On Philosophical Pessimism

“Man’s life is limited to one hundred years. Night takes up half of these; one half of the remainder is absorbed by infancy and old age; the rest is passed in the midst of the sicknesses, separations and adversities which accompany life, in serving others and giving oneself up to similar occupations. Where is one to find happiness in a life that is like the foam that the agitation of the waves produces in the sea?”

These words, taken from the verses of Bhartrihari, somehow capsulizes what philosophical pessimism speaks of: life is suffering and happiness is but a dream. As Voltaire, this favorite of fortune and nature, said: “ I have been experiencing it for eighty years. I do not know of anything to do except resign myself to it, and remember that flies are born to be eaten up by the spider and men to be eaten up by grief.”

It can be said therefore that pessimism is nothing but the pathetic confirmation of the evil of this world, a desperate cry of anguish of the tortured soul.

But there definitely is dignity in the face of suffering. And this dignity lies in the acceptance of the absurdity of the sisiphusian task – a confidence in the face of the absurd end to an absurd existence. This implies that humanity will fulfill its destiny not by its own simple disappearance, but by a complete surrender of individuality to the cosmic process, so that this process can reach its aim which is the freeing of the world. It is only by a complete submission to life and its suffering, and not by a cowardly renunciation and surrender, that one will be able to contribute to the cosmic process.

But this ignores and fails to mention that there can be a higher dignity beyond man’s desperate heroic act in the face of absurdity, that there can be something nobler than the acceptance of suffering. What can be nobler than the acceptance of suffering? This we believe is succinctly expressed by the Stoics when they proclaimed that our real happiness consists in virtue and that the realization of this happiness is beyond human strength. Also, Plato, who admitted that terrestrial existence is essentially imperfect and the pleasures of this world sheer absences of pain nonetheless admitted the World of Ideas which we can reach by our own efforts, enlightened by Reason. In the same manner, Christianity which at all times preaches the “vanity” of terrestrial joys, likewise speaks of heaven and of the eternal beatitude which is in heaven reserved for man.

Moreover, we observe that the contention that the essence of life is suffering is contrary to experience. This is because in spite of the unquestionable miseries which are inherent to terrestrial life, the majority of mortals decidedly prefer existence to non-existence. Nature does not recommend pessimism.

The fear of death, a senseless, irrational but for man more dreadful than all suffering, is only the counterpart of the will to live.

My Soul's Days, My Saint's Days

I have had the rare opportunity of observing All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day in a very special way this year. The week leading to these two special days and the days thereafter became my saint’s days and my soul’s days.

All Saints’ Day, since the early days of monasticism, has always been a special day allotted by the Church to commemorate, honor, and emulate the holy lives of all saints. Transcending this tradition, however, is the Church’s admonition that all of us are actually called to be saints. It is therefore more of a challenge, especially in this age of extreme materialism, moral relativism and skepticism, to rise against sinfulness and return to the fold of truth, goodness, and light.

All Souls’ Day, on the other hand, is also a special day especially calendared by the Church for us to remember and pray for our departed brethren. More than remembering our departed loved ones, however, is the challenge for all of us to also remember that we are all endowed with our own souls which we must all cleanse and prepare for our ultimate re-union with our Creator.

November 1 therefore is the day we are all especially challenged to become saints. And November 2 is the day we are all especially challenged to prepare our souls for this same sainthood.

Prayer, especially the Eucharist, is always the best food for the soul. Personally, however, I find a number of balms that somehow caress and rejuvenate a tired and weary soul: nature, art, poetry, music, memories – both good and bad, my bonsais, a couple of hobbies, and most especially, love and my family. These, and the most precious time spent with them, make up my soul’s days. They, too, are my natural path to “sainthood,” if with God’s grace, I may ever attain that final goal.

Indeed, the past days have been my soul’s days and saint’s days.

One week before the two special occasions, I flew to Bicol to renew and re-strengthen my ties with my roots. I visited my ailing Papa and Mama, laughed and reminisced memories with my only brother and only sister, drank and sang with several relatives and friends, laughed with my 101-year-old Lolo and gazed for the first time at the 101-year-old face of romantic love in his eyes and the lady who’s currently the object of his heart. I am just awed at the love that beats inside a 101-year-old body.

After 26 years, I have had the chance to visit and pray at our family mausoleum for only the third time. I guided Edward, a distant cousin, in cleaning the place, lighted candles and took photos of the tombstones thereat for the family tree I have been working on for years. For the first time, too, I visited and prayed at the tombs of some friends whose wasted lives have recently been added to the growing list of victims of extrajudicial killings that now hover above and cast a shadow of death in this seemingly doomed country.

Back in Manila in the last day of October, I suddenly found myself enjoying a traffic-free drive along EDSA. There are only two days in a year when driving around Manila thoroughfares would be considered a pleasure: All Souls’ Day and Good Friday. Both are occasions for prayer and soul-cleansing. Both are great occasions to pray while driving. It is that rarest moment when you feel pleasure while praying.

