RETREAT (Wikipedia): [a] a religious or spiritual term for time taken to reflect or meditate; [b] a withdrawal of military forces; [c] a place of refuge for those in the survivalist movement; [d] military signal for the end of day; [e] to treat again.
The Bugle Call
The bugle sounded as taps faded with the day. The commander-in-chief is calling his troops. So we pulled ourselves and forced our way. We were exhausted. We wanted to cocoon ourselves in our grief for a while. But we are his soldiers. And we obey his orders. So we go...
Refuge
Punta de Fabian turned not to be the boot camp we dreaded. The ridge where it was perched offers a breathtaking view of Laguna de Bay which extracted the sad sighs in us. Its remoteness allowed us to contemplate and come to terms with our grief. It was our unintended refuge...
Reflection
And so we move on. We must. A familiar face now sits at the empty chair. In our grief, we were reminded of our mortality and realized that we are no Benjamin Buttons. Most of us are in fact middle aged. Perhaps it is time to slow down a bit, smell the flowers along the way, and make each day count more than usual...
Therapy
Ed Dela Torre's tireless facilitation can indeed stir tired souls. Bit it was not the workshop who released the angst. It was more of the brief dips in the pool, the cautious nightly beers and strings of stories, and the rare moment of all being together. But for me, therapy is reshooting the grandeur of Tanay' church and and the old stones of that old church on top of a hill in Baras. And perhaps some desirable pansit from Licab...
The Bugle Call
The bugle sounded as taps faded with the day. The commander-in-chief is calling his troops. So we pulled ourselves and forced our way. We were exhausted. We wanted to cocoon ourselves in our grief for a while. But we are his soldiers. And we obey his orders. So we go...
Refuge
Punta de Fabian turned not to be the boot camp we dreaded. The ridge where it was perched offers a breathtaking view of Laguna de Bay which extracted the sad sighs in us. Its remoteness allowed us to contemplate and come to terms with our grief. It was our unintended refuge...
Reflection
And so we move on. We must. A familiar face now sits at the empty chair. In our grief, we were reminded of our mortality and realized that we are no Benjamin Buttons. Most of us are in fact middle aged. Perhaps it is time to slow down a bit, smell the flowers along the way, and make each day count more than usual...
Therapy
Ed Dela Torre's tireless facilitation can indeed stir tired souls. Bit it was not the workshop who released the angst. It was more of the brief dips in the pool, the cautious nightly beers and strings of stories, and the rare moment of all being together. But for me, therapy is reshooting the grandeur of Tanay' church and and the old stones of that old church on top of a hill in Baras. And perhaps some desirable pansit from Licab...
CREDITS: Top photo courtesy of Gio Paolo Espital.
No comments:
Post a Comment