DANGADANG: 2016

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Earth's resurrection, Winter 2016

EARTH'S RESURRECTION. The whole night the rains came, thawing every bit of frost in this Portland earth of mankind. The grass and pine needles and skeleton twigs of willows found their strength to assemble a welcome committee for the winter sun whose rays are as cold as the quivering earth. The morning mist has learned to surrend to the entreaties of the tardy sun, and now, puddles of thawed frost, now as liquid as liquid can be, have formed to become reflecting pools, the bones of otherwise verdant foliage in the springtime right on the surface of these fragile bodies of cold water, the reflection a happy balance of black and white, of images and the real object imaged by them. There is a certain fragility in all these, and as I sip my first morning Seattle brew touted as the 'people's best', I think of life's seasons and blessings and grace and grit and greatness. Not far away from these 'things-in-themselves' is a thought about what to write next. And not far away too is the gurgling stream so gay with its winter dance. It moves, this stream, as it seeks the level of its seas. It moves, as it seeks to go back to its heavens so that in due time, it can come down to earth again a stream outside my winter window in the years ahead. SW Vermont, 27 Dec 2016.

Monday, December 26, 2016

A bike and one winter morning, 1

ONE WINTER MORNING 1. A bike, an anniversary, and the road to something grander and greater. Cold weather like this, with a warning about 'freezing' and snow solidifying on the blades of grass and the needles of pine tress, I think of this bike and where it can bring us, of the roads to take, of the directions to follow. There is hope in all these, and this should be more than enough. PDX, 26 Dec 2016. [Photo: Camille Agcaoili]

A bike and a winter morning, 2016.

ONE WINTER MORNING 2. A bike, an anniversary, and the road to something grander and greater. Cold weather like this, with a warning about 'freezing' and snow solidifying on the blades of grass and the needles of pine tress, I think of this bike and where it can bring us, of the roads to take, of the directions to follow. There is hope in all these, and this should be more than enough. PDX, 26 Dec 2016.

Freely freezing, 1

FREEZING FREELY, FREELY FREEZING, 1

. In this sub-zero temperature of our winter lives, can only bear witness to the mysteries and surprises of life's and the world's seasons. This morning, I tried to challenge the chill of the universe, and the chill's threat got to the bones. But I saw 'em things of the cosmos, faithful to that covenant of surrender and from that surrender is the reason for hope and for hoping that one day soon past these winter cold, some spring days may come to welcome back the sun, or all of the suns, of our cosmic lives. Such is the sweet good luck of all mortal beings turning into something eternal in the eternity of the Earth, this earth of mankind. It is our prayer now, this cantata on Christmas morning when anniversaries too are real and concrete and memoranda for us to keep on remembering for always the life we have led. To the parents of Ie Agcaoili, Cams/Camille Agcaoili, and Francine Agcaoili, happy, happy, happy! PDX, 26 Dec 2016.

Freely freezing, 2

FREEZING FREELY, FREELY FREEZING, 2

Freely freezing, 3

FREEZING FREELY, FREELY FREEZING, 3

Freezing freely, 4

FREEZING FREELY, FREELY FREEZING, 4

Freezing freely, 5

FREEZING FREELY, FREELY FREEZING, 5

Freezing freely, 6

EARTH'S & MAN'S PRAYER. FREEZING FREELY, FREELY FREEZING, 6. In this sub-zero temperature of our winter lives, can only bear witness to the mysteries and surprises of life's and the world's seasons. This morning, I tried to challenge the chill of the universe, and the chill's threat got to the bones. But I saw 'em things of the cosmos, faithful to that covenant of surrender and from that surrender is the reason for hope and for hoping that one day soon past these winter cold, some spring days may come to welcome back the sun, or all of the suns, of our cosmic lives. Such is the sweet good luck of all mortal beings turning into something eternal in the eternity of the Earth, this earth of mankind. It is our prayer now, this cantata on Christmas morning when anniversaries too are real and concrete and memoranda for us to keep on remembering for always the life we have led. To the parents of Ie Agcaoili, Cams/Camille Agcaoili, and Francine Agcaoili, happy, happy, happy! PDX, 26 Dec 2016.

