03.26.08
Posted in Ohrwurms at 7:10 am by Miracle ♪♫
by Yael Naïm
Far far, there’s this little girl
She was praying for something to happen to her
Everyday she writes words and more words
Just to speak out the thoughts
that keep floating inside
And she’s strong when the dreams come cos’
They take her, cover her, they are all over
The reality looks far now, but don’t go
How can you stay outside?
There’s a beautiful mess inside
How can you stay outside?
There’s a beautiful mess inside
Oh oh oh oh
Far far, there’s this little girl
She was praying for something good
to happen to her
From time to time there are colors and shapes
Dazzling her eyes, tickling her hands
They invent her a new world with
Oil skies and aquarelle rivers
But don’t you run away already
Please don’t go oh oh
How can you stay outside?
There’s a beautiful mess inside
How can you stay outside?
There’s a beautiful mess inside
Take a deep breath and dive
There’s a beautiful mess inside
How can you stay outside?
There’s a beautiful mess
Beautiful mess inside
Oh beautiful, beautiful
Far far there’s this little girl
She was praying for something
big to happen to her
Every night she ears beautiful strange music
It’s everywhere there’s nowhere to hide
But if it fades she begs
“oh lord don’t take it from me,
don’t take it…”
I guess I’ll have to give it birth
To give it birth
I guess, I guess, I guess I have to give it birth
I guess I have to, have to give it birth
There’s a beautiful mess inside
and it’s everywhere
So shake it yourself now deep inside
Deeper than you ever dared
Deeper than you ever dared
There’s a beautiful mess inside
Beautiful mess inside
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03.25.08
Posted in Life Betwixt Book Covers at 3:54 am by Miracle ♪♫
A Familiar Relationship
With days to go before the recital –
before humiliating myself by playing Rachmaninov’s Rhapsody on a theme of
Paganini in the possible presence of Madame Ingrid *shudders*, it was a
very good idea to treat Mama and myself for hair spa and divert this amateur’s attention from
the anxieties of public performing.
To adorn as a cherry on top of my
cream of relaxation, I brought along The Eye of the Heart. Franz,
you would love this book. (No, it’s not that cosmological/metaphysical
book that will appear if you search this title online.) Provided by one
of my phantom book donors, it’s a rusty treasure of compiled Latin American
short stories by Jorge Luis Borges, Pablo Neruda, Octavio Paz, Gabriel Garcia
Marquez, Carlos Fuentes, and so much more.
As a quasi-drag queen fiddled with
my always uneventful hair, I was dipping in Octavio Paz’ My Life with the
Wave. It tells of a man who falls in love with a wave of the sea, and
the title itself fulfilled my expectation that this book was a pure plethora of
Magic Realism… BUT, it turned out to be more than just that. If we look
deeper into the story’s fathomage, we realize that it is not just about a man who
falls in love with a wave. It is a surreal representation of many
relationships that are betiding today.
In this story, the wave follows the
man to the city…
“She [the wave] cried, screamed,
hugged…”
…then a passionate relationship
begins…
“Her presence changed my life.
The house of dark corridors and dusty furniture was filled with the air, with
sun, with sounds and green and blue reflections, a numerous and happy populace
of reverberations and echoes. How many waves is one wave, and how it can
make a beach or a rock or jetty out of a wall, a chest, a forehead that it
crowns with foam! Even the abandoned corners, the abject corners of dust
and debris were touched by her light hands. Everything began to laugh and
everywhere shined with teeth. The sun entered the old rooms with pleasure
and stayed in my house for hours, abandoning other houses, the district, the
city, the country. And some nights, very late, the scandalized stars
watched it sneak from my house.
All was beach, sand, a bed of
sheets that were always fresh. If I embraced her, she swelled with pride,
incredibly tall, like the liquid stalk of a poplar; and soon that thinness
flowered into a fountain of white feathers, into a plume of smiles that fell
over my head and back and covered me with whiteness. Or she stretched out
in front of me, infinite as the horizon, until I too became horizon and silence.
Full and sinuous, it enveloped me like music or some giant lips. Her
presence was a going and coming of caresses, of murmurs, of kisses.
