The Fallen Angels

I have often thought about angels and their origin. Even the mere fact of their existence has always been a matter of belief to me and their susbsistence a quintessence of believing. In my thoughts, I catch fleeting glimpses of sporadic settings laid between walls of infinite insights and anchored veracity. It is here at the hedge of my poignant reveries I discern the epitome of an angel...a seraph among us within the sea of waking souls and walking consciousness.

It is only recently that I realize the closest archetype of an angel resembles that of woman-kind. The embodiment cannot be closer as how these creatures of God have such an affable role in mankind, so to speak.

All I know is that lately I have grown more and more attached to the beatific allure of one such celestial being in my life. Whatever the pursuits we are striding through now, we are doing it with indulgent solidity and perceptive solidarity. I have never been this articulate in my affirmation. Be that as it may, privations in our disparity darts here and there unbriddled occasionally and sometimes it becomes the bane to our steadfast affinity.

But as I look around me in constant oddity, I see many female friends of mine who once walked the self-determining path have laid waste to their trail of misbegotten solitude. It is so easy for them to forsake one's aeriel bequest for the prospect of an earthen life filled with verve. For I can testify that there is no greater joy than being able to share your life's hopes and dreams with regrets and disappointments to a significant other whom you can so unselfishly devote to with your most altruistic reverence.

It is from this perch among the heavenly aeries that these eventual earth-bounded seraphs of our time shed the lamenting feathers of their yearning and make the graceful leap of faith into the protective and soothing arms of men. It is what these beings of worldly origins give up that men had lost in sight but is starting to gain in faith again.

For women were once angels in heaven, when they met the men they love, they then broke their wings.

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Let this day be the day I remember...

The devotion,
The kindness,
The care,
The love.

Also let this be the day I will keep in my deepest most grudge...

The selfish,
The materialistic,
The hypocrits,
The insensitives.

I need not words or entries or lessons learned to remind me.
I need only the following to rescue me:

Dear Lord, I pray to You for the right thing to happen. So that I may live the days ahead guilt free and vengeance free.

The Faithless Believer

I have always looked in envy of other families that embrace, live and understand the greater intricacies of familial kinship. Gazing at these little pockets of copious solidarity through my love-tinted glasses, I fervently venerate the jaunty adulation witnessed in silent reverie for as long as I can remember.

Of course, someone will constantly remind me that the grass is always greener on the other side. That may be true but only to the extent of its unembroidered meaning. I would think that this is the case because we look across to the greener side where the light shines brighter. I will then say we should let in more light into our own lives instead of counting on the luminosity from the other fount.

Whatever the reason or circumstances we all find ourselves in, it never is pleasant or heartening to learn of a friend's adversity. The story that was shared made me realize that in a larger world, we're all going through the same endeavour at home. We are no different than our neighbours, colleagues, friends and other passing acquaintances in our life.

I used to pity myself a lot and I still do nowadays. The insidious discontentment I have inside built from years and years of enduring the contemptible in my sanctuary has spawned me into two things from my chasm of careless whispering - the faithless believer and the desirous dreamer.

That is why when I see the beginnings of a similar chronicle happening unto a close friend, I cannot help but to be supportive and understanding. It has also make me search deeper within my soul to better understand my own probity. Virtue as I see it, is wielded like a double-edged sword. No matter where it slashes, you are the one grasping its hilt. When it has executed your will, you sheathe the sword of withered belief back into its scabbard of virtuous rectitude.

When the seemingly unbreakable trust in a family crumbles down after years of storming through all kinds of weather, you start to wonder about many things and question the weight and intimacy of its origin. The layers of trust in a family is interlaced with sinuous lies and truths. As the saying goes - it takes years to build trust but seconds to destroy it. What the storytellers failed to continue divulging is that Lies is its number one nemesis.

When a group of emotionally interdependent creatures realize that even the most steadfast among them can succumb to the wiles of a sinner's sin, it is truly heartbreaking to listen - even more so to be the one living through it.

I do not know how we will all pick ourselves up from here. I do not know what holds for us in the futurescape of an uncertain and seemingly lost cause, at least for my part. I do not wish to open up myself again because my sword has a broken hilt.

I can only pray and hope the best for those joining into the fray now and continue to be my own desirous dreamer...no more the faithless believer whose own dreamwalking reflection echoes the ripple of yesterday's promise.

From the tranquility of the still waters I can understand how it is that lying makes a problem part of the future while the truth makes a problem part of the past.

Knitted Strands

What is the hardest thing in life?

It is not something that can be measured. It certainly isn't something concrete, its tangibility long washed away by the waves of relentless qualms. It is something that is not discernible and yet fathomable, something that is not understandable yet comprehended, and something that is not obvious yet painstakingly apparent. Its verity actually a travesty of its former self.

It's single most dominating mannerism would be the pretentious palpability of ungrateful souls. Souls that have forgotten, taken for granted, misplaced trust, strayed loyalty, and most grievous of all, losing the pure faith of other unswerving souls.

In every life connection we each make throughout our lifetime, each strand of bond we sew unto other acquaintances along the journey are like determining dominos that ricochets off the wall of cogent reckoning padded with layers of faith and belief. It is the porous nature of these layers that is the coercive aspect of this relationship dynamics which allows us to accept, nurture, forgive, forget, heal, learn and renew.

Every now and then some of these strands are knitted together into a circle of closer affiliations. It is here where the ball of closely-knitted strands start to roll that eventually it becomes so entangled and entwined that it is almost impossible to untie it. One could cut it but what if these strands are made of tougher materials?

The only way is to burn this ball of intertwined amity with the searing fury of the fieriest inferno that can destroy and melt away the strongest and deepest of relations to the very last fiber of it.

In the last couple of weeks, I learned that the hardest thing in life is knowing which bridge to cross and which bridge to burn.