A genuine cause to love

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By Robert L. Domoguen

Mountain Light

Monday, June 16, 2014

THE presence of low-lying clouds,
ancient spirit that hug the trees,
white gown hanging on the forests canopy,
down to the floor, are no longer abiding,
these days, mornings and afternoons, just sad.

Like those ancient souls, nature keepers
of the mountains, who knew no ownership
of resources, beyond what they need,
for the sake of living creatures,
the sustainability of life on earth, long gone,
the low-lying clouds are abandoning
their mountain abodes.

Ancient breath, white gowned, fading
like vapour, they escape our grasps,
to where nature and its keepers reside,
in the skies, away from a generation,
they have not known, who must own
the land and anything in it to sell,
even bottle nature, if they must,
and trash the inherent wildness,
a genuine cause to really love.
-Journal, Baguio City, May 2014.


Remembering Dad

A dad must be like his children who will celebrate their dad, even when he is gone. That presumes dad knows he was a child once who loved his or her dad too.

It is not easy thinking through what I just wrote, as I sit on my couch on this rainy Father’s Day. With three children growing up and figuring their own lots in life, I pray hard. I see my dad modelling what a child to a father and a father to a child is.

The best reference point for me, in knowing what a good dad is begins with my dad, not normally ideal, initially rootless and detached. My dad was an orphan and along with him, we survived the stains that pained such an existence, the lack of knowledge and experience of a deep abiding love taking charge. Abandoned or migrated from, we imagined our past, and shovelled our way hard into an inscrutable future. Sixty plus years under his wings nine siblings weaned, and started their own colonies, we survived. Thanks God. Is that all there is to it?

No, not at all; alive, we found our way back to where things begun, discovering love or love rediscovering and embracing us - warts, stinks and all.

I hear his voice from a distance. “At all times, a father must be a good child, if he must be a good father,” was how he started his story when I asked him, months before he died, why he fathered nine children and hungered to see some 45 children and grandchildren coming home in a reunion during vacations.
On both counts, being a “good child and a good father,” two in one, I fail miserably, a loser, poor keeper of the ancient ways that made fathers’ real fathers, I said.

“But it is not a “made” thing, something tailored for you to buy and put on. You stare the devil straight in the eye, figure things hard. One does not need to believe in intelligent design, but if you must live, create your own and carefully weave your coat of colors in this life, one that you actually on your funeral. It is your story. I created mine, and did what I needed to do. I failed miserably too, so the rest I leave to “intelligent design,” he said in a tone that says, “no one, just no one can tell me I wasted a voice, an effort or a life.”

I know his troubles and battles. I can write this article and have him cast as a hero that he is. It is not his style. All he wanted was a good laugh, and yes – good relationships, highlighting my weakness and failures still. On several occasions, I grind relationships with a boiling temper and I knew not where it comes. These days, I try to laugh but mostly it is “out of sync.”

He read my silent musings, so he added; “you seem to fight your battles for the wrong reasons. It is not the randomness of life that holds meaning. As an orphan, I figured that I must live as long as I can, see you all grow up, give you some education perhaps, continue what my old man started, even if his life was cut short at a young age. The most important things in life are not what make you bloat in size or taller in height than the rest. I’d rather be despised, and yet live.”

That is a hard saying still and I cannot understand its full implications. It comes from my dad, and what he says is meant to be kept and digested in time even if cuts my proud self into its real size.

He leaves something else still, that is why I remember. “It depends on where you go from where you are with that ancient breath you got. Find its genuine reasons and causes to fight and live, doing things in love - the tallest order thus far. Where I am, I wish to doubt, but no, I cannot!

Happy father’s day to all fathers!

Published in the Sun.Star Baguio newspaper on June 17, 2014.


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