Entered in her waters, I was drenched to the socks and in a wink of an eye I
found myself up above, at the height of vertigo, mysteriously suspended, to
fall like a stone and feel myself gently deposited on the dryness, like a
feather. Nothing is comparable to sleeping in those waters, to wake up
pounded by a thousand happy light lashes, by a thousand assaults that withdrew
laughing.
Stretched out side by side, we
exchanged confidences, whispers, smiles. Curled up, she fell on my chest
and there unfolded like a vegetation of murmurs. She sang in my ear, a
little snail. She became humble and transparent, clutching my feet like a
small animal, calm water. She was so clear I could read all of her
thoughts. Certain nights her skin was covered with phosphorescence and to
embrace her was to embrace a piece of night tattooed with fire.
Being a woman, wouldn’t it augment our feelings if a man said these things of us? And you being a man, wouldn’t you like to fall in love in this manner? But wait…
“But never did I reach the center of
her being… perhaps it does not exist in waves… Her sensibility, like that of
women, spread in ripples, only they weren’t concentric ripples, but rather excentric,
spreading each time farther, until they touched other galaxies… but her center…
no, she had no center, just an emptiness as in a whirlwind, that sucked me and
smothered me.”
…and as if I wasn’t being enough of
a spoiler already, I suggest you read the rest of the story. My hair is done
and it remains unremarkable but Paz and a deeper dive made the hour of
relaxation worth it.
Men, beware of waves. There are too
many of them in the ocean.
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03.23.08
Posted in Uncategorized at 11:18 pm by Miracle ♪♫
.
.
.
“What set it apart from other losses?” he asked.
“It was not an amputation but a growth,” I answered.
.
Return to Home Page
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03.22.08
Posted in 2008 Potpourri at 5:04 am by Miracle ♪♫
Despite the
lack of gift-worthy occasions in my life, pleasant surprises have been breezing
in ever since the New Year dawned. At
first it was a treble clef pin followed by an intricate necklace, a surprise
visit from a childhood best friend, another unforeseen appearance of an old
friend, a charm bracelet with musical symbols, two Beatles t-shirts, books from
two unexpected donors who begged not to emerge in Les Fleurs d’un Livre as blog-material, flip flops with a piano
design, jewellery (and to think I rarely wear any), a bookmark with an
illustration of a Mozart quartet music score, sweets, and so much more… within
three months, never in my life have I received this much from different people outside
of my birth month – and none of these gifts came on Valentine’s Day either, (some
of them must have read my Not on
Valentine’s Day entry. hehe).
I am not inadequate in thanks for these charming blessings and most of all for the acts of kindness
and thoughtfulness that these people have extended towards me… forgive
me nevertheless for I find the circumstance just a teeny-weeny bit odd. I can’t help but view it as a kind of divine test or indication, and I feel guilty somehow, for I am aware that lately I have been receiving more
than I have been giving - and not just in the material sense. Uh oh…
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03.18.08
Posted in In Memoriam at 5:57 pm by Miracle ♪♫
“I don’t pretend we have all the answers, but the questions are certainly worth thinking about.”
Arthur C. Clarke
(December 16, 1917 - March 19, 2008)
“I have had a diverse
career as a writer, underwater explorer and space promoter.
Of all these I
would like to be remembered as a writer.”
That I’ll do, but for one as
intelligent as he,
I can only hope that he was at least able to acknowledge
God’s existence during his final hours.
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03.16.08
Posted in 2008 Potpourri at 4:38 am by Miracle ♪♫
The Ides of March abates. How swiftly my moods transform! Yesterday I was being a nostalgic fool and today I’m once again full of hope, loving music, loving Living, and loving Loving. With God’s guidance, I shall be able to bridle the reins of my emotions proficiently as time goes by. I truly am striving to ripen from the sour remnants of my soul. Please be patient with me.
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03.15.08
Posted in 2008 Potpourri at 12:12 am by Miracle ♪♫
While
waiting for my student this morning
(who didn’t show up eventually), I plunged
into one of my favorite online habits.
Random
blog reading.