And so, I decided to extend the pleasure. My family in tow, I maneuvered the car towards one of the nearest retreat forests I knew. Destination: Caylabne Bay Resort.

There are at least four reasons I like Caylabne. One, I love driving along the winding road that leads to the place. There is always something therapeutic, almost mystical, in driving along the winding road that seems to be tenderly hugging the sides of the mountain and gazing at centuries-old trees that seem to beckon at your every turn. Two, it is the only place I know where hawks are still observed swiftly gliding in the blue sky in search for preys. Different species of birds play among the savage branches unperturbed. Personally, the magnificent sight brings happy memories of my early childhood. Three, it is one of the very few places I know that boast both of a lush forest and a beach resort. And four, I adore the Spanish villas built in the place.

Herewith are a few of the photos I took during those days of my soul.

Ah, I wish to echo Sri Chinmoy’s words in his Eternity’s Vision-Reality Song:

Beloved Lord Supreme,
Do You approve of
My self-transcendence song?

"My son, not only do I approve
But it is I who will
Sing in you,
Sing through you
My Eternity's Vision-Reality Song."

Floating Red-Orange Yellow Bells Water Wheels The Guparya Fortress, Water & Rock Serenity 1 Serenity 2 Waterlily Goddess Byabya

My Condominium Woes

I was in cyberlimbo for the past twelve days at least. For reasons known only to my provider, my internet connection went pfft, this despite my updated payment. At first, starting on the second half of September, connection could not be established in the daytime and would only be available starting at nine in the evening. To say therefore that it deprived me of precious opportunities for my business, plus precious little time of night rest, would be an understatement. About two weeks ago, it completely went dark. Zilch. Zero. Nada.

I frantically dialed my provider’s customer hotline number. It was useless. I dialed their customer service number, their trunk line number, their fax number, even the cellphone number of their collector. All proved inutile. I dialed a hundred times, maybe more, spent more than two hours doing the finger exercise, at first using my pointer, then my thumb, and slowly graduated to my ring finger and pinky finger, until I finally gave the middle finger – yup, the dirty one – and ended up cursing my internet provider.

And cursing my condominium’s developer more.

You see, all this is part of the grand design that my condominium’s developer made. My condominium’s developer, whose owner is now the country’s newest taipan, did a quite splendid job in capturing us, his naïve market, with heavy chains around our necks by promising us that those chains which actually stole our freedom were made of 24 karat gold.

My internet connection is but one of these business tricks that my developer employs. My developer entered into an exclusive contract with this relatively unknown internet provider and imposed the exclusive services of this same internet provider upon the unit-owners. We couldn’t avail of DSL from other internet service providers. The developer would not allow that. At one time, the developer even did not allow wireless connection and only relented when they realized the futility and foolishness of their directive.

The thing with this internet connection is that each connection or subscription is merely one branch of the same tree, one domain distributed among hundreds of users. The service provider advertises that their company offers at least 5 or 10 mbps but they do not provide separate modems for each subscriber. This means that the available 5 or 10 mbps is being shared by the hundreds of subscribers in the condominium. Imagine a six lane highway where all cars are going to a one lane bottleneck. There are over 700 units in my condominium and if only one half of these unit owners will subscribe to an internet connection, it follows that the subscriber only gets 5 or 10 mbps divided by 350 of the original service that the provider is supposed to deliver. If all 350 unit owners would be connected to the internet at the same time, that would mean that each would only be up at a measly 28 kbps. Harang? But wait, there’s more. Callously, the provider charges an amount which is even higher than that of the leading DSL providers. This is because the internet provider is under contract required to give a certain percentage of its profit to, but who else, my developer. Galing no?

Another gisa-sa-sariling-mantika business trick of my developer: the telephone. The developer, despite all our protests, uses the PABX system in our condominium. I have nothing against the PABX system per se, but this system only works best in offices. It is never – again, never – for residential units.

When I first set my foot on this place, there were only two available lines, one PLDT, the other Bayantel. These two lines were distributed through PABX system among the 700 plus units. So, imagine if one would make telebabad and another would connect to the internet via the dial-up route. T’was the worst telephone service in the whole country. It was impossible to make a call and it was impossible to receive one, too. You can do the finger exercise for five hours, ten hours or even for twenty-four hours. The result would be the same: a calloused dirty finger raised against the developer. But wait again, for there’s more. The developer charges an amount which is higher than the charges made by both PLDT and Bayantel! So, suppose the developer pays P700 per month for each of the two lines, and charges each unit owner P800 per month and there are more than 700 units in the condominium. Wow, that is already a whopping P560,000 plus per month income for the developer! And that is only courtesy of two telephone lines at a total monthly capital of P1,400. Great business, right? Galing! Galing talaga! At kami naman, tanga-tanga talaga!

All these of course are illegal and one can always file a complaint at the proper venue but that of course would be hard to sell to say the least. File a case against a taipan? Heller, c’mon, any volunteers?

About three years ago, however, we started to raise fists and voices and began to unfurl red banners. The developer fortunately saw the biblical “Mene Mene Tekel” and reluctantly added more lines. Tinablan din ng hiya. The good news: we now have 45 lines. The bad news: we still use the PABX system.

