Where Words Are

Have you ever had this kind of day when you just have nothing to say?

People call you writer, and today, you don't know how.

You're staring at a blank sheet, the cursor blinking.

Words are lost.

None is coming out.

None.

So you put everything down, and set out to look for words.

You ask your father, pet your dog, and hug your sweetheart.

You take a bath, listen to music, and go for a long walk.

Words in the sky.

Words in the air.

Words in bells ringing.

There are words in Chai tea and Panini.

Of course, there are tons of words in a bookstore.

But nothing seems enough.

You step in the chapel, your shoes tapping.

You walk, listening to dull echoing.

Closer and closer, you come before Him.

Your eyes upon Him, the Source of all words.

You take a bow, your knee touches the ground.

You lift your head unto Him then sit down.

You see how Jesus is bare, wide open.

His arms outstretched, his body bleeding.

But He is there, dying in glory.

He gazes dearly, adoringly.

Oh, He is filled with love, honesty, majesty!

And in its depth, there are words brimming.

Brimming.

Wisdom Without Words

I notice that wisdom 

does not only take the form of words.

It can also be in silence

and in composure.

It can be in choosing this

and not choosing that.

Or in doing this

and not doing that.

Wisdom is in maintaining joy

even when there's no reason to.

Or in sustaining peace when things 

shake you, push you or disturb you.

Wisdom is hoping for the good

and letting the bad ones pass.

It is throwing what isn't good for your soul 

and keeping what nourishes.

Wisdom is in kindness when you're hated

and in giving when you're deprived.

It doesn't make friends for the sake of business 

or fame or other selfish intentions.

It keeps friends to turn them into family

and family to turn them into loved ones.

Wisdom is in being here and now,

and in becoming better the next morning.

Wisdom is living with feet on ground's dust and ashes,

yet with eyes toward the splendor of heaven.

Still You

There is...
a sense of security when I come to You, Lord.

I know that Presence - that caring, accepting, and peaceful Presence I drenched myself in when I felt alone in the convent. I would look at You, and You would look at me as if I'm the only person in the universe.

You created everything, but You looked at me as if I was much more loved. Much more beautiful.

I came to You in my dirtiest clothes, and you welcomed me.

I did come to You in my I-haven't-taken-a-bath-yet state, and you welcomed me.

I approached You without make-up nor with the hair of my legs shaved, and you welcomed me.

I ran to You in my worst - dry, angry, depressed - and you welcomed me.

I've already stepped out of the nunnery.
And still here You are, alive with that Presence.

Everything has changed. Everyone did.
But You, Lord, have not.

You are still who You are.

And You still love me.

Reaching Infinity

Here in the car, I look at the clouds.
And think of You.

I can't remember the last time I felt near You like I used to.
By that, I mean, me being so-much drawn to You.
I can't remember.

I shut myself in a cave for reasons I have not spelled out yet. And somehow, I felt like my awe in You has been translated into the colors I poured into papers, sheets of sketched faces, and paintings on my room's walls.

They say it is a form of idealism, of me trying to make alive a world I created in my head.
Or maybe it's me trying to reach infinity, trying to reach You.

You and me.
Me and You.

Because we is really the only world I know,
the only space I would willingly fall into.

Here in the car, I look at the clouds.
And I feel like I am back to we,
that I never really got that far from You...
because You were never far from me.

I think of You, and feel that it's not so bad to create chimerical worlds,
but it is time to give them breath.

It is time to live, not merely dipping myself in colors and ink.
But to live, truly reaching for You.
Always reaching for Infinity.