walt whitman's questions

there's not so much my mind can meander about during these past weeks. i  just tried to sort things out for myself. after work, at home, after tinkering with the new guitar and the ukulele, i just idly sat by and let time pass before me.

tried to introvert. or introspect. or go inside. within me. tried to go to the core of being.

the Old Masters and Sages often tell -- happiness is within.  pure happiness is within.

i endeavored to seek this inner joy.  unadulterated joy not caused by outward influences but emanating from the real Self. from a communion with one's true identity. one must spend time to do this.  one must devote time..  one must

we must.

one bleak, dreary, rainy, wet day just this past week, i sat alone in my humble little house.  i instinctively opened my copy of walt whitman's masterpiece, leaves of grass.  my eyes focused on a particular section in one of his poems there.  the poem is titled a song for occupations.  the lines were these --

why what have you thought of yourself?
is it you then that thought yourself less?
is it you that thought the President greater than you?
or the rich better off than you? or the educated wiser than you?

(because you are greasy and pimpled, or were once drunk,
or a thief,
or that you are diseased, or rheumatic, or a prostitute,
or from frivolity or impotence, or that you are no scholar
and never saw your name in print,
do you give in that you are any less immortal?)


i pondered over these, walt's questions, and they made me feel good when i honestly tried to answer these questions.  they made me smile inwardly.  and made me feel confident.

and on that day, that bleak, dreary, rainy, wet day, i felt assured

i am not any less immortal.

the day within me is fine. is warm. is bright. is cheerful.

i am not any less immortal.

parting with an old friend, ..goodbye dear guitar

just the early week of june, one of the bigger musical instrument stores here celebrated it's founding anniversary.  prices for all instruments on sale were slashed for as much as 50% off the regular price. upon knowing this, daughter and i immediately rushed to the place.  this is one opportunity we surely don't want to miss. 

it has been months now when she took a fancy towards learning to play the ukelele and she was really urging me to buy her one. when i visited the different stores, i found that a ukulele is almost priced as a regular guitar and some even are priced higher. i told my daughter i'd defer buying her one till i am able to afford a respectable piece. i don't want to gift her a so-so instrument.  it is not that often that she asks me for something and i'd like her to own a very good uke, one that she'd surely cherish and enjoy.

so there, the Infinite had answered my prayers thru this store's anniversary sale.  i was able to buy the ukelele i wanted for my daughter at 40% off the regular price. problem is, since i was able to save and thus has this extra money on me, i couldn't help but look at the other instruments.  my eyes just couldn't come off this beautiful, steel-stringed guitar lying just by itself by the corner of the store. i picked it up and wrapped it in my arms. i caressed its fretboard and smelled the fresh aroma of wood and paint and thinner and varnish.  just fresh from the guitar factory.  50% off!  i slid my thumb over the six glistening steel strings.  i heard the crisp sound vibrations of steel against the firmness of the flesh of my fingers as i plucked each string. hmmmm!! 

i closed my eyes. i saw my daughter's old guitar in my mind's eye.  i saw it's old body decorated with the graffiti written by her classmates one time she took it to school with her. i saw the colorful stick-on designs she had pasted on it.  i heard the old guitar's voice in my inner ears.  i saw the marks of my fingers and my daughter's fingers on its worn-out fretboard.  i saw the cracks in its seams.  it is a very dear friend. an old friend. and i recognized it is tired. it needs rest.  and this is the best time to retire her.

i hugged the new guitar and went to the cashier.  my daughter and i will have to establish new friendships now. with the ukelele and with the new guitar.  the old guitar, our dear friend will retire, but the music will still be there. 

the music is within us ....

a poet's lament

spontaneously my songs have floated
flowed freely from my heart
songs that sing of countless joys,
songs that sing of myriad, dusty tears,
songs that glide over lusty, green plains;

they sang of comforting drops of rain,
of twinkling stars, of bubbly brooks,
of the working man's sweat,
of irresistible liquor's aroma,
of women's enchanting embraces, kisses;

yet, still, i feel too unfulfilled,
for they've remained tucked away, silent,
in the pages of an aging notebook,
unknown, unheard, by many a reader
who longs to be assured he's not alone!

and this, i know, is what a poem must be --
an assurance --
that though we are of different continents,
of diverse tongues, colors, creeds;
our navels are intertwined
our souls are connected
as the beads of a religious' rosary
as the links of a prisoner's chains.