The Art of LIving in the Present

Some two weeks ago, I attended a week-long seminar on reducing stress in my life. The seminar was conducted by a group for whom “Existence is a fact, living is an art.” Thus they call their organization “The Art of Living”, a foundation started by Sri Sri Ravi Shankar (www.artofliving.org.ph).

The seminar basically was divided in two main components. One dealt with guided interactive processes such as yoga, stretching, relaxation exercises, and proper breathing that is centered on a powerful breathing practice called Sudarshan Kriya which is unique to this group. The other is all about practical teachings on dealing with the daily challenges of life.

Since then I have been faithfully practicing the breathing exercises I had learned and reaping benefits from it. This post, however, is not about my breathing exercises, but about my reflections on the teachings I learned from the seminar.

Among other practical guides for living I had learned, what struck me most is the teaching on the present moment: “The present is inevitable. Live in the present. Only the present matters, that is why it is called a ‘present’. The past is gone while the future is yet to come. Focus on what you are doing right now, give it your 100%, then no regret is possible.”

My worries and me

Ever since I can remember, I have always been a worrier about the future, anxious about what would happen next, thinking of the “what ifs” and forgetting the present moment.

I remember getting very tensed days before and even on my wedding day thinking of all the possible worst scenarios that could happen. The wedding went on smoothly, but my worries did not end. After the wedding, I found myself worrying again about the people we had forgotten to invite and whether the people who came were satisfied with the food! In the process, I missed relishing the honeymoon period of my very young married life!

I remember too our trip to Europe in the year 2000 on the Eurail. It started well with Thelma and I having been upgraded to the Business Class because the airline clerk thought we were on our second honeymoon. That should have settled me down but it did not! I kept worrying over the children who were left behind and forgot to enjoy all the amenities of the business class that we had been extended to us. During the Eurail tour and while taking in the sights all over Western Europe, I would worry whether we would be able to catch our train to the next destination and whether we could find a good lodging place for the night! Thus, I missed enjoying and appreciating what I was seeing and experiencing only for the first and maybe the last time. What a jerk I have been. I salute my long–suffering wife for having to bear with me and all my stupidities all these years!

My life-threatening experience

They say our health and our lives must be radically threatened before we realize how rich these already are in fact. Then everything suddenly becomes very rich; everything gets precious, gets piercingly important. One gets awakened by things, by flowers and by babies and by beautiful things - just the very act of living, of walking and breathing and eating and having friends and chatting. My life-threatening experience last year from my open-heart surgery must have done all that to me.

Today, I have mellowed. I worry less and people say I seem to enjoy life a little bit more than before. I have started to accept “the present as inevitable”, I have learned to let go and not to worry. In my walks in the park, I literally stop and smell the flowers while I listen to the singing of the birds. While in traffic, I wait patiently for the lights to change and not to curse the driver ahead of me for moving too slowly. Instead, I silently pray and thank God for having my family with me, and for being able to move around in the comfort of my car. Today, I can say that I have become sufficiently alert to what is ordinary.

The Spirituality of the Present Moment

“Living in the present” and such phrases have recently become buzzwords in pop culture and some are even afraid of their New Age character as represented by Echart Tolle’s book “The Power of Now”. I am happy to note, however, that my favorite spirituality author, Fr. Ron Rohheiser, OMI, (www.ronrolheiser.com) has raised it into the realm of Christian spirituality.

In a column, “Being Present to God and Life”, Fr. Rolheiser first lays down as foundation the truth that God is within us not outside of us. The problem is that we are not aware of this and so we seek Him outside of us. Fr. Ron goes on to say: “Sadly, this is also true for our presence to the richness of our own lives. Too often we are not present to the beauty, love, and grace that brim within the ordinary moments of our lives. Bounty is there, but we aren't.

Because of restlessness, tiredness, distraction, anger, obsession, wounds, haste, whatever, too often we are not enough inside ourselves to appreciate what the moments of our own lives hold. We think of our lives as impoverished, dull, small-time, not worth putting our full hearts into, but, as with prayer, the fault of non-presence is on our side. Our lives come laden with richness, but we aren't sufficiently present to what is there - a curious statement; unfortunately true.”

Finally, Fr. Ron links it to prayer: “The secret to prayer is not to try to make God present, but to make ourselves present to God. The secret to finding beauty and love in life is basically the same. Like God, they are already present. The trick is to make ourselves present to them. Rarely are we enough inside of our own skins, present enough to the moment, and sensitive enough to the richness that is already present in our lives. Our experience comes brimming with riches, but too often we are not enough inside of it.”

