Skip to main content

Second thoughts

PARANG Peter Pan, kakapit sa masayang isip—just one flimsy thread of a happy thought—at makakaya, malaya nang papailanlang sa himpapawid… lumipad na tila limbas, humaginit na tila alaala sa kalawakan.

Pero subukang gayahin ang ganoon—hold on firmly to a single thought. We double dare you, do it if you can.

Parang pumigil sa naghuhuramentadong pison, parang umawat sa walang humpay na hagod ng alon sa dalampasigan… walang hinto ang kawing-kawing, kawan-kawang sagasa’t ragasa ng isip.

Mas madali ngang pigilan ang paghinga. Kahit pa nga dalawang minuto, pansamantalang mapipigil ang hininga—lalo na kung tatambad bigla sa paningin ang katakam-takam, makapigil-hiningang tanawin… halimbawa’y sunod-sunod na inararo ng backhoe ang batok ng mga kapural at kasabwat sa Malakanyang sa Ampatuan Massacre… o nagsulputan kaya sa hukuman ang 57 biktima, pawang agnas na bangkay, sumusulasok na ang pagkabulok pero matamang magmamasid sa pagdinig ng kaso… na wala talagang kahihinatnan, pwe-he-he-he!

Even a French kiss can be so satisfyingly breath-taking… more so an Aussie kiss, that is, oscillation done on the nether lips…

But to keep a firm grip on a pure thought for, say, two minutes, can that be as satisfying as holding one’s breath under whatever’s soaking wet? Tougher than toughest!


Lagi kasing may nakabuntot na pasubali—second thoughts, also-ran thoughts, random and ransom thoughts—kaya paso na, bali pa ang susunggaban o kakapitang kisap ng isip. Kaya talagang matindi sa hirap ang halimbawa ni Peter Pan… ‘hirap tularan.

Mabilis kasing makahulagpos ang isip… ang totoo’y isipan lang ang gabay ng buong katawan sa taikiken at wuyiquan… thought is supposedly faster than the speed of light… kaya lagi’t laging sasalpak at sasapol sa katunggali ang kaldag at bigwas ng mga naturang sining-tanggulan.

“Even flow… thoughts arise like butterflies. We don’t know, so we keep chasing them away,” alulong nga ni Eddie Vedder.

‘Hirap naman pala, eh, bakit ba kailangang gayahin pa si Peter Pan? O magtiyagang alamin ang mga lihim ng sining na tulad ng taikiken or wuyiquan? Sirit na…

• 17 seconds of pure thought is worth 2,000 man-hours (about a year at 40 hours per week of action taken)
• 34 seconds = 20,000 man-hours (or some 10 years...)
• 51 seconds = 200,000 man-hours (or about 100 years...)
• 68 seconds = 2,000,000 man-hours (or about 1000 years...)


Bakit natin kailangang isiwalat ang ganitong inililihim na diskarte? Mahirap kasing maglaan ng 1,000 taong walang humpay na gawa sa anumang nais… na katumbas lang pala ng matiim, mataimtim na tutok-gagap ng isip sa wala pang dalawang minuto…

Aba’y kung takbo ng sariling isipan hindi mapanghawakan, nagkalat na parang basura kung saan-saan, paano pa kaya ang mga mapagpasyang paglilimi’t pagkilos?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Every single cell of my body's happy

I got this one from Carmelite Sisters from whose school three of my kids were graduated from. They have this snatch of a song that packs a fusion metal and liebeslaud beat and whose lyrics go like this: "Every single cell of my body is happy. Every single cell of my body is well. I thank you, Lord. I feel so good. Every single cell of my body is well." Biology-sharp nerds would readily agree with me in this digression... Over their lifetimes, cells are assaulted by a host of biological insults and injuries. The cells go through such ordeals as infection, trauma, extremes of temperature, exposure to toxins in the environment, and damage from metabolic processes-- this last item is often self-inflicted and includes a merry motley medley of smoking a deck a day of Philip Morris menthols, drinking currant-flavored vodka or suds, overindulgence in red meat or the choicest fat-marbled cuts of poultry and such carcass. When the damage gets to a certain point, cells self-de

ALAMAT NG TAHONG

SAKBIBI ng agam-agam sa kalagayan ng butihing kabiyak-- at kabiyakan, opo-- na nakaratay sa karamdaman, ang pumalaot na mangingisda ay napagawi sa paanan ng dambuhalang Waczim-- isang bathala na nagkakaloob sa sinuman anumang ibulwak ng bibig mula sa bukal ng dibdib. Pangangailangan sa salapi na pambili ng gamot ng kapilas-pusong maysakit ang nakasaklot sa puso ng matandang mangingisda. 'Di kaginsa-ginsa'y bumundol ang kanyang bangka sa paanan ng Waczim. Kagy at umigkas ang katagang kimkim noon sa kanyang dibdib: "Salapi!" Bumuhos ng salapi-- mga butil at gilit ng ginto-- mula papawirin. At halos umapaw sa ginto ang bangka ng nagulantang na mangingisda, walang pagsidlan ang galak, at walang humpay ang pasasalamat sa mga bathala. Nanumbalik ang kalusugan ng kabiyak ng mangingisda. At lumago ang kabuhayan, naging mariwasa ang magkapilas-puso na dating maralita. Nilasing ng kanyang mga dating kalapit-bahay ang mangingisda-- na hindi ikina

Wealth garden

‘TWAS CRUEL as smashing a budding green thumb: some years back, an abuela warned me about letting any clump of katigbi (Job’s tears or Coix lachrymal jobi for you botanists) from growing in our homeyard. That grass with rapier-like leaves that smelled of freshly pounded pinipig supposedly invited bad luck and sorrows—why, that biblical character Job wailed and howled a lot, didn’t he? (But was later rewarded with oodles of goodies, wasn’t he?) Then, I came across some arcane text that practically goaded folks to grow katigbi in their gardens—why, there’s a starchy kernel wrapped shut in the seed’s shiny coat. A handful or more of kernels could be cooked as porridge. Too, one could whisper a wish upon seven seed pods, throw ‘em pods in running water—a river or stream—and the wish would be granted! I was warned, too, about planting kapok or talisay trees right in the homeyard—these trees form a cross-like branching pattern. Pasang-krus daw ang bahay na kalapit sa puno ng kapok, tal