We have the same problem with cable: the cable provider had an exclusive contract with the developer. Skycable is more unreachable than the sky. Setting up discs or even the late Ernie Baron’s antenna is anathema.

The problems in my condominium community seem endless. We have problems in electricity rate, water rate, association dues, even in real estate taxes for common areas. It is best expressed in Filipino: lahat pinagkakakitaan ng developer habang gisa sa sariling mantika ang mga unit owners.

All these, however, pale compared to the most serious problem that we have ever since the condominium was constructed: fire safety. But that is of course another, well, BIG story.

Meanwhile, we continue to make the developer richer, and with the chains on our neck getting heavier by the day, we continue to play as his captured market and continue to bow to his every whim and caprice. What else can we do beyond organizing the unit owners to consolidate our legitimate gripes into one collective voice? Well, we murmur that sweetest and most therapeutic Filipino expletive:

P___ i____ talaga ang Megaworld na yan!!

I Died the Day I was Born

Tomorrow is the birthday of someone I hold very dear. He would have been 94 tomorrow had he not died in 1993 of cancer. The fact though that I still clearly remember his birthday reveals the kind of influence he exerted in my life. He inspired me to enter the seminary in 1982; and he must have turned in his grave when I left in 1995.

I'd like to do him homage though with a reprint of a short story I penned in 1993 for Inter Nos, the official publication of the Theological Society of UST. And may he, wherever he may now be, look down kindly on his former protege.

I DIED THE DAY I WAS BORN

It was June 4, my birthday. It was the day that I was expected to report to the seminary. It was the day that I died.

It was a fine sunny day. The sun, up above a sky that was all blue and tremendous, shone brightly as if determined to shed light on everything under the heavens. The bus, of which I was a passenger, was moving swiftly, gently pushing itself against the road. The throbbing engine machine and its unending roar would only make me conscious of the beatings within my breast which would become faster and louder as I came closer to my destination. The thought of what I left behind and what would probably await me would from time to time shake my armchair complacency.

For a moment, I allowed myself to be occupied by isolated flashes of memories. Fr. Mariano, his words – images of him jostled each other in my brain. Soon, I became acutely sensitive to the thoughts which flowed through me. My family, my ambitions, my life in the seminary, the demands of the vocation – all these my mind never missed; all these became more real to me as though I was shook up like a man startled out of his sleep.

Then, all of a sudden, the thought shook me. It reverberated in my mind, disturbed my soul as would an earthquake disturb the earth, and enveloped my whole being. It was haunting as a shepherd’s flute, alarming as a coming danger, fearful as an impending death. And when my mind could no longer contain the thought’s reverberations, it escaped through my tongue and found echo in my voice. Softly and forcefully, I muttered: “Why should I become a priest?”

Again, I remembered Fr. Mariano and his words came rushing through the tympanum of my ears: “Priesthood is becoming a nobody. It is a negation of both being and becoming. Hence, if you want to become somebody, don’t ever become a priest! A priest goes into the bush, the frontiers. He has to die to himself, to his ambitions, his way of thinking. He experiences deprivation, persecution and loneliness. He empties himself, goes out of himself to reach out to others, creates a void within himself for the purpose of assuming another identity. He leaves aside his identity and the prerogatives that go with it and putting on the clothes of a new identity, he follows the way of denial, humility and suffering. He humbles himself as a servant, as a suffering servant, as a dead servant!”

I’m not too clear about the next thing that transpired although I’ve thought about it often. Perhaps the light-and-hurried breakfast and long drive had finally taken their toll. I felt dizzy and my vision seemed to shift out of focus, as if a silhouette glass had been put before my eyes. Everything seemed diffused. Then, I saw Fr. Mariano’s face before me, as if a spook lined by a wafer-thin shimmer of light. A strange tremor shook my body as I tried to fix the apparition before me.

Soon, I found myself looking up into an amazing face, gaunt, heavily lined, set with large brown eyes. The eyes were slightly filmy, the hair thick, the face mottled and somewhat swollen. Fr. Mariano was about seventy years old and at that age, you could say he had a certain something, that extra something that separates the men from the boys and marked him out like a tossing Arab stallion. The man had suffered a lot, you could see that. You also realized he had wrestled death several times and was still alive. Those eyes of his that would oftentimes roll heavenward were twin wounds that mirrored the sufferings that he injured. But he could take pain, livid and excruciating pain.

I have known him since I was a child. Whenever I would retreat to early youth when the present would disturb or repel me like the ugly tummy of a turtle, I would see myself in the company of Fr. Mariano. We would hike to far-flung barrios with his motorcycle and he would say masses to the people and I would be his altar-server. He was my guide when the man in me started to come out of the boy; he was no privy when little hairs began to emerge above my upper lip, the desire for the opposite sex became keener, when muscles began to harden and bulge. He was a father to me, this Fr. Mariano.

Now, as I looked at him, it seemed I was looking directly at the face of death, that I was playing primary witness to a process of existential decomposition. He was sick and was literally glued to his bed. It seemed that the sorrowing earth pulled at his body, at his shoulders that once bore the weights of the world’s affliction. Immediately, I felt my heart ached for him, this poor old man.

“Fr. Mariano,” I called out, my voice sounded strange and muffled in the deadening silence. He looked at me and the deep furrows around his eyes and mouth arched into a warmest and most gentle smile.

“Anak,” he said as he usually addressed me and all those persons close to him. His response, in his usual deep-throated voice seemed to reverberate off the surrounding walls. “Come and sit beside me,” he summoned, glancing at the old wooden chair beside his bed. I followed, wondering why to me his voice sounded like Gabriel’s horn, much like the peeling of the bell.

“How are you doing Father?” I asked.

“Well, as you can see, I’m bedridden, just preparing for my last battle. I guess God has deemed it best for me to hold my last breath on bed.”

I was taken aback. His answer came as a juggernaut that made me feel the nakedness and stupidity of my question. That was not what I meant, I wanted to tell him. Perhaps I asked the wrong and silliest question, perhaps my question was irresponsible but I knew it wasn’t just a question. I knew I only wanted him to feel that I cared for him, for whatever he felt. I wanted to explain myself to him. But his voice had already made me feel like a timid choir boy. I neither had the strength nor the desire to dispute his words.

“I’ve learned that you’re coming back to the seminary,” he finally said after a brief but deafening silence.

“Yes, I am,” I answered, quite relieved of the sick feeling that my question and his response had caused.

“And are you ready to die to yourself, to your dreams and ambitions? Are you ready to die a thousand deaths?”

I knew Fr. Mariano was always unpredictable and would always ask the most unexpected question. But still, his question again caught me off-guard. “What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Anak, he spoke haltingly, then begged off for a while to relieve his throat. Then he went on: “Priesthood is a lonely life. To be a priest is to suffer and die several times. It is to be poor, deprived, needy, impoverished and bedraggled. It is to live on alms, on the love, affection and generosity of the people, to take the ultimate sacrifice – serve God’s people.”

I wanted to react. I wanted to tell him that he’s wrong. The priest after all lives the most comfortable life there is in this world. He does not bear the usual problems of the world. He commands respect from the community. Oftentimes, his word is even considered as the law. I wanted to tell him that priestly life is an easy life. But then it seemed that some undesirable stuffs have been clogged in my throat. I found myself unable to express my thoughts.

“Let me tell you who the priest is,” he continued, his face appearing like a musical instrument, the notes ringing our loud and clear. “The priest is someone who spends so much time, effort and money to be ordained to serve God by serving the people, crystallizing this unconditional commitment through vows of poverty, chastity and obedience to his superiors. But to support his physical needs, to be able to eat at least three times a day, he tries to beg for money and what-have-yous from the people he promised to serve who in turn accuse and label him as money-faced, a gold-digger, an opportunist, a person who is identified only with Sunday collections, contributions, stipends – yes, with money.”

I was somewhat shattered. The man was throwing thunderbolt instead of his usual piddling pebble from a slingshot. The measured voice came out as if it were of a politician making a point, a lawyer deftly nailing a quodlibet and a spider spinning an intricate web. His face, it seemed Fr. Mariano’s face in that seemingly split-visage scene remains one of the most eloquent spectacles of the human drama ever captured by my eyes.

Then he went on: “The priest lives alone in a place where he finds himself needy – both materially and emotionally – impecunious, impoverished, bedraggled and living on alms. Sooner or later, he finds himself stricken with loneliness, deprivation and even persecution. He asks himself: “What’s the use of doing this or that when the people don’t really care about what I do or feel? They expect me to produce and deliver, but do they really value the thousand and one things that I have already accomplished? He feels so alone in his anguish. He feels pressured, manipulated, misunderstood and bypassed. But he has to live with all that for he promised to be dead to himself.”

“Uhurm,” I wanted to interrupt. But as in the past, I found myself unable to speak, as if I have been hypnotized to play the role of his captive audience.

“In his moments of loneliness and solitary struggle,” he continued, “he cannot but sometimes wonder what it is like to have a lifetime partner who will share with his emotional, aye, physical needs. He cannot but sometimes wonder what it feels to physically express a particular love and concern to a particular lady, to share his bed with a love one at night. And oftentimes, too, he cannot but wonder what it feels to father a child. Needless to say, the effect of this to his psychological disposition is tremendous. Without the right and proper direction, it can be very harmful and dangerous, both emotionally and psychologically. It can become an unbearable burden, sometimes a psychological torture even. And as you know, many priests have failed or are failing in this.

“And so, as he becomes older, he also sometimes becomes insecure. He sometimes becomes unpredictable and conscious of his security. Sometimes, too, he becomes desirous for some material possessions. But gaining more years and weakened now by years of service to the people, he finds himself being advised to retire. He is then thrown into a home for the aged where he finds himself completely helpless and useless. He settles for a self-service lifestyle until his death. He has to fend for himself and take care of himself even until the time when he could no longer lift a finger.

“Finally, he dies and is buried in a place where his memory is lost and forgotten forever, and where his tomb is not even cleaned or decorated during the All Souls’ Day observance.

“This, Anak, if I may end is the priest.”

And Fr. Mariano spoke no further while I, convinced of the veracity of his words and piqued at having shown some emotion, also lapsed into silence.

The sky was dark, threatening with a heavy downpour when I reached the seminary. I saw the porter busily ushering in the arriving seminarians, completely unmindful of the coming weather disturbance. A large ‘welcome’ sign was posted at the huge and heavy door that led to the inside of the ‘hallowed’ walls of the seminary. I approached the porter, exchanged a few topics, asked for my room key and proceeded inside. And as I closed the heavy door, I also closed my eyes and prayed: “Pater, in manus tuas commendo spiritum meum.” Then, I recalled a passage in the novel “The Thorn Birds” by Colleen McCullough and softly and slowly recited it to myself:

“…singing among the savage branches, (the thorn bird) impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And dying, it rises above its own agony to outcarol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price… For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain… Or so says the legend.”

The Parable of the Prodigal Son: A Reflection on Luke 15

My Bible reading for today dwelt on Luke 15, specifically referred to as The Parable of the Prodigal Son. I am currently in the mood to share with you, dear friends, my reflections on said passage.

So to all the men out there, let me sound this stern warning: this will be a man-to-man talk. In Filipino, usapang lalaki. To all the women out there, let me offer this equally admonishing note: it will rest upon you to let this transcend the level of girl’s talk. This is because this piece will talk about men. And a lot about women, too. To the women out there, this will speak about the characteristics that make up your ideal man. To all the men out there, the kind of man you simply wanted to be. To all of us, this will deal with the kind of person we simply wanted to become.

Luke 15, also known as the Parable of the Prodigal Son, has already become a very popular biblical story. In fact, we have now also grown so familiar with its message, that is, the forgiving love of the God. But please note that there are only a few characters in the story: the father, the prodigal son, the elder brother, the father’s servants, and the man who hired the prodigal son in his farm. I’d like to focus on these characters, try to examine each one of them and choose from them our own ideal man, our ideal person. In Filipino, ang tipo nating lalaki.

Let’s start with the prodigal son. To say the least, we can say that he is selfish. His selfishness leads him to demand his inheritance in advance of his elder brother in violation of prevailing custom. At the lowest point of his life, still guided by self-interest, he decides to return home.

What about his brother? We can say that the elder brother’s failure to appreciate the return of his prodigal brother is understandable from a certain point of view. His own obedience and loyalty, commendable in itself and never equally applauded, have dulled his appreciation of what family ties mean. Just like the Pharisees, he views the whole situation from the perspective of duties and obligations. He puts emphasis on law and conformity. And because of his exactitude and sense of justice, he also becomes self-righteous. He becomes no different from a rooster who believes his crows effect the rising of the sun, that he is the straw that stirs the drink.

Notice that oftentimes, we act like the elder brother. Perhaps because of our relatively exalted place in society, or perhaps because of false pride and hubris, or perhaps because we always like to think we know better than others, we already oftentimes think righteous enough like the elder brother. But it is precisely our exactitude and sense of justice that would oftentimes hurt our relationship with others. And to the ecclesiastics out there (this is the advantage of owning a blog Reverend Fathers: you’ll have no choice but to allow me to give the sermon), is it not regrettable that for so many people their first impression of the Church is of an organized, exacting and even harsh institution? Too much emphasis on law and conformity has often hurt the Church. Its better side, its Christ side, with real concern for people, does not leave the dominant impression.

What about the father’s servants? The father’s servants constitute the crowd, people who assume anonymous identities. They are passive, noncommittal and merely wait for and follow other people’s orders or examples. Soren Kierkegaard, the father of Existentialism, would call them the “herd.” They are people who could never be like the kites. Kites sail against, not with the winds. These kind of people sail with, not against the winds. Unfortunately, these people also constitute the majority. And who knows, by reflection, we may even find ourselves among their kind. Their role after all is the easiest one. They merely follow and obey and let other people direct their lives.

What about the man who hired the prodigal son in his farm? We can say that he took advantage of and abused the prodigal son, masquerading the situation in terms of a servant-employer relationship. He applies a lower form of quid-pro-quo standard of relationship, manipulates and abuses others. And again, his equivalent for today abounds in our present society. There are the profiteers, people who rejoice and make gains over the mistake and misfortune of others.

What about the father? What can we get from him? Well, let us try to consider this:

Have you ever experienced losing someone? Or at least, being separated from a loved one? It is painful, is it not? Separation is a kind of death. It is the death of the bond that ties the heart to its other half.

Have you ever experienced being betrayed or abandoned by a loved one? It is painful, is it not? Indeed, pain is most intense when caused by someone you love most.

But have you ever experienced forgiving and accepting back someone who has betrayed or abandoned you? How does it feel? Sadly, I believe that because we very seldom do it, we are not even very familiar with the way it feels. Forgiveness, because it opposed to pride, is not something we easily give away. Forgive, and you lose not only your face but also your wings which fly your ego to exalted heights.