Today’s
cyber serendipity led me to blogspot.com, to a Filipina who wrote about Philippine
politics, history, culture and society. I felt positive that I would like the
person behind those words I read. The
“about me” section was exceptionally catchy and ego-less, too. Her blog had a free nature matched with a sharp wit, and truthfulness
without any airs attached, so I read on and entertained myself – until I came
across a particular entry that practically stupefied me. I wasn’t even capable of actually finishing
the whole post. The accompanying photo was sufficient to stun me. It was a childhood photo of the writer’s mother…
but the name in the caption confirmed that the girl in the photo was not just
her mother. She was also the mother of him
who was previously addressed you in
my ink-sheddings!
I wanted to leave a little trace for the blogger, to let her know
that somehow I had been there… but what would I have uttered? and who was I after all? Would I have said
that we could have been perfect sister-in-laws and that getting along would have
been no problem at all? Would I have
added that I liked their mother very much? (and their mother did tell me she
liked my name). Would I have told her that I loved her brother very much that I
turned Neruda’s words upside down by saying that forgetting is short but loving
is long? Would I have mentioned that her
other younger brother had already called me sister-in-law eight years ago?
Would I have expressed that it was his friendship that I missed so terribly? Would I have related that incident when I told him about a funny dream I had of him and he explained that one
usually dreams of someone when you’ve been thinking of that person and I indignantly
claimed that I hardly ever thought of him (not knowing that he would be
infesting my dreams for years to come)? Would I have admitted that the biggest
blunder I made in my life was done in revenge for how he made me feel unawares? Would I have confessed — but then again… why
would I have told her?
He didn’t even
know most of those things…
All I knew was that a simple “Hi, I like your blog” could not have been enough…
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Perhaps this could have stayed unstated.
Had our words turned to other things
In the grey park, the rain abated,
Life would have quickened other strings.
I list your gifts in this creation:
Pen, paper, ink and inspiration,
Peace to the heart with touch or word,
Ease to the soul with note and chord.
How did that walk, those winter hours,
Occasion this? No lightning came;
Nor did I sense, when touched by flame,
Our story lit with borrowed powers -
Rather, by what our spirits burned,
Embered in words, to us returned.
~V.S.~
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03.13.08
Posted in Unauthored by Me at 7:27 am by Miracle ♪♫
The monumental cellist Pablo Casals scribed the following lines. It genuinely moved the teacher in me, the fellow human in me, and the perhaps future parent in me (Hehe… I even wanna have it printed out and hung just above the piano that I use for teaching). I hope it will inspire and touch you in the same manner.
Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe,
a moment that will never be again…
And what do we teach our children?
We teach them that two and two make four,
and that Paris is the capital of France.
When will we also teach them what they are?
We should say to each of them:
Do you know what you are?
You are a marvel.
You are unique.
In all the years that have passed,
there has never been another child like you.
Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers,
the way you move.
You may become a Shakespeare,
a Michaelangelo, a Beethoven.
You have the capacity for anything.
Yes, you are a marvel.
And when you grow up,
can you then harm another
who is, like you, a marvel?
You must work -
we must all work
to make the world
worthy of its children.
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03.12.08
Posted in Uncategorized at 7:51 pm by Miracle ♪♫
(Humor,Men,Women)
Hi there, Sweetie!
This letter writing to a future daughter is somewhat goofy, don’t you reckon? You have to admit on the other hand that it’s saner than having trialogues with me, myself, and I. The greatest of writers are considerably schizophrenics, and since I cannot be a great writer, this is all I can resort to, but I should also avoid giving you the impression that you have a goody-goody mother. You need to be aware that I can be serious when the occasion requires it, but that does not mean I am not fond of jocularity. Humour, sweetie, is a life saver. In fact I think that’s what redeems your grandfather from “hormonal and gender battles” here at home. Haha…Shhh… Relationships between men and women would be shabbily prosaic without wit and laughter.
However, do you want to know what I like to laugh about most of the time? Men. Haha I have intimidated men-y and for that reason have even been accused of being a feminist a number of times already… and yet, that is not exactly the case. Joke about them if you must, but you should learn to respect men deeply. Do not believe that nonsense about women being superior. It is only right that we are treated justly for what we are worth, but we must also know our place in this world. Nevertheless, this should not also be a hindrance for us to do great things, but at the end of the day, it is always much propitious to dissolve in the arms of someone stronger than us. Sweetie, be good to men. After all… we ought to be kind to animals. *wink*
To read all Letters to a Future Daughter, Click Here.
