart broomsticks, lit them up on the stove.

ah, the neighbors did tell on us

but we did it again,

watching burning sticks  

 disappear 

into 

dust

sometimes we'd make tents out of blankets,
tying them up
to the windows and cabinets

electric wind 

would blow right in and
into caves
and
wild places
we were transported

when the days were warm and the Manila sun 

boasted 

just a bit too much,

a beach day was easily arranged
with a towel and umbrella 

right in our own
 garage

in those times
it was just you and me,
we'd fight over clothes, sing in perfect harmony,
we'd make beds out of cabinets,
turn couches into castles,
march down the street
in
quest
for ice candy

when night came upon us
we'd lay under the piano and listen to mother sing
she'd give us
our own
private
little concert,
words and melodies
that have never
faded away

.
.
.

in a blink of an eye,
decades now have passed,

you and I are on opposite sides of the world

far away
from home,
do you sometimes feel alone?
when you do,
 think
of the adventures we've shared

in time 

our eyes will crinkle when we smile,

 dried rivers fork their way through our skin.

still we will laugh

as we wade through shared memories

of childhood magic

and impossible

dreams

balance

if i were to give myself a moment

to tune out the noise,

tune in 

to inner voice,

what would  i  h e a r ?

w h i s p e r s 

remind me 

that

i am

 of  this earth,

c o n n e c t e d to the life source that connects us all,

"so long as you breathe, you have a story to live out"

gentle nudges tell me 

to keep listening,

learn i n g,

process i n g,

c o n necting
.

.

.

to what gives  l i g h t  to the spirit,

h o p e  

to the seeking soul;

continuously asking why, 

striving to figure out how

staying open to the  p o s s i b i l i t i e s, 

those

that often lie                 out s i d e

o ur comfort zon e

how it manifests itself, 

we have yet to see 

...

so take your time to prepare and process,

you will know when you are ready to step out

and when you do,

it shall be a light for many

conversations

How to explain it, 
these unspoken strings that
tie
you to another 
and
just for that moment,
you   e  x  p  a  n  d     b  e  y  o  n  d 

                     y
                                         o
                                                  u 
                                         
                                                            r 
                                                                       s                   
                                                                              e 
                                                                                                l
                                                                                                                    f 

beyond the present.

It's as if..

TIME 

is suspended

and you are u.

You are pure and true, 
the wholeness of your being embraced. 

homeless

I lay down to rest my head on a bench along the park.

Up above a canopy of autumn leaves 

and a sky -- dull and gray --

fill my vision. 

The wind,

cool, refreshing,

rustles the leaves 
that had gathered on the ground. 

It

l u l l s

   me 

into 

   a sleepy state.

I could sleep here. 

Yes, 
on this very bench

that must have have held the  d r e a m s of many a homeless man

or woman.

What would it be like to sleep out on park benches, in street corners, in the   

c o l d 

 of the night? 

I have never known.

sounds

So 

many 

sounds.
 
So many sounds and I can hear them all.

Like different emotions clashing together and becoming 

a jumble 

of 

nothing-in-particular.

I sip from my glass of water, scribble 

my thoughts down 

and look out. 

Is this 

what it's like? 

To feel 

like 

nothing-in-particular despite everything you are?

Oh, world

Not yet so wise but not so naive either,

I am, as you may not see,

a child no longer.

I see the stumbles and where you fall.

Unbeknownst to you, 

I have seen it all. 




Is it not a bit ironic that the loss of precious innocence

now redeems us into the light?

Indeed, innocence,

that had once shielded from otherwise overwhelming darkness,

now sheds to uncover

a soul ready to take on the truth of the world.



And yet

it is in knowing that one becomes vulnerable

for knowing the truth has the power to free and enlighten the soul

or darken and encase it.

Power 

lies within choice.

B a r e d

What are we 

'neath the self-portraits we make of ourselves? 



Tell me.

Who 

do we become

when all that we consider to be us or ours

d  i  s  i  n  t  e  g  r  a  t  e  s 

  

into just plain 

us? 

Just you.

Just          me. 

 

A                          question.

 More                                  questions.

Questions                                         to come.

No use trying to be subtle.

 No use trying to be complex.

Life gives.

Life takes away.

 

Simple as that.


      

   
    

And the pain? 

The pain becomes the cure.

The cure to our naivety,

to our senseless pretending,

to our self-destructive pride.

It humbles us  

into the beings we  a r e.

      







And when we can finally look at ourselves 

and s  e  e

only then can we fully accept

the wisdom of our very 





existence.

Incomprehensibly 

beautiful,

with all our imperfections;

wounds,

scars,

bruises,

and even our  

darkness.

Why else will we yearn for the light

if we have not been 

in  

d a r k n e s s ? 

     

Truth Is

Truth is,

while we drift, seemingly alone,

on our separate clouds of ecstasy,

we hide from

what lies 

within the depths of our own humanity. 

Voiceless, 

or so we deem,  

the souls of those that lay before us.

Oblivious, are we?

So into oblivion we shall fade. 




Truth is,

we believe in our own ignorance,

proudly, stubbornly so.

Faith and goodness,

and all we hold on to,

futile

till through the fires they go.

And if they remain 

shimmering, glimmering

amidst the ashes of deep cold scars,

so shall they rise from their heap 

and forever be

with the immortal dust of stars.




Truth is?

Truth is,

whether it stands tall and proud

or hides silently 

behind the dark foreboding of clouds

So we search it, 

twist it, paint it, stretch it, 

for all it cares

but we shall only see what we want to see

while truth

mourns in the corner,

laughing

at the loss of our sanity. 

The Philosopher

Alone in my room
thinking of life, as usual
how one can get so caught up in the cycle
in the system, in this box self-imposed by society
A pretentious philosopher
that I am
a fool 
with much to say but not much to say, if that makes sense
it makes perfect sense
As a wise man said a long time ago
"cows love grass," therefore, I must be a cow
such is the logic of life
to eat,
breathe,
work,
then die in sleep
only to wake up
to eat, breathe, work
then die in sleep
only to-- I've made my point
And so 
the waiting for Godot commences
as I try to take off my boots
which cling on to my feet,
unwilling to let go,
just like foolish young lovers these days
who 
fall in love with love
or 
fall in and out
of love
like children deprived of a game;
a game 
only fools play
when they know not of what is
but of what is not, 
not 
of what matters, 
but of what does not
But pay no heed to my ramblings
go on with life 
like evolved pre-biotic soup should
wise creatures 
of chains and walls
who paint their front yards with 
layers
upon layers of bright and dark colors 
that the rains 
will wash away over
time
And so I stand naked, 
metaphorically, if you please,
under the tree
in my room, 
calmly drinking sugared tea
being a pretentious philosopher,
thinking of life
as usual.