The father in the parable, however, has undergone all these. He lost someone, was abandoned by a loved one, and was betrayed by his own son. But the pain of loss and betrayal notwithstanding, he still unconditionally forgave and accepted back his sinful son. This is the reason why the parable should instead be called the Parable of the Prodigal Father. For to refer it to the sinful son only fails to highlight the father as the central figure of the narrative. While the son was prodigal with material things, the father was prodigal with loftier things, with the things that really matter. The son was prodigal with money and material riches; the father was prodigal with his forgiving heart, with his love. The mean-spiritedness and selfishness of the prodigal son is the shadowy background for the bright hues of the father’s love. On the other hand, the exactitude and sense of justice of the older son only serves to accent the absence of parameters in the unquestioning embrace of the father. The prodigal son spent his riches and became poor; the prodigal father spent his own riches, the true riches, and gained more.

There is one person who best exemplifies the kind of love that the father showed in the parable. He died on the cross for his friends. He died for us, for you and for me. “Greater love than this no man has than one who lays down his life for his friends.”

Friends, I have thus tried to show you a number of role models as provided to us by the Parable of the Prodigal Father. Who is our ideal person here? In Filipino, sino ang tipo nating lalaki dito? As an old teevee commercial - yes, I am old enough to remember an old teevee commercial - relevantly asked, Sino and bestfriend natin doon? The prodigal father, the prodigal son, the elder brother, the father’s servants, or the man who hired the prodigal son in his farm?

The choice is yours.


P.S.: By the way, there is still one character in the parable. Which means we have yet another choice of role model in case we cannot decide on the role models we first mentioned, or just in case we find them simply not suited to our taste. And for sure, if we aren’t going to choose the prodigal father as our role model, we will soon find ourselves no different from them.

Friends, they are the PIGS.

Mysterious Shared-Oneness

MYSTERIOUS SHARED-ONENESS


The beginning and the end of emotions strikes
effecting a movement of an appetite toward
a desired sensible good; from mind to heart
and heart to soul, the beat that sounds
infinitessimaly exceeds the binds of space
and time. Profound and transcending,
the nature and composition of an unfathomable
reality surpass the limits of an
integral substance.

The gravity of the unhampered uniting force
pulls the wandering mind and sleeping heart
of a bewildered creature - awed in
enchantment! Zealot and unexhausted, the
Mystery of Twoness-in-Oneness presents an
inviting abode to the object desired - an
accommodating mysterious space, a conceptual
boundlessness of a rationalizing species.

Then, the creature is moved from a static
departure and is transported to the
height of rapture, placing himself outside
or beside himself - a level beyond
sense perception and volitional control,
a monotonous activity of an omniscient
immensity ... far beyond the grasp of
pure intelligibility.

Co-existent with the essence of the
Necessary Being, the cause of all contingent
beings compells the squalid mundacity
to deviate from a vacuous poise, and
satiates the insufficience of a
perfunctory world.

Existing in the Mystery of Mysteries,
an act bending back on itself
indivisible and eternal
limitless in comprehension and extension
-- come, experience and be a part of the

Mystery of Shared-Oneness...

June 1988

A Sexual Symbol at Edsa Shrine?

Was at the shrine of Our Lady of Peace, also known as Edsa Shrine, this morning to visit a friend and former classmate at UST Central Seminary. Fr. Nilo Mangussad, Director of Liturgical Music of the Archdiocese of Manila since 1995, is also current Rector of the shrine. He assumed the title formerly held by Fr. Soc Villegas, now bishop of Bataan, some two years ago.

I consider Edsa Shrine very close to my heart not only because of the role it played in the history of our nation (the song “Bayan ko” never fails to bring tears to my eyes) but also because of the role it played in my vita amoris, aptly described by a word popularized mainly by show business -- lovelife kuno. You see, Edsa Shrine also reminds me of my first love. The sacred place had always been my meeting place with her whenever we would go out for a date. (Our relationship did not succeed, however, the religious dimension we tried to commit unto it notwithstanding. Sigh.) But that is of course a different story.

The Shrine itself has numerous features that interest me: its electronic bells, its controversial murals, its wonderful pipe organ, the almost-subwoofer-provided acoustics, and one of its architectural wonders – its intriguing baptismal font.

Some two years ago, Gabby Lagamayo, a former classmate from Our Lady of Penafrancia Minor Seminary, had his child baptized in said Shrine. Several classmates, I included, stood as godfathers. During the rites, however, the ninongs kept themselves busy with whispered hahaha and hikhikhik which easily filled the place and obviously irritated the minister.

Lemme share with you the reason for such hikhikhik and hahaha.

About two weeks after the baptism, Junie Taclan, a friend, now kumpadre and former classmate both in High School at Our Lady of Penafrancia Minor Seminary and in AB-Classical, Bachelorship in Philosophy, and Licentiate in Philosophy at Central Seminary, UST, posted this photo below at the blog of Batch 86 (Find the blog here).

