an event.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
♥ Sunday, December 28, 2008
At the horizon was that ball of light that gave the earth its life, sliding down to let night overwhelm. In front of its rays were the reflection borne on waters so calm a soul could find its rest by mere looking. An enjoyable, lovely quiet.The tiniest tremor, started a small ruckus that began as a mere ripple. The crescendo marked only what seemed to be a tiny squabble- a wave. Too banal to be understood or noticed. But that wave grew in ferocity, almost as a response to its apparent dismissal, in its search for significance. And in that second, it became tidal. It headed towards the only place it knew would hurt- the coast. Innocent sand once looking to be swept off their feet, now only too afraid to be washed away. But nature has its way with things- the water roared against the rocks just before hitting the sand. Rocks that grew in the passage of time; the lessons of the world that stood only to make it more callous and cold. Interestingly, the coast knew it was a part of the sea and would always be, the sea knew that it was defined by the coast and yet neither budged. As with humanity, all conflicts end in some form of regret. The waves slowly lost its force, but gently knocked on the grey boulders of the coast for a way in. A resolve that seems to bewilder even the coast herself, she struggles to keep indifference. Memories flood as history reminds both how a part of their lives each other has been. And a clenched fist, loosens...The sea spoke through the breeze in the language of want. More than desire, more than addiction, more than mere stubborness. A want that stays in the trials of despair and abyss of anger, a want that says we'll hold on together. A want that began the ocean and the land and the grey in between. The coast replied. In remarkable fashion, boulders loosened from the soil, and the streams of the ocean trickled its way along the paths the boulders had made, in mixed emotion of gratitude relief and regret- and gently caressed the sand, hailing the end of the ordeal. And after what seemed like eternity, dawn approached, and rays stroked the sand, like a hand on the cheek of a dimpled smile; like a kiss on a teary eye; like a whisper of 'merry christmas' in the midst of a dance.
Of what it isnt.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
♥ Thursday, December 25, 2008
Sometimes figuring out what it is involves asking what it isnt.It is human in essence, but not a body. If this is a body then we have no more freedom than the hand has over the head, or the leg over the muscle that pulled it in response to the tap on the kneecap. If that is the case, then there is no freedom and we are either all drones or mere reactions against actions. Nope. The body cant be it.It is not really a musical score. The existence of a musical score depends on each note being precisely where it is, doing exactly what it should be. A minim if replaced with a quaver makes music become noise. Although we all have our purposes, the purpose for which we are gathered goes further than what we are specifically designed for. So, a musical score as a metaphor doesnt fit.A jigsaw puzzle might be it? We complement -we make up for each others' shortcoming or that we begin where another ends. Where the metaphor fails is that people change. And looking at this as a huge mosaic fails to capture the fact that we are more than an aggregate of human beings striving to fit. All too, social.A journey together is misleading. A journey implies a destination- so it is self defeating if the point of this journey is to simply journey, without having a destination. And it assumes that the destinations are the same, if the starting points arent the same, how firstly is the journey together? How, secondly, can then be the destination be together? The only way this happens is through force. Shove the others on that same bus, so that we can be on it together. And we know what force does. Every action has an equal an opposite reaction.Director, actor, act. Choreographer, dancer, dance. In a dance, the dancer is in a way, the choreographer -she chooses the moves she makes. Its all about choice. The dancer is then both creator and creation, both painter and potrait, both actor and act. She moves from being calefare to being lead actor, from simply harmonising with others, to setting the melody for which other harmonies pursue. The dancer moves from background to foreground, and back. Just like how the spotlight moves from the individual dancer to the entire dance. Lets take the act of crucifixion. The spotlight of humanity's suffering was shone on the bearing of scourges on one man. It is both light and reflection. The act placed human sin in the spotlight for the Divine Audience and divine salvation in the spotlight of the human audience. It reflects to the DIvine who man is, and man who the Divine is. Creator and creation. Saviour and Salvation. Both acts at once. Like the dancer and the dance. One cant do without the other, and one is the other.If faith is in believing what we cannot see, then a dancer is an emblem of that- a movement in pursuance of a larger whole that can only be grasped by the belief that there is beauty in such.
old and new
Friday, December 05, 2008
♥ Friday, December 05, 2008
It is advent; and it is adventitious as it is a forgotten irony that the beginning of the church year starts at the end of the secular year. Does the secular old end with the religious new?
A child born in a manger; the crisis in Mumbai. The three wise men in their pilgrimage to whom the Star pointed would be King; a flood that left what used to be a home in ruins. A revelation to the virgin mother of the son of God; a new waterborne disease that affects the dehydrated indigenous in Africa.
And we ask whether what happened 2000 years ago, changed anything, anyway.
Yes there is. Meaning is what has made Change. The meaning of a child born who was set to be crucified on a cross for the sins of the world; the meaning of suffering borne on a "sheep silent to the slaughter", is where the secrets and mysteries of hope lie. For it is through this meaning, that a new dignity in place. A dignity that identifies with those who are lost and those who are in the pain of loss, for "by His wounds we are healed". The secular old does not end with the religious new. The New makes all the Old meaningful.
The advent of the Son of Man cant be understood without his dramatic end. For it is His end that retrospectively makes all that he has experienced meaningful. They say "faith begins where fear ends", i think that it is faith that brings meaning, and meaning gives light to the shadow that fear casts.
Meaning works on a continuum- from a stranger we meet at a social gathering, to the acquaintance we subsequently come to know at supper, to the community member that we had invited to, to the friend that we will come to cherish. Take a look around, the persons you know, would fall along that line somewhere. But meaning is not subjective, it is not only who they mean to me. But who they mean to God. Thats why we pray for the sick and the lonely, the destitute and they dying- even when they are faceless, even when we have no idea who they are nor what they go through. Simply because they are persons who mean something. Christmas is about gifts. From the Gift of " a baby born one blessed night" to that unspoken warmth that ripples through the hearts of the old and lonely when a group of tone deaf young adults strive to sound melodious in a hospice, to the celebration of a friend getting married, to the ritualistic getting together on Christmas eve, if short of a better excuse, to simply be together. That's the gift one presents to another. The old in the community finds comfort and hope in the new, whilst the new find meaning in the community from the old. The magic of Christmas lies neither in presents nor in eloquence nor in music playing nor in culinery skills. It lies behind the simple act of three old wise men, bringing all that they have, knowing that it falls far short of what is deserving, to pay homage to Him who makes all things new...