Enough said about the present while I enjoy the moment now.

Memories of May

The month of May touches a sensitive place in my heart. It holds some of the more memorable events in my checkered life from my youth as well as from my early adult years.

Rite of Passage

How can I forget the summer rite of passage that every boy in my youth takes so much pride to have bravely hurdled? I remember waking up very early that May morning as a seven-year-old and walking to the river in barrio Sibut in our town with the local “manunuli”. I was with four or five other boys of my age -- my playmates and neighbors. At the river we were all told to soak ourselves in the shallow but icy water. After some half hour or so, we were called one by one to kneel, shivering in all our naked glory, before the “manunuli” who instructed us to close our eyes while we munch on a handful of young guava leaves. The circumcision rite was swift and the cut was almost bloodlessly clean. We spat out the guava leaves on the wound, dressed it and soon we were on our way home walking bowlegged but with pride and smiles in our faces!

Pulilan Vacation

As young lad, the month of May also meant for me a vacation in Pulilan, Bulacan, the birthplace of my Inang Paz and my brother Renato. The long trip from San Jose (Nueva Ecija) to Pulilan was an experience in itself for a boy from the province like me. Our usual mode of transportation then was the Luzon Bus Line (LBL) where my uncle Virgilio was a Driver who would occasionally give us a pass for a free ride. I remember looking forward to the bus stop in San Miguel, Bulacan where I would join my Uncle and share his free merienda of their famous small pandesal, arroz caldo, and soft drinks.

My Pulilan vacation was usually with my Ateng Elena because we were almost of the same age. Our first cousins in Pulilan like Ate Mely, Kuya Guding, Kuya Freddie, and Numer would then line up the summer vacation activities for us. A trip to the “tumana” (local orchard) was first on the agenda. There we would pick fruits in season – santol, caimito, sineguelas, guavas, and mangoes then bring these to the nearby river where we ate, played and frolicked in the clear waters till we all became tanned from the heat of the sun. A trip to the “bukid” was also indispensable especially for us boys. The trip was primarily to pasture Kuya Numer’s carabao and prepare him for the fiesta, but we would also go wading barefoot afterwards in the shallow creek to catch fish and then broil them for lunch under the mango trees.

The highlights of our Pulilan vacation, of course, were the two fiestas: that of Sta. Cruz on May 3 and the town Fiesta on May 15. The Sta. Cruz fiesta in the barrio where my grandparents reside is the minor one of the two. It was significant mainly because it was also the birthday of my Ateng Elena. She was named Elena after St. Helena, the mother of Emperor Constantine, who according to legend found the true cross of the Lord’s crucifixion. The “Santacruzan” where there is a “Reyna Elena” is the traditional rite connected to the feast of Santa Cruz... The big one, of course, was the town fiesta in honor of St. Isidore the Farmer. The nine days of novena before the fiesta were the most enjoyable for us cousins. Every night we would brave the dark streets of Pulilan and troop to the town plaza for the nightly program that would consist either of a variety show from Manila, a basketball game, an amateur contest, or a festival of combos (bands today) from nearby towns. After the entertainment some of us would then hie off to the “pondahan” (tiendas) in the church plaza for a glass of yummy halo-halo or a bowl of hot “goto”, while the others would try their luck in a round of "beto-beto". On the day of the fiesta itself, we boys would help Kuya Numer prepare his prized animal for the afternoon procession of kneeling carabaos in honor of Pulilan’s patron saint/farmer.

Leaving Home

Another May scene that is etched deep in my memory is one that I did not know then would change my life forever -- my leaving home to enter the seminary one May day in 1958 when I was only 16. When it was time to go, my teary-eyed Inang (my mother) embraced and held me tightly while whispering, “Mag-papakabait ka at mag-aaral kang mabuti, anak”. I could not say anything then. I just know now that I felt so ambivalent at that moment. I felt truly loved for the first time, maybe. Perhaps even then I was already doubting whether I was doing the right thing or not. But the die was cast. I had to go… If Inang was expressive of her emotions, Tatang (my Father) was not. I don’t remember now his expression then. I don’t even remember anything he said that affected me. He probably did not say anything and he was just being his usual self. I wonder now what he was thinking and feeling then. Was he sad? Or was he glad that I was going? Was it difficult for him to let me go just as I do now in letting go of my own children? I have resolved long time ago that I would ask him these questions when I meet him again in the next life…

Kidapawan, Cotabato

And how can I forget the early years of my priesthood after my ordination and after completing my seminary studies? My very first assignment as a priest was in the town of Kidapawan, Cotabato in Mindanao. Although Kidapawan is a large parish in a progressive town, most of its barrios (barangays today) at that time were so remote that it took a priest almost a day’s travel by foot or on horseback to reach them.