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Posted in Uncategorized at 6:27 am by Miracle ♪♫
(Calligraphy, Wisdom)
Precious daughter,
The name Sofia would suit you very well. Alas, it has been a slightly popular name throughout history, so perhaps your father would be willing to add a meaningful and unique praenomen to Sofia. Sofia with an “f,” Sweetie. The “f” would look more exquisite and graceful in your penmanship rather than a “ph”. Handsome calligraphy scrawls way back from my great grandfather, and I believe that this is not the result of our predecessor’s high expectations of their children, but instead the dedication of a parent eager to teach a child the best of what they know. Messy or fine, you exert the same effort while writing, so why settle for the lesser? I will ardently teach you with the same dedication my parents bestowed on me. But remember Sweetie, even though fine penmanship is a worldly asset, it becomes rather insignificant when you survey the greater script of life.
I mentioned True Beauty previously.
Let Wisdom coexist with it. Wisdom, Sofia, that’s your name, Sweetie. You may one day query, “What’s in a name?” In your case, the answer would be, “So much.” Seek wisdom. Wisdom does not require straight A’s, earthly honours, riches, nor fame… and your father and I can but guide you on your way, but you will have to be determined to seek and find it yourself thereafter. Right now I smile gently as I can almost hear your small voice coupled with your magnificent curiosity asking, “Mama, in the Bible, why is wisdom called ‘she’?”
To read all Letters to a Future Daughter, Click Here.
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03.11.08
Posted in Uncategorized at 3:10 am by Miracle ♪♫
(Books, Masks, Beauty)
Dear Daughter,
One day you shall learn of Venetian
masks from the books you read, for surely you will appreciate books because I will inculcate the fascination for literature in you. There is nothing significant about Venetian masks however and these are not among the most important things you shall come across in a book, but Shakespeare will mention it. Figuratively, I owned three of these masks. Yes, I used to wear masks Sweetie, genuine voltos, morettas, and bautas – keep in mind that none of these
were made of plastic. They were classy, enigmatic, intricate, but disguises nonetheless. They permitted me to roam around the world incognito and gave me license to do what a mask-less little girl could not… and that way, the Carnival of the World accepted me. Dreadful actions could be done without even a hint of a wince, and careless insincere words were all accomplished most horribly in the name of so-called love.
This letter is ante-You and ante-Daddy – not that I’d want you to call your father “daddy,” that only sounds nice in letters. There is currently no “daddy,”
and evidently no “you” as well, but at times when I don’t feel spinsterish –
which happens more frequently now after being admonished of having a mark of a cold egoist – I’d like to fancy that there will one day be a “you” as much as
there will one day be a “daddy,” and I just want to warn you in advance to keep
away from the mascherari.
The world is a carnival, Sweetie. It could look attractive sometimes, but then, every lure is. You must understand that
there are two kinds of beauty, one is real, and the other isn’t. Oh, to be able to teach you successfully the difference between the two is one of my greatest wishes. I don’t expect you to be a perfect daughter nor should you expect me to become a perfect mother, but in the end, please choose true beauty, Sweetie.
I shall be writing more to you, but for now, I must go back to my books for I know I won’t have time for them when you come into my life… and I wouldn’t even care much for books by then because I’ll be too engrossed with you – and your father, of course.
Tender kisses.
To read all Letters to a Future Daughter, Click Here.
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03.09.08
Posted in Ohrwurms at 1:36 am by Miracle ♪♫
by Tim Hughes
Light of the world,
You stepped down into darkness,
Opened my eyes, let me see
Beauty that made this heart adore You,
Hope of a life spent with You.
So here I am to worship;
Here I am to bow down;
Here I am to say that
You’re my God.
And You’re altogether lovely,
Altogether worthy,
Altogether wonderful to me.
King of all days, oh, so highly exalted,
Glorious in heaven above,
Humbly You came
To the earth You created,
All for love’s sake became poor.
And I’ll never know
How much it cost
To see my sin
Upon that cross.
Here I am to worship;
Here I am to bow down;
Here I am to say that
You’re my God.
And You’re altogether lovely,
Altogether worthy,
Altogether wonderful to me.