Monolinggual a Diksionario: Esoteriko, Exoteriko

BAYANGGUDAW NOTES. 26 DEC 2016. MON. N1. 

Commitment to turn pop culture into something beneficially instrumental. ESOTERIKO, EXOTERIKO. 

We have vowed to do this: to go on social media mode and make 

use of it as instrumental in the pursuit of a good cause. A former student, Sein Zeit (must be a hermeneut, this philosopher) and I vowed to make FB the platform of our non-selfie life, but a platform of ideas that can lead us to something greater, grander, and more glorious we can rediscover our sense of grace, grit, and greatness. And so here, I share with you two entries from the Monolinggual Diksionario ken Tesoro nga Ilokano.

Resisting Forgetting and the Scheme of Dangadang, the novel

RESISTING FORGETTING. Somewhere, I wrote something sarcastic: That the only way to start living is to stop writing. But a dear friend, Ms Marcella and many others have admonished--and rightly so--that the only way for writers, starving and otherwise, to live, or start living, is to continue to writing. Perhaps, perhaps, 2017 will be a good year. Perhaps the other members of this Kailokuan Quartet will see the light of day--and soon. I have in mind Redemption and Wayawaya. I have in mind Padre Ili and Bannuar. I have in mind everyone in this novel that awakened me to the ugly realities of my homeland and human life in general. So there, Redemption, come follow suit. And soon. [Thank you to my manong Guerrero Coloma who today, this post-Christmas morning, reminded my of this architecture of a quartet when he shared this on his post just now.] [PDX, 26 Dec 2016] [Note: the graphic is the architecture of the novel, Dangadang, now out of print, but I still keep some copies for those interested. PM me.]

Sunday, December 25, 2016

Color my world, 1

COLOR MY WORLD, 1. It is the day of the sun, and the sun came in late. It is December the 25th, the day of hoping for that which is best for all peoples of the world. We do not forget: the homeless, the wretched, the poor, the oppressed, those who have become collateral damages for things ideological, imperial, super-power dreams of psychopaths also known as world leaders of capital and its impossible greed and avarice. We do not forget. Instead, we resist, and think of colors of, and in, the world even in this otherwise drab and grim existence. Aleppo comes to mind, and all other communities similarly situated. The homeless of New York City, San Francisco, Portland, London, Manila. The victims of all these iniquities too many to count. Ah, yes, color my world. PDX, 25 Dec 2016.

Color my world, 2

COLOR MY WORLD, 2. It is the day of the sun, and the sun came in late. It is December the 25th, the day of hoping for that which is best for all peoples of the world. We do not forget: the homeless, the wretched, the poor, the oppressed, those who have become collateral damages for things ideological, imperial, super-power dreams of psychopaths also known as world leaders of capital and its impossible greed and avarice. We do not forget. Instead, we resist, and think of colors of, and in, the world even in this otherwise drab and grim existence. Aleppo comes to mind, and all other communities similarly situated. The homeless of New York City, San Francisco, Portland, London, Manila. The victims of all these iniquities too many to count. Ah, yes, color my world. PDX, 25 Dec 2016.

Color my world, 3

COLOR MY WORLD, 3. It is the day of the sun, and the sun came in late. It is December the 25th, the day of hoping for that which is best for all peoples of the world. We do not forget: the homeless, the wretched, the poor, the oppressed, those who have become collateral damages for things ideological, imperial, super-power dreams of psychopaths also known as world leaders of capital and its impossible greed and avarice. We do not forget. Instead, we resist, and think of colors of, and in, the world even in this otherwise drab and grim existence. Aleppo comes to mind, and all other communities similarly situated. The homeless of New York City, San Francisco, Portland, London, Manila. The victims of all these iniquities too many to count. Ah, yes, color my world. PDX, 25 Dec 2016.

Color my world, 4.

COLOR MY WORLD, 4.

