The Legend of the Starry Night

Vincent was a man who lived in shadows.
But through the pain and darkness that enshrouded him,
his heart only saw the sky.

I have always been drawn to Van Gogh. At first I only knew him from the song, but something about him called to me. At an age when I was too young to fully appreciate his story, I found in Vincent a kindred spirit. His sadness spoke to the restless in mine, and I found solace in his song and works of art.

Only later did I found out the truth about his tragic life. The judgment and rejection he suffered, the sense of failure he struggled with, his journey to the edge of sanity, the endless fall from grace, the death by his own hands.

Starry Night, Van Gogh's masterpiece, was painted from the depths of his suffering. While imprisoned in an asylum, Van Gogh painted the night sky as he saw it through the bars of his prison window: a darkness awash with magnificent colors.

Van Gogh's Starry Night is hope captured. In his darkness, he kept his colors alive. His was the hope that overcomes the shadows. His was a spirit that shatters the dark. By his life we are reminded that through the many chains that hold us in bondage, we can choose to look for brighter skies.

May our lives be like the Starry Night.
That through the darkness, we can see life with a thousand light.

not quite a fish tale

The salmon stand head and shoulders above all of God’s magnificent creations.

Born on the headwaters of a river, the young salmon ride the currents downstream until, like the river, they find the open sea. There in the free waters they fight to survive. Every moment is a struggle against hunters from below and above. In the vast, ruthless ocean the salmon live for about four years, until a basic, restless need drives them to return to the shallow waters of their birth. They gather at the mouth of the river to begin the pilgrimage of their lives. Traveling upstream, they swim relentlessly against the currents. Against the rapids, against man-made dams, against poisoned waters, against bloodthirsty predators, they press on resolutely.

The salmon never stop – not to eat or to rest. They swim and jump and fight through the obstacles. And by sheer courage and tenacity, they overcome the staggering odds to reach their birthplace – a journey of a thousand miles from and a thousand feet above the open sea. There the salmon, weak and worn, gather the last of its strength – the male to find and dig a safe nesting place, and the female to lay her precious eggs. The salmon will traverse the length of the river only twice in its lifetime; once with the river’s flow and once against. They will never again swim the salty waters of the sea… In the shallow brooks and streams of their birth, the salmon return to sire their young and then to pass away. Thus, the headwaters of their birth also become their graves; the brave salmon’s final resting place.

So goes the tale of the magical journey of the fish of the gods; the ultimate saga of survival, triumph and unbreakable spirit. It is the most moving story I have ever chanced upon; and I share this in the hopes that you will learn to open your eyes to the many wonders and miracles of our world, and to glean from them valuable lessons to see you through your own unique journey.

Like the salmon, we must face life with focus and passion. Only by faith can we navigate our lives into our destined places. We know where we are going; all we have to do is trust our inner compass to get us there. We must neither yield to the roadblocks nor avoid the sharp twists and turns. Never must we lose heart or hope. Remember that there is no place too far that our dreams cannot take us… and take solace in the thought that at the end of life’s long and arduous journey, there is a promise of peace and a haven for quiet bliss.

undisguised

(wanderings of a wondering soul)

“… What if I am but a speck of dust in this sweep
Of wombless time and limitless space. . .
I’m still content that in my brief, brief time
I’ve felt myself a part of one vast whole...”
R. Demetillo

So, where am I in the great scheme of things?

For one, I have certainly stopped whining. Complaining, I have found out, is like digging your own grave with a teaspoon. It is so counter-productive, and habit-forming at that. Like cancer to the body, negative inertia is poison to the soul. And I already have my hands full with the first one.

(Writing this, I just had a funny realization. My illness, I think, is the crystallization of my rebellious nature. It’s like having millions of tiny clones working within and against me. Well, they certainly chose the wrong enemy! No one is more headstrong than me, not even my own doppelganger. I rebel against their rebellion. Me against myself. Now, isn’t that the way it always is?)