Junie said: Why would this religious structure evoke in one of the ninongs (Jet Hermida, that is) the image of the female anatomy? Is it true that years after leaving the seminary, we never really lost the "seminarian" in us? Or, do we owe it to our priest-formators? Ha ha ha ha ha.

Jet Hermida, likewise a former classmate, followed suit. He posted this close-up photo of the same font below.

Jetski said: Hehehe, more pix of that interesting baptismal font (?) in EDSA Shrine. So whaddya think?

I am posting herewith the reactions, with a few minor modifications, the photos generated among our classmates (the reactions as they appear in the Batch ’86 blog here)

Anonymous said.: bagan puyit! heheheh (Trans.: It looks like a vagina! Hehehe.)

Kit said: i do not know who designed the baptismal font in edsa shrine but he/she must be aware of the symbology of the blade (ancient symbol for masculinity) and the chalice (ancient symbol for femininity). the blade is represented by the triangle and the chalice is represented by the inverted triangle. together, they actually form a hexagram which we now identify as the star of david. incidentally, the blade also represents the male organ and the chalice represents its female equivalent. quite incidentally also, this is mentioned in dan brown's "the da vinci hoax”, er, “code.”

in this case, i do not know why the baptismal font's architect placed the symbol of the chalice on top of the symbol of the blade. was he perhaps thinking of the wheelbarrow position? the woman on top? or, hmmm... well, fill in the blanks. the flowing waters in the font, the font itself looking more like a jacuzzi - they only serve to conjure more images of, well, ano pa nga ba?

i am sure one of the ninongs immediately "smelled" the "heavenly experience" which the hexagram in the baptismal font symbolized. and i venture that he must have had this old filipino adage at the back of his mind: "ang hindi lumingon sa pinanggalingan ay hindi makararating sa paroroonan."

doon po tayo lahat nanggaling. ahh... sana mamayang gabi, or mas okay kung asap, doon tayo lahat paroroon.

goodluck buddies!

Jetski said: hehehe nice kit! nice :-)

Gojie said: hahahaha. duon po ako patungo mamayang gabi pareng kit. chalice on top of the blade.

Gabby said: you people amaze me.

Anonymous said: mas masiram an paroo't parito, lalo na kun minamadali. Masiram man an blade lalo na kun insasaksak. Duwang klase baga an saksak : 1. Saksak na nakamatay 2. Saksak na nakabuhay. Saraksakan na lang kita! Jack the Rapist (Trans.: 'Here and there' tastes better, especially when rushed. The blade tastes good, too, especially when thrusted unto something/someone. There are two kinds of thrusts: 1. deadly 2. life-giving. Let's thrust the thing unto each other! Jack the Rapist)

Junie said: jet, now i know the reason for the name creativejet.

Gojie said: chapel na chapel inmalisyahan pa niyo. manggirabo man kamo!!!! mangisog c lord! hehehe. (Trans.: That’s a chapel so don’t put malice on it!!! The Lord will get mad! Hehehe.)

Gojie said: but hey, it rili reminds me of last night. hahahahaha.

Kit said: gojie: history will show us that the profane has always been present in the sacred. it is also true that the sacred has always been present in the profane. and this is especially true in the church. basilicas and cathedrals especially in europe are full of "artistic manifestations" and symbolisms that make direct references especially to the female genitalia and to the sexual act. the symbol of the chalice is a good starting point. even theology speaks of the church as the bride of christ who is the groom. now, marriage is supposed to be consummated by the sexual act. know that canon law considers non-consummation as a primary ground for nullity and voidance of marriage ab initio. and where is their bedroom where they "consummate" their love? well, it is in the eucharist. the altar therefore is the bed where the chalice (remember that it is the symbol of the female genitalia) is laid (remember the expression "get laid?"). and the chalice of course is the receptacle wherein the blood of christ the groom is eventually poured into.

relative to the symbolism of the chalice, do you know that an egyptologist has surmised that the pyramids are actually symbols of the male genitalia and that they were built to announce to the aliens out there that "hey, may mga boto tabi didi!!" (Trans.: hey, there are penises here!!)

the next time you go to church, try looking for symbols. you'll have fun i'm sure, as creativejet has had real fun in edsa shrine. hehehe.

Junie said: kit, i am beside myself reading your comment. Nabubuang na kuno ako sabi san mga kaurupod ko sa balay. (Trans.: I have gone mad according to members of my household.)

I think you should really write a book. It would be a great disservice to mankind if you don't share these highly amusing, deeply irreverent "theological treatises."

Thanks, Kit. You made my day!

Jetski said: kit, bilibonon ako san paliwanag mo. hehehe. (Trans.: i am awed by your explanation. hehehe.)

Otats said: kit, i really agree with you "that the profane has always been present in the sacred. it is also true that the sacred has always been present in the profane. and this is especially true in the church"...well, and also very much true with some PRIESTS..hehehehe!

Gabby said: jet, you're really creative. you saw something that i didn't. kit, take heed of junie's suggestion.

