A Day in the Life...

On 2002, a mystical experience had occured to me while I was in Manila. That was some three years ago. In this book, I have recounted in earnest the magical ride that I was into and then some other meanderings about faith, life and humanity in general. Click here for the complete online version of THE NIGHT OF ANGELS. For a very limited period only.

Freedom has gained its own masters and its own set of philosophers-to be defined and classified in so many words and terms-- and yet it remains that men kill and die for their own kind of freedom as against another man’s freedom for the freedom of one may not be the freedom of another. For at times the freedom of one man means the detainment of another. A slab is a piece of slab . You run your hands through it and you would know very well that it is a piece of slab. You would feel the contour, the roughness or the smoothness of the surfaces. And then you smell it and to be certain it would have the same wooden aroma of any piece of slab you have ever hold. But freedom to us is freedom without the sense of sight or the sense of touch. Freedom is never always freedom when it is not susceptible to a very particular sense or meaning, but always floating in the air. You would never smell it nor touch it. You would not be able to see it also. It is invisible to the eye and what is invisible...

Finally, the result for this year's much-anticipated Philippine Blog Awards is now out and true to form, the winners truly deserve the honors as well as those who were selected as finalists and semi-finalists. Actually, every blogger out there is already a winner for just having participated in this very veritable endeavor. The people behind the Philippine Blog Awards are worthy of our gratitude for having started this wonderful undertaking for surely, they inspire us all bloggers to always do our best, and even if we do not try as hard, still the Awards is a form of recognition that all of us bloggers should be thankful for. So, I thank the Philippine Blog Awards for the honor of just being included in this yearly contest. By the way, T he Daily Prophet gained a 2nd Runner-up finish in the Best Informative Blog Category. My other site Where Now Is The Citizen On Mars? was also a finalist in the said awards. I also like to congratulate my friend Teacher Sol for almost be...

There was once a particular childhood experience that I have already narrated in my autobiography “A Prophet’s Life” which I intend now to present once more, in a different light perhaps, or in a more elaborate manner. In the past nights, I have been somewhat grasping for topics to jot into this online diary, but inspiration had become farthest to me and I was at a lost on what to inscribe into paper or to be particular, into my computer screen. This must be known to many as a writer’s block, a kind of informal malady of the mind where nothing seems to come out from the writer’s thought mechanism. I have not believed before in any of the crap they say about a writer’s mind being blocked. But now, I have felt its cruel hands on me. Grasping and feeling like I was in the dark, like into a room without a door and nothing seem to appear except walls and walls of emptiness. Finally now, I have found the door and an idea comes to me blinking like a light bulb. Death is darkness all over as o...

OGDEN KRONENGEKEL --- such is the name of the main protagonists inside my dream, other than myself of course. Have you had yourself a vivid dream? In my childhood days, I had numerous dreams of these sorts, the kind that are so crystalline in clarity that some of them I could still recall until now. I usually dream about angels in the past, flying with them into tree-lined outfields, and falling off from cliffs if I lose some footings while in the act of flying. Every time I fall from the air in those dreams, as I lose control of my body movements, I also fall from my beds that the falling sensation felt so real and everyone in the house could hear me scream . My dream about Ms. Kronengekel (yes, she was a woman sporting jet-black hair falling down towards her knees) about three nights ago wasn’t purely about angels although some parts of it were about them cherubim. Unlike my other dreams, this one involves a narrator who whispers to me some facts that I need to know as the story...

In our journey towards Eternal Life, we must be vigorous in sieving our souls, to chase away the many impurities that haunt the spirit. No one escapes sin and therefore no one shall boast that he or she will need to sieve no more. Let us be reminded for all times that a man without his prayers is like an ant lost and wandering in the middle of the Saharan Desert. He is alone and grasping for direction, he has no compass in his hands and the road ahead does not tell any clue about his destination. He has no map in his keeping and the path that he threads is dark and winding that no signposts would assist him in his journey towards Eternal Life. Our religion and our practice of faith are part of our spiritual life that without the benefit of its ethical codes and guidelines, we would meet the hardest of times in coping with the disputes of the modern life where in every corner we turn, the temptation to sin and to do wrongful ways are ever threatening. Our faith is the sieve that shall ...

"I just saw a woman in white walked by in the kitchen hall!" I exclaimed. Note: From my draft autobiography titled "A Prophet's Life". When finally I was of school age, my mother got me back and started living away from my grandfather. It was hard at times to be away from my grandfather since I got so used to be with him. The giddiness and wonderment of childhood might have staid off these longings for my grandfather that I easily readjusted to newer surroundings. When I was with him, I played with my cousins, when I was with my mother I played with my sister and two brothers. Children always play it seems. They were built and created for to play and nothing more that games was like a narcotic to every child's longing and impartibility. Old habits did not die down that in the afternoon, on Saturdays and Sundays, I would earnestly find some solitary moments and played with "unreal" friends. I would climb trees alone and fish with a crude hook and l...

The booby traps of our sins are all abound as we walk through our lives. We must be heedful always that we do not fall to these traps that lay hidden in the path ahead. Our sins are also like the serpents in the fields that could smell their prey many miles away. If the snakes are farther down the road, we must change our directions. The Middle Way There is the extent of devotion that men of many words call in no flattering manner as “zealotry”. It has became a mark that common men today desist with utmost effort, avoiding being called a zealot by all means and at all times. When you pray too hard and become too pious and hence trying to be righteous overeagerly, the eyes of men looks at you in stranger circumstances as if to be holy is one mortal sin and a mud in the face. Take no heed to these culprits for they know not the way to the Kingdom of the Lord. Pray in the means and manner that you find the most convenient and expedient. It is the first step towards finding t...

My heartfelt gratitude to the Philippine Blog Awards for shortlisting this blog as a semi-finalist in the Most Informative Blog Site Of The Year Category . For sure, the nomination alone is already such a great reward that it is like winning altogether. Kudos and many thanks to the people behind PBA.

I had once come across a principle whose progenitor now I could not remember so well. Such principle is actually a theory upon the very meaning of man’s existence here on Earth. It declares that all men were meant to be different from each other so that they may understand each other all the more. It elucidated quite explicitly the reason why some of us are white and some of us are black. There are some of us who are Caucasians and then there are the Malays, the Africans, the Yellow Race and many others. We even speak in variant languages and dialects, to the most evolved tongue and to the crudest ones. Just the same that we are all separated into many cultures aside from the major division of being Western and Eastern. Just also as we have diverse geographical conditions obtaining, from the jungles of South America to the desert of the Sahara. In my own meanderings, I reckoned that there is a major reason or cause for these differences, that is, in order for us to ponder upon these d...

San Beda might have been somewhere in my past memor y if only memories were so affirmatively credible every time. The minute I went there, I thought I had known just how those gothic buildings would have looked like; as if I had previously walked those high-ceilinged halls before, where my shoes would click and clack like horses' hooves. I felt a little de ja vu as I roamed those halls with their handsomely checkered floors. I must have loved temples and mansions in my past life. So much of the past was in my mind. I burned candles for nearly four months in order to refresh my grasp of those mountains and mountains of law books, as if I had any grasp at all. I rented a room less than a kilometer away from San Beda and for most of my stay in Manila; I must have walked the length between the law school and the boarding house a million times over. I felt comfortable the minute I stepped into my boarding school. My room was overlooking the busy street of Legarda while facing the northe...