I remember arriving in Kidapawan one May day in 1969. May is the busiest month of the year in the parish for fiestas. Immediately, my parish priest assigned me to a barrio fiesta mass the next day. I don’t remember the place anymore, but I remember that it was so far out in the mountains. I recall also that our parish jeep conked out while traversing a river and it took a carabao to pull it out into dry land. We left the parish convento early that day but reached the barrio almost at noon already. I immediately said mass and officiated at a wedding followed by baptism of babies newly-born and older ones too… Lunch was a culture shock for me. Our hosts served me chicken “tinola”, fried chicken and sautéed chicken while telling me to please bear with them because they could only offer chicken and not canned goods! I learned later from my sacristan that for the barrio folks chicken is ordinary while canned goods obtained from the city are special treats… My day did not end then, after lunch a guide led me to the barrio cemetery where I blessed the dead who died during the year. I realized then that a priest visited only once a year during the fiesta and that explained the mass baptism and the wedding. I was also told later that sometimes a visit to the sick for the last rites was also part of the schedule... Alone in my room that evening, I felt tired but truly fulfilled after having been initiated to missionary work that one day in May.

The journey, not the destination

Today, as I grow older, look back, and recall these scenes in the past Mays of my life, I realize how truly precious they are as parts of my journey. They make up what I am now.

As I move on, I shall always remember that it is not the destination but the journey itself that matters most after all.

Nicole

I noticed that I have been writing for sometime now about serious matters.

Today, allow me to digress from heavy stuff and write about something light, about a child. Don’t we all brighten up when confronted by a child? Even Jesus, they say, must certainly have smiled whenever He was among children. And so let me brighten up your moment now and tell you something about Nicole.

Nicole is a bubbly and loveable two-year old girl who lives with her parents in Union City, California. Her smooth, fair skin she takes from her mother while her brownish straight hair is most likely from the women on her father’s side. She has just begun to talk and is fascinated by words. She speaks and understands a mixture of English and Tagalog words since her parents are both Filipinos. She calls her parents Dada (for Daddy) and Mummy, her grandparents are Wowa (Lola) and Wowo (Lolo). Like any two-year old, she likes to say “No” and “Mine”. Yes, she already goes to school at Stanford pre-school in California where her mummy is also an assistant teacher. She loves Barney, Dora and Elmo as her playmates. And yes, she loves to pose for photographs.



Why do I seem to know her so well? Well, you see, Nicole is my first and only grandchild. Below is a letter I just wrote her.


My dear little, sweet, Nicole:

I just saw you a while ago on my computer screen and yet it seems I miss you more each time I see you do your antics, sing, and dance before me. (In a way this new technology is convenient but it can be cruel. It can make people communicate to and even see each other, yet leave them still helpless and lonely.)


I wonder how an innocent one like you thinks. Do you wonder why we here in Manila can’t leap out of the computer screen and join you there in California? Do you ask yourself why we the big folks in your life can’t do a simple thing like that for you? Or why Lola and Dana did it and stayed with you there for 6 weeks, while Ninang Pizza, Mae and Lolo can’t.

I still feel envious of Lola because she was able to be with you for that long while I had to be contented with seeing you on the computer screen. She has endless stories about you and every single thing that you are able to do now. She relates how you can ease her aching and tired arms after a day’s load of cooking chores just by your hugs and kisses while mumbling what sounds like, “wub yu, wowa”. Whereas I can only… never mind.


Of course, I have already held you in my arms. If you remember (no, you don’t), we were all together last Christmas of 2006. I flew in from Honolulu and spent Christmas with you and the whole family. That was a special Christmas for me! For the first time, my family was complete – all three generations! For the first time too, I felt complete – I was not only a father but also a grandfather!. But that was too brief for you and I to bond somehow. You would not even let me hold you, and that hurt... Anyway, I came back to see you a second time on your first birthday on March 2007. That also was special to me. This time you let me hold you and we even had a photo together. It has been more than a year now, how time flies… Now you are a two-year old. When will I see you again?



Well, of course, I look forward to seeing you early next year when Nana (Dana) gets married. You will be almost three then and will surely be the prettiest and cutest flower girl ever!


So I can only look forward till then. Lola said she taught you how to pray… Now pray that I will live much longer and see you grow up to be a pretty, well-bred young lady just like your Mommy, Ninang, Dana and Mae!

I love you,

Wowo (Lolo) Danny