Slowly, I am coming out from the mire. It has been difficult – struggling against this paralyzing sense of failure and helplessness. When you are haunted by the ghosts of your own possibilities, where do you seek refuge? When the enemy is your own, where do you seek comfort? Where do you find peace?

How have I measured up? Was I ever worthy of my ideals?

Everyday I wake up and realize I’m not a superhero. Everyday I have to remind myself that life does not owe me any justification or apology for why things are the way they are. But in spite of them, I’ve never stopped dreaming for better days; for softer and kinder memories. I have been blessed with a hopeful heart and a resilient spirit. I have remained whole because my faith in miracles far outweighs all the squalor I have seen and experienced.

Here in the midst of tragedies, I have realized that there is nary a moment when God is not by my side. I am never without Him. Every moment He manifests Himself in subtle, whispering ways. He is there in the everyday miracles we so take for granted. Under the harsh glare of existence

God is everywhere undisguised.

Go ahead, take a second look.

Have you ever noticed the profusion of beauty in this world? But do they serve a utilitarian purpose? I would like to contend that beauty need not be practical to be valuable. Beauty is its own justification; its own reason for being. There is something sublime in the love affair between the wind and the flowers; something ethereal in the birds that fly. Everywhere, we are touched by divinity. Nature is God’s very own fingerprint And His message becomes clear: that wherever our roads turn, our paths lead upward. We are meant for greater skies.

Life does provide us with an abundance of sanctuaries where we can find help. We know where to find little heavens on this earth. . . The important thing is to come.

Every drop of rain is a moment to touch the heavens. There is a promise of blanketed seeds for every falling leaf. Indeed the hand of God can be witnessed. The important thing is to see. The important thing is to believe.

Every new day presents us with the opportunity to abandon the false security of compromise, the meaningless comforts of mediocrity. In the absence of love, safety is a desolate place. Yes, to love more is to fear less. And I would like to dance, thank you very much.

This is my highest truth. With each new day, it defines and refines itself into something infinitely better. Enduring. Boundless.

When we recognize and embrace this part of ourselves, there is redemption. The heart is revived, the soul is renewed, and life is reclaimed.

We have indeed gone full circle. It is time to begin a higher one. Come on, because it is never too late for life to begin again.

Now, if you will excuse me…

I have a life to live.

metastasis: broken thoughts of a healing soul

Today it has been ten years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

And I still remember like no time has passed...

On the first few days of the New Year, while everyone else was busy reflecting on the past year and making resolutions for the new one, I was to receive news that was to change my life and those of my loved ones.

Stage III-B carcinoma of the breast. And I was only twenty years old.

I remember coming home after eight days of hospitalization. It was the longest journey of my life. I was back in a world that looked so familiar but felt so very different. I was not really afraid until then, and I have never felt fear the way I felt at that moment. A big part of me wanted to hide in the confines of my hospital room and stay there forever. There where I felt safe - safe and numb. I was violently caught between the desire to be fully present in every experience or to pass each day pining for the life I know is no more. This I knew I had to face; this is where the true battle lies. No, I was not afraid of death; I was afraid of not being able to live.

And the analgesia that protected me had now come undone. With full knowledge of what was ahead, the tears finally fell and I cried for the life I once had and was now gone. But how does one ever say goodbye to possibilities, when they were really yours to begin with?

When one is faced with a life-threatening illness our reflex act is to do everything to survive. Should I do everything to prolong my life to the exclusion of everything else, or do I endeavor to live the rest of my life with meaning and purpose? Indeed there is a difference between wanting to live to avoid death and the desire to experience life. When we live to avoid death, can we truly say that we have lived? If we experience life by risking death, is that truly living?

Indeed it has been ten years and I am still haunted by questions that perhaps will never be answered. Perhaps some questions are not ours to ask... But this much I know: my life is mine to define and my own to live. And I am doing so, one moment at a time.

ahhh...

awake at last