Monday, August 31, 2015


It hit me like that: diced sweet potato, sprigs of moringa and himbabao, tomatoes cooked to a pulp, and the bits of smoked fish blending like the yin in the yang of bagoong broth chocking all my senses.

I was overwhelmed, speechless, paralysed by the memory of that great Ilocano vegetable stew as prepared by my grandmother --- she who cooked like an angel --- shocked and in great awe as one of the greatest spectacle I have ever seen unfolded from the mist of the fading dawn.

But Borobudur is much, much more than the buridibud of my childhood --- it is a 9th century homage to one of the greatest feet ever to tread earth, a representation of the journey from the world of desire to that of forms and formlessness.

Borobudor is the world's largest Buddhist temple [although my Cambodian colleague might not agree], guarded by 504 stone images of the Great Teacher, 72 of which are enclosed in stupas that represent the only possession he had when he died: his clothes [the base], his drinking cup [the mound], and his walking stick [the spire]. 

Borobudor is magic, a piece of serenity on earth, best enjoyed during sunrise, and definitely a major moment of my continuing journey.

I'm glad I came...    

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