Kit said: junie: i am sorry for being “irreverent.” i didn’t mean to sound like i despise the church. believe me, i love the church very much and i must say i learned to love her more (notice that because i consider myself man enough, i address the church as “her”) because of these facts.

the church uses a lot of signs and symbols. our faith is explained through them and theology thrives because of them. sacrament for instance is theologically defined as an outward sign. the problem only starts when we begin to understand and trace the history of these signs and symbols.

take for instance another interesting case which is the case of the rite of renewal of water and light during easter. would you believe that this rite is originally a symbol of the sexual act itself? the water symbolizes life or more particularly, the giver of life. the giver of life of course directly alludes to the female genitalia. the candle on the other hand, symbolizes the male organ. notice that during the rite, the candle is dipped into the water. and it is during this rite when new life is born in the church as symbolized by christ’s resurrection. indeed, it is a fact that the church’s teachings on life and new life almost always use the symbolism of the male and female genitalia and the sexual act. very interesting, is it not?

would love to take your challenge, junie. join me in writing a collaborative work. i am sure we can get a lot of fertile ideas from jet. hehehe.

Anonymous said: mhaleeboogeen kau lahhaten batch eighty - SEX ! you better read my theories first. mga manyakeen, when i was born, i brought sexual symbolisms into this world. Heende kau ang original koondee akoo. Hail Hitler ! SIGMUND FREUD

Junie said: kit, I’ll be the last person to believe that you despise the church.

By irreverent, I didn’t mean, of course, that you despise the church. Just the same, I’m sorry for the unintended connotation.

Allow me to give a little explain, though. Beneath the irreverence, I’m sure, lies a deep respect, love even [as you openly declared], for the church. Irreverence and respect for the same object—the church—would seem to defy logic. But a closer examination would show that these traits can reside in one person without necessarily excluding each other, in much the same way that we can marry the idea of the sacred and that of the profane in religious symbols.

Irreverence aside, I truly get a lot of kick from your theological explanations. And I think I’ll take you up on your offer to do a collaboration if, and only if, we include Dante for the illustrations. Our book-in-the-making will surely need a lot of cave illustrations, given its sacred-profane content. And Dante’s the only one qualified for the job, being the most experienced spelunker in our batch. The only problem is he’s very busy right now, exploring three caves (Is it four, Henri? Or, have we lost count already?) in Albay and Sorsogon.

Kit said: thanks a lot, junie. you just put into words what many of us could only observe and awfully declare as “nasa durho na san dila ko yan!” (Trans.: that's already at the tip of my tongue!) sige po, i hope we can start writing soon. dante, i am sure, will provide the best illustrations to those things that have been keeping our “heads” high (shall I say erect?). with his very rich experience in cave explorations, his fresh-from-the-oven fingers will definitely provide masterful strokes in the terrain and every corner of our hitherto unexplored … hmm … subject.

speaking of caves, i must beg to disagree with mr. sigmund freud’s claim that he pioneered sexual projection of phenomena through symbols and/or the sexual interpretation of symbols. the fact is, sexual symbolism has been with us since the beginning of man’s history. remember that the caveman drew symbols in caves. were the symbols he drew never sexual in any way? then why did he draw raging bulls inside the caves? hehe, i am sure dante knows the reason by heart and, well, by his dick (dear dante: my apologies po). the most that mr. freud has introduced therefore is the “freudian approach” in the understanding of our sexuality.

i must agree, however, with tato’s observation about the symbiotic relation between the sacred and the profane as observed among the members of our clergy. not all priests are completely aware of the symbolisms of the rites they perform or they may not always be conscious of the significance of these symbolisms. but imagine a priest who is really aware of the sexual undertones in the rites. hehe, the people would perhaps start to wonder why their minister would seem to be singing handel’s helleluiah seven octaves higher.

Comments and discussions went on beyond the blog. In one of our mini reunions, we talked and gave out more hikhikhik and hahaha and drank and toasted till dawn to our book-in-the-making. Beyond munching on the special sisig and chicharong bulaklak as pulutan, we feasted on the different concepts relative to the theology of sex as well as more sexual symbolisms in different churches.

And it all started with the baptismal font at Edsa Shrine.

Republic of Bicol

In light of the controversial MILF MOA-AD and the subsequent demand of the Lumad people for another "autonomization," I am posting herewith an outline of a book I never got to finish writing. It was first posted in my first homepage in December 2001 (Find it here).

Towards an Autonomous and Independent Republic of Bicol

This treatise treats the prospect of an autonomous and independent republic of Bicol. Employing the successful establishment of the Republic Act 8438 or the Organic Act of Cordillera Autonomy and the Autonomous Region of Muslim Mindanao as backdrops, it tackles the process and tasks as well as the possible problems in “autonomization.” The treatise is in toto based on the fact that Bicol region is self-sufficient in terms of resources, both natural and human. It has two gold mines – Paracale and Masbate, two geothermal plants – Tiwi and Bacman, with a possibility of a third – Irosin, which could easily generate dollars in terms of revenues. It has several tourist spots that can be readily developed, industries for export, etc.

And now may I add, we have the MILF MOA-AD and lessons from its historical development as very good models!