Beyond Lumpia, Pansit, and Seven Manangs Wild

In this lovely collection, Beyond Lumpia, Pansit, and Seven Manangs Wild, (Eastwind Books, 2014) you'll find two of my pieces: "Agtawid" (to Inherit) and "Out the Back Door."

Deterior

I can’t let you know the level of hurt my heart felt, you, shoving me aside. People who know you ask what happened. Didn't say a word. Didn't need to. They call you names. I don't answer. Don't need to.
You want me to be the ghostwriter of a ghost?
/’gōst/= one who occupies the body of a living person in order to complete itself.)

Ghostly declarations:

--you can always just say no to me.

--make that story fit.

--No!keep my piece as is.

--keep the version we originally gave you.


Ah, you zigzagged to a new we, but where was I now?

No, there is no conversing with you about the level of my hurt, for my mistrust of you is fully blossomed and mature. Your actions. This result.
In my corner I began to see the situation very clearly given my view from here—stuffed into a corner – your presence like an unskilled putty knife jabbing me in to the mitre. My view broadened out in a wide V. I know what you're thinking. And now I was able to view you and your imaginary players, your thrashing mind, your flailing birdie hands, working their surroundings. For a time, I doubled over wondering how you could burn a bridge with us, we who share some sweet history. You’ve done this with so-and-so, and so-and-so, and so-and-so.
I do know their names. I looked the other way. I kept the faith. Alas, add my name. A bridge named the Golden Deteriorate.
You’re no bridge builder. You’re more like a skipping stone- a pebble --and only on your best days. You know only one-way trips after which, you sink down to the murky waters, tumbling around at the whim of the tides, unable to see for all the dirt your rolling around kicks up.
You thrash. You roll. You’re rubble.

And

You-have-no-right-to-muddy-my-clear-waters.

Thank you for the nauseating journey for me to experience this valuable lesson. Wait! Have you read this far? Do you think I’m thanking... you?

Writing inspiration from CBS This Morning's interview of Matthew Weiner:

"You know, I wrote the pilot for "Mad Men" fourteen years ago, and it got me my job on "The Sopranos". And then I wrote this movie during the first two seasons of "The Sopranos" and then I got to do "Mad Men" like three or four years after that. So, I have this continuum of not being anywhere near when I write something to when I get to make something. So for me, you think of a story, you try to be a storyteller, and you know, is it a movie? Is it a TV show? I don't even know; I'm just happy to get to work."

He writes standing up talking. Huh.

21-day Purification

I percolate my creations in solitude and silence a lot. When I say I don't get out much, I'm really revealing that I don't get here, to this space, very much. I have come to realize that this has to do with Trust. And don't say, Trust Issues. Trust in my own voice and the prