Passing breeze

Like a passing breeze, I visited places, south islands
of Philippine memories, including worlds I have not seen,
away from the cacophony of Metro Manila's city sounds,
away from cars spewing grey smoke, away from pedestrians
weaving their leaden bodies between cars and trucks and motorbikes
enveloped by grey smog, but on these islands,
I found myself in tropical paradise,
reading peace on country people's faces,
their eyes clear as air, no discourse on happiness required
when I met the eye of joy in their souls.

Slash, slash that clears the land, making way for seeds of new life,
their umbrella huts protecting their heads from the burning sun,
I found myself communing with nature,
watching a happy team weed out wild ground to regenerate new life,

just like us when we leave our material horizon to regenerate,
and be one with the mother and father of our heart of hearts,
for in our earthly life, we bleed and ache, and seek the closing of the gap
of the seemingly unbridgeable chasm of our imagined incompleteness.

So in my flight, I heard my soul sing like a passing breeze
kissing the islands of my birthplace before returning across the seas
to the island continent, both ancient and novel,
that had been my nest for a long time —
my home in the autumn of my life where through regeneration,
my children and grandchild too will one day experience clearance
of their material maternal ground of being,
and it will be their turn to be transformed
into conscious dwellers of islands of sweet memories,
flying imperceptibly, visiting places
like a gentle passing breeze.

Josefina, Ozamiz Mindanao, February 2014