soul identity

Love has no labels, no definitions.

It is what it is, pure and simple.

Love is the Water of Life.

And a Lover is a Soul of Fire.

The Universe turns differently when Fire Loves Water.

~ Rumi's Sun: The Teachings of Shams of Tabriz ~

Ram Dass speaks about the soul being like a step on the ladder that you are later going to throw away. Soul Identity is the process of realizing that you and I exist on more than one plane of awareness simultaneously. On one plane suffering stinks and on another plane suffering is grace.

We feel this in the loss and grief for a beloved, whether it is a person, thing or situation. However much love we invested affects how much we feel the absence when what is so loved is lost.

memory in our genes | history on our skin

Commissioned Art by Mahala Urra

The recent uproar over the exploitation of a tribal elder at the recent Manila FAME event has opened a whole can of worms. 

Read a BBC article on it - one of many that have since gone viral. 

Apo Whang Od Oggay herself may well disagree. 

Sleeping figure is celebrated Kalinga tatoo artist, Apo Whang Od

for the love of Joni | then & now

Reading a tender homage to Joni Mitchell in the New Yorker magazine due this October 7. Capturing the images and drama perfectly - of life then and the trajectories that lead it here.

I had just moved to the big city, enrolled at the state university - martial law was so new and not as impactful as living on my own for the first time. 

It was a year of many firsts for me. 

disconnect

"You have been sent out by your senses. Go to the farthest edge of desire, and give me clothing: burn like a great fire so that the stretched-out shadows of the things of the world cover me completely.  Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. You must just go - no feeling is the farthest you can go. Don't let yourself be separated from me. The country called life is close.  By its seriousness, you will know it. Give me your hand." ~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Before He Makes Each One

Yesterday was April Fool’s Day, an occasion I have long ceased to actively participate in. Yet this year I felt like the butt of some cosmic joke when we found ourselves at midnight bidding goodbye to my sister and our niece’ whole family at the airport.

As they disappeared past the TSA checkpoint to soar back home, I felt abandoned and bereft. My arms now empty of the warm heavy body of our two year old grandson were made more stark in the glare of the departure area fluorescents.

After years of making their home here, they were off to yet another adventure back home. Happy as I was for them, my acute loss prevailed. By the time we reunite for the holidays, our angels would have lost their baby fat, talk and walk. 

Too many precious moments lost. Fly away home sweet ones.