It is the day of the sun, and the sun came in late. It is December the 25th, the day of hoping for that which is best for all peoples of the world. We do not forget: the homeless, the wretched, the poor, the oppressed, those who have become collateral damages for things ideological, imperial, super-power dreams of psychopaths also known as world leaders of capital and its impossible greed and avarice. We do not forget. Instead, we resist, and think of colors of, and in, the world even in this otherwise drab and grim existence. Aleppo comes to mind, and all other communities similarly situated. The homeless of New York City, San Francisco, Portland, London, Manila. The victims of all these iniquities too many to count. Ah, yes, color my world. PDX, 25 Dec 2016.

Color my world, 5

COLOR MY WORLD, 5.

Color my world, 6-1

COLOR MY WORLD, 6-1. It is the day of the sun, and the sun came in late. It is December the 25th, the day of hoping for that which is best for all peoples of the world. We do not forget: the homeless, the wretched, the poor, the oppressed, those who have become collateral damages for things ideological, imperial, super-power dreams of psychopaths also known as world leaders of capital and its impossible greed and avarice. We do not forget. Instead, we resist, and think of colors of, and in, the world even in this otherwise drab and grim existence. Aleppo comes to mind, and all other communities similarly situated. The homeless of New York City, San Francisco, Portland, London, Manila. The victims of all these iniquities too many to count. Ah, yes, color my world. PDX, 25 Dec 2016.

Color my world, 6

COLOR MY WORLD, 6. It is the day of the sun, and the sun came in late. It is December the 25th, the day of hoping for that which is best for all peoples of the world. We do not forget: the homeless, the wretched, the poor, the oppressed, those who have become collateral damages for things ideological, imperial, super-power dreams of psychopaths also known as world leaders of capital and its impossible greed and avarice. We do not forget. Instead, we resist, and think of colors of, and in, the world even in this otherwise drab and grim existence. Aleppo comes to mind, and all other communities similarly situated. The homeless of New York City, San Francisco, Portland, London, Manila. The victims of all these iniquities too many to count. Ah, yes, color my world. PDX, 25 Dec 2016.

Color my world, 7

COLOR MY WORLD, 7. It is the day of the sun, and the sun came in late. It is December the 25th, the day of hoping for that which is best for all peoples of the world. We do not forget: the homeless, the wretched, the poor, the oppressed, those who have become collateral damages for things ideological, imperial, super-power dreams of psychopaths also known as world leaders of capital and its impossible greed and avarice. We do not forget. Instead, we resist, and think of colors of, and in, the world even in this otherwise drab and grim existence. Aleppo comes to mind, and all other communities similarly situated. The homeless of New York City, San Francisco, Portland, London, Manila. The victims of all these iniquities too many to count. Ah, yes, color my world. PDX, 25 Dec 2016.

Color my world, 8

COLOR MY WORLD, 8. It is the day of the sun, and the sun came in late. It is December the 25th, the day of hoping for that which is best for all peoples of the world. We do not forget: the homeless, the wretched, the poor, the oppressed, those who have become collateral damages for things ideological, imperial, super-power dreams of psychopaths also known as world leaders of capital and its impossible greed and avarice. We do not forget. Instead, we resist, and think of colors of, and in, the world even in this otherwise drab and grim existence. Aleppo comes to mind, and all other communities similarly situated. The homeless of New York City, San Francisco, Portland, London, Manila. The victims of all these iniquities too many to count. Ah, yes, color my world. PDX, 25 Dec 2016.

Color my world, 9

COLOR MY WORLD, 9. It is the day of the sun, and the sun came in late. It is December the 25th, the day of hoping for that which is best for all peoples of the world. We do not forget: the homeless, the wretched, the poor, the oppressed, those who have become collateral damages for things ideological, imperial, super-power dreams of psychopaths also known as world leaders of capital and its impossible greed and avarice. We do not forget. Instead, we resist, and think of colors of, and in, the world even in this otherwise drab and grim existence. Aleppo comes to mind, and all other communities similarly situated. The homeless of New York City, San Francisco, Portland, London, Manila. The victims of all these iniquities too many to count. Ah, yes, color my world. PDX, 25 Dec 2016.