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03.08.08
Posted in 2008 Potpourri at 1:08 am by Miracle ♪♫
For the past few days, precious friends have been very inspirational to me despite the inevitable troubles of this world. I have
been so blessed to have a tribe of wonderful people who care to put the stars back in
the sky for me on starless nights.
Thank
you God for inspirations, for starry nights, and for the most beautiful kindred spirits you have bestowed upon me.
Click Here for an illustration of what my friends have done for me. ^_^
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03.05.08
Posted in 2008 Potpourri at 9:37 pm by Miracle ♪♫
Hark, Hark,
the Rain! You might have heard it recently. Yet, when was the last time you listened to its music and percussion
sincerely?
It thumps, it taps, and
sometimes it just ticks lightly with time like a ladies’ wristwatch,
it even
beats with your heart – but oftentimes against it. The different pitches of
rain on the concrete street, rain on the tin roof, muted rain on petals and
leaves, rain pizzicatos on puddles, trickling glissandos through the gutter. It is sheer water music. And oh, to dance with the rain! It’s nature’s
unpretentious ablution. The last time it
rained, were you too engrossed with the sky’s ashen tone or sulking under an
umbrella? Ask not for whom the rain
falls, it falls for thee… for if there were only sunshine… where would your
rainbows be?
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03.03.08
Posted in Uncategorized at 3:07 am by Miracle ♪♫
“I am the scent of the rose that you wore last night at the ball. Every night my spirit will come to dance on your pillow,” claimed the Spectre. The Spectre was the figment of my imagination, a dream, an illusion. But I had already mastered the art of practice so through constant air castling, I made him real and I believed him.
You alone are not guilty of this folly, Lightning. (Hah! Don’t act so surprised. =P) I’m addressing you since I can’t keep you away from this blog anyway… so, there. On with my insecurity! =P This entry sprung from your “fiction” that was nowhere near fictitious, and it brought about memories of Le Spectre de la Rose.It is an expressive and passionate ballet seldom performed, but often consummated in real life through a parallel common blunder: the dreaming and chiselling of a beloved into something he/she is not, which results to awakening under the spell of a dream but with nothing to hold on to.
…and this beautiful spectre dances with you and takes you to unimaginable utopias until both of you have more difficulty abiding on earth than frolicking in the air. Yet, when you awake and reality breaks through, the spectre leaps out of your bedroom window leaving you with only a faint rosy aroma of an image that could only remain an illusion… and we all know how it feels to wake up in the middle of a magnificent dream. We desperately close our eyes again and yearn for the dream to continue, but it never does.
A disaster it is to revere another person as a spectre and wake up with an erring human, but sometimes we overlook the fact that we have also made spectres of ourselves and we are disappointed when we wake up to someone fallible. Then we realize that the reason of our disheartenment is not because another person made a spectre out of us or vice versa, but owing to us shaping a spectre out of ourselves.
…and yet, isn’t it stunning and remarkable how someone acknowledges that we are but filthy rags and still we are constantly forgiven and eternally loved?
May all our spectres take the final leap…
and may we never follow.
The Rosette Nebula
It spans about 100 light-years across,
lies about 5000 light-years away,
and can be seen with a small telescope
towards the constellation of Monoceros.
Credit and Copyright: Robert Gendler
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03.02.08
Posted in Unauthored by Me at 4:48 pm by Miracle ♪♫
This is really fascinating. It’s rather dazzling to see it presented this way. I thank Rastie for sharing this.
I certainly thought this was enlightening.
Beyond our sun, it’s a big universe.
Antares is the 15th brightest star in the sky.
It is more than 1000 lightyears away.
Now… HOW BIG ARE YOU?
Try to wrap your mind around this, this is a Hubble Telescope Ultra Deep Field Infrared view of countless galaxies billions of lightyears away.
Humbling, isn’t it?
And yet, Someone knows how many hairs are on your head, and not even a single sparrow dies apart from His will. (Matthew. 10:29-31)
How big are You?
and how big are the things that upset you today?
…and how BIG is your GOD?
KEEP LIFE IN PERSPECTIVE.
Be Happy!
DON’T SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF!
IT’S ALL UNDER CONTROL.
Please read Job chapter 38.
Have a wonderful day, everyone!
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