March 27, 2007

the doggedness of happiness.

"Let’s look at this, make a good point of reminding ourselves the need to be at complete stillness, absolute silent contemplation of who we are. To stop moving every now and then; we need to heed the warnings our body indicates, to find our course, to scrutinize where we are headed, where we have been and what have we learned along this road. We need to take stock and check in with ourselves once in awhile and, above all, replenish our wherewithal.

In our daily notions of purpose or plain movement, we need to take note of how often we step off our path, stumble and remain traveling where our life’s map had not charted course. Whether it be in a job that holds no meaning or a relationship that carries too many burdens, even the heartfelt good deed that turns you into a person that you come to discover you no longer recognize. It is in silent contemplation with our authentic selves that we understand we are not in complete control of life – of our life – and in all that we do, we have purpose.

I think it is time we all quieted ourselves long enough to discern from the demands of plain survival in a world that perhaps was never ours to create, to start with: be silent and hear your purpose."

Alivia Riley, The Other Side of Life

Last evening, I paid a visit to the Boys' Home.

Stepping into the compound, I was arrested by the spartan concept of it all, a concrete expanse surrounded by foreboding walls, enclosure rather than home. It was sequestered unto itself, a sector constructed with the obvious intention to keep in than keep out.

Venturing deeper, the curious stares of a scattering of teenage boys accosted me, eyes which seemed to tell a story, more of sorrow than joy, a world lost to the ravaged experience of the atrocities of life. Perhaps some have not had visitors in a while, or maybe even none before. Mustering a smile and a certain bout of courage, I climbed up the bare and cold steps to the meeting place.

The sound of laughter, of which a couple sounded like intonations of uneasiness reached me before the pleasant warmth of the lamps. What met my eyes were rows of Alternatives, the one trained to teach, the one taught to listen, the one who decided to give, the one who decided to receive. Mentor, mentee, disciple, discipler, pedagogue, protege. What is?

Listed, paired, tagged, and so we sat side by side, observing each other with heightened senses, for he dared not look into my eyes. He looked prepared to run, a tense posture despite all the preparation. I couldn't help but gaze into those orbs, the windows to his soul. What was present was a resignation, but thankfully also a stubborn hope etched through countless therapy sessions and practised impressions of value.

And so the conversation began, much of it verbal, yet beyond that, we both knew there was so much more emotional groundwork that each of us was trying to place. Reserved smiles, polite gestures, informally formal speech, all of which served to bridge the gap, step by step, inch by inch.

Then came the end of time, or at least, the time each of us is appointed for every season and stage. We bid goodbye, with the obligatory yet heartfelt promise to meet again. A matter of preference, or conviction?

I left that dwelling place a whole lot wiser, Experience has undeniably taught me another great lesson. I just had to share, and told W. about it. The response?

"It's good to know that one does not know. That increases one's humility and desire to embrace."

Indeed, I embrace love. And I am thankful.

Labels: cerebration

gid posted at 13:03