Delicate life of a dew, 5

DELICATE LIFE OF DEW IN BEAVERTON N5. It is now one of the many rituals of every early misty mornings in wonderland, some thousands of miles away from the tropics of our everyday concern. I hit the road to bring a daughter to work, navigating roads less traveled, and which, for the life of me, is a welcome respite from my daily grind on the freeway that, when not bogged down by the jam, would lead me always to a pilgrim's prayer. Those are the times when words come to me. They come in profusion, as if in a deluge, like a tsunami of sorts, a Haiyan, and yet, I cannot touch pen and paper. I cling on to the that delicate hope that I could still remember the words when I get to the full parking lot less than an hour after, like this dew, or these dews, clinging on to dear life. When the sun strikes, the pearly half-solid-half-liquid water would dissolve into memory, like air going to all places but not here. So today, after dropping off the daughter, I had to stop and snap pictures of the dew, or dews, that are as delicate as my memory of words that always are fugitives of, and in, my wandering heart. BEAVERTON, 21 Dec 2016.

Delicate life of a dew, 4

DELICATE LIFE OF DEW IN BEAVERTON N4. It is now one of the many rituals of every early misty mornings in wonderland, some thousands of miles away from the tropics of our everyday concern. I hit the road to bring a daughter to work, navigating roads less traveled, and which, for the life of me, is a welcome respite from my daily grind on the freeway that, when not bogged down by the jam, would lead me always to a pilgrim's prayer. Those are the times when words come to me. They come in profusion, as if in a deluge, like a tsunami of sorts, a Haiyan, and yet, I cannot touch pen and paper. I cling on to the that delicate hope that I could still remember the words when I get to the full parking lot less than an hour after, like this dew, or these dews, clinging on to dear life. When the sun strikes, the pearly half-solid-half-liquid water would dissolve into memory, like air going to all places but not here. So today, after dropping off the daughter, I had to stop and snap pictures of the dew, or dews, that are as delicate as my memory of words that always are fugitives of, and in, my wandering heart. BEAVERTON, 21 Dec 2016.

Delicate life of a dew, 3

DELICATE LIFE OF DEW IN BEAVERTON N3. It is now one of the many rituals of every early misty mornings in wonderland, some thousands of miles away from the tropics of our everyday concern. I hit the road to bring a daughter to work, navigating roads less traveled, and which, for the life of me, is a welcome respite from my daily grind on the freeway that, when not bogged down by the jam, would lead me always to a pilgrim's prayer. Those are the times when words come to me. They come in profusion, as if in a deluge, like a tsunami of sorts, a Haiyan, and yet, I cannot touch pen and paper. I cling on to the that delicate hope that I could still remember the words when I get to the full parking lot less than an hour after, like this dew, or these dews, clinging on to dear life. When the sun strikes, the pearly half-solid-half-liquid water would dissolve into memory, like air going to all places but not here. So today, after dropping off the daughter, I had to stop and snap pictures of the dew, or dews, that are as delicate as my memory of words that always are fugitives of, and in, my wandering heart. BEAVERTON, 21 Dec 2016.

Delicate life of a dew in Beaverton, 2

DELICATE LIFE OF DEW IN BEAVERTON N2. It is now one of the many rituals of every early misty mornings in wonderland, some thousands of miles away from the tropics of our everyday concern. I hit the road to bring a daughter to work, navigating roads less traveled, and which, for the life of me, is a welcome respite from my daily grind on the freeway that, when not bogged down by the jam, would lead me always to a pilgrim's prayer. Those are the times when words come to me. They come in profusion, as if in a deluge, like a tsunami of sorts, a Haiyan, and yet, I cannot touch pen and paper. I cling on to the that delicate hope that I could still remember the words when I get to the full parking lot less than an hour after, like this dew, or these dews, clinging on to dear life. When the sun strikes, the pearly half-solid-half-liquid water would dissolve into memory, like air going to all places but not here. So today, after dropping off the daughter, I had to stop and snap pictures of the dew, or dews, that are as delicate as my memory of words that always are fugitives of, and in, my wandering heart. BEAVERTON, 21 Dec 2016.

Delicate life of a dew in Beaverton, 1

DELICATE LIFE OF DEW IN BEAVERTON N1. It is now one of the many rituals of every early misty mornings in wonderland, some thousands of miles away from the tropics of our everyday concern. I hit the road to bring a daughter to work, navigating roads less traveled, and which, for the life of me, is a welcome respite from my daily grind on the freeway that, when not bogged down by the jam, would lead me always to a pilgrim's prayer. Those are the times when words come to me. They come in profusion, as if in a deluge, like a tsunami of sorts, a Haiyan, and yet, I cannot touch pen and paper. I cling on to the that delicate hope that I could still remember the words when I get to the full parking lot less than an hour after, like this dew, or these dews, clinging on to dear life. When the sun strikes, the pearly half-solid-half-liquid water would dissolve into memory, like air going to all places but not here. So today, after dropping off the daughter, I had to stop and snap pictures of the dew, or dews, that are as delicate as my memory of words that always are fugitives of, and in, my wandering heart. BEAVERTON, 21 Dec 2016.

A foggy morning as poem

A FOGGY MORNING AS POEM.
Here we go, poets of the people. Make poems out of this scene, when the world is about to get awakened to the realities of the light, when luminosity is all we need to make us all get past the illusions of the dark. It is darkness we need too even as we seek that which leads us to where we understand what meaning there is in the metaphysics of our the yes-and-no, the ugly-and-the-beautiful, the clear-and-misty day. BEAVERTON, 21 Dec 2016.

Day 1 of winter, officially, 1

DAY 1 OF WINTER, OFFICIALLY. OR WINTER'S EARTH AS CANVASS. It is in the seeing, not looking. It is in the seeing through and seeing well, and like Don Juan the Burro in Castaneda's study of the curando, we come to this manner of seeing when we commune with the earth one more time in winter time. I got out of the car with its heater, and the winter cold enveloped me, but the canvass of the universe with its palette of subdued hues was more important than the fear of the cold. Here is a life resisting the threat of death, and this plant is a proof of the capacity of the cosmos to renew itself, coax itself back to life in due time. BEAVERTON, 21 Dec 2016.

Day of winter, officially, 2

DAY 1 OF WINTER, OFFICIALLY. N2. OR WINTER'S EARTH AS CANVASS. It is in the seeing, not looking. It is in the seeing through and seeing well, and like Don Juan the Burro in Castaneda's study of the curando, we come to this manner of seeing when we commune with the earth once more in winter time. I got out of the car with its heater, and the winter cold enveloped me, but the canvass of the universe with its palette of subdued hues was more important than the fear of the cold. Here is a life resisting the threat of death, and this plant is a proof of the capacity of the cosmos to renew itself, coax itself back to life in due time. BEAVERTON, 21 Dec 2016.

Day of winter, officially, 3

DAY 1 OF WINTER, OFFICIALLY. N3. OR WINTER'S EARTH AS CANVASS. It is in the seeing, not looking. It is in the seeing through and seeing well, and like Don Juan the Burro in Castaneda's study of the curando, we come to this manner of seeing when we commune with the earth once more in winter time. I got out of the car with its heater, and the winter cold enveloped me, but the canvass of the universe with its palette of subdued hues was more important than the fear of the cold. Here is a life resisting the threat of death, and these plants and this pond are a proof of the capacity of the cosmos to renew itself, coax itself back to life in due time. BEAVERTON, 21 Dec 2016.

Reunion as re-gathering [with Dr Alma Trinidad]

REUNION AS RE-GATHERING. There is a word in Ilokano that comes to me as we celebrate our reunion in Happy Valley: kammayet. Or kayyamet. It is one-ing, or oneing, that happy process of becoming one, with our souls commingling, twining, intertwining. Today, I drove for miles to another county to meet up with Dr Alma M. Ouanesisouk Trinidad, a leading activist academic based in Portland. I have known of her work long before our first meeting, with Dr Julius Soria (+), a former colleague, supplying all the details. And then in August, at the bedside of this dear friend, we met up, and there, we honored his life, this friend who the became the mediator of our meeting up. Together we have grieved because of our common loss, and now, we vowed to continue to work for causes grander than ourselves. I can only thank Dr Alma, my ading, for rekindling that sense of commitment that we have to sustain. It is hard work, this. But alongside others--in this grand scheme of things we call kammayet/kayyamet--something could be done. Or so it seems. HAPPY VALLEY, OR, 23 Dec 2016. [Photo credit: A. O. Trinidad]

Day of resistance, 1

DAY OF RESISTANCE AND THIS LONE FLOWERING PLANT IN THE WINTER COLD. I think of our day of resistance. I think of that January 20 day of telling the world that something is not right and just and fair, that something is amiss in this democracy of the elite and for the elite in a world presumably organized and founded and ruled and sustained and nurtured and nourished according to democratic ideals. Like this plant resisting the onslaught of the winter cold and bearing flowers and in the grim darkness of the winter soil, gifting us with the color we need to put smile on our lips, we announce to the world what resistance mean, and in announcing what we can do, we shall be able to win back our resolve to do what is just, right, and fair. Or live a life fully lived. HAPPY VALLEY, OR, 23 Dec 2016.

Color my world, 1

COLOR MY WORLD, 1. It is day of the sun, and the sun came in late. It is December the 25th, the day of hoping for that which is best for all peoples of the world. We do not forget: the homeless, the wretched, the poor, the oppressed, those who have become collateral damages for things ideological, imperial, super-power dreams of psychopaths also known as world leaders of capital and its impossible greed and avarice. We do not forget. Instead, we resist, and think of colors of, and in, the world even in this otherwise drab and grim existence. Aleppo comes to mind, and all other communities similarly situated. The homeless of New York City, San Francisco, Portland, London, Manila. The victims of all these iniquities too many to count. Ah, yes, color my world. PDX, 25 Dec 2016.

Dew and divinity, 1

DEW & DIVINITY, 1. You ought to be at the right time where the dew is. The right place too. Life's fragility is the dew's too, and the finitude of all things is in this parallelism. And hence, the need to be in the here-and-now of the moment, the this-and-here to catch the solid-liquid crystalline universe that is all too fragile unto itself, but with some coaxing, you can freeze its life forever, making it permanent as image on the page. I wake up early to find them and to catch the best. SW Vermont, 23 Dec 2016.

Dew and divinity, 2

DEW & DIVINITY, 2. You ought to be at the right time where the dew is. The right place too. Life's fragility is the dew's too, and the finitude of all things is in this parallelism. And hence, the need to be in the here-and-now of the moment, the this-and-here to catch the solid-liquid crystalline universe that is all too fragile unto itself, but with some coaxing, you can freeze its life forever, making it permanent as image on the page. I wake up early to find them and to catch the best. SW Vermont, 23 Dec 2016.

Dew and divinity, 3

DEW & DIVINITY, 3. You ought to be at the right time where the dew is. The right place too. Life's fragility is the dew's too, and the finitude of all things is in this parallelism. And hence, the need to be in the here-and-now of the moment, the this-and-here to catch the solid-liquid crystalline universe that is all too fragile unto itself, but with some coaxing, you can freeze its life forever, making it permanent as image on the page. I wake up early to find them and to catch the best. SW Vermont, 23 Dec 2016.

Dew and divinity, 4

DEW & DIVINITY, 4. You ought to be at the right time where the dew is. The right place too. Life's fragility is the dew's too, and the finitude of all things is in this parallelism. And hence, the need to be in the here-and-now of the moment, the this-and-here to catch the solid-liquid crystalline universe that is all too fragile unto itself, but with some coaxing, you can freeze its life forever, making it permanent as image on the page. I wake up early to find them and to catch the best. SW Vermont, 23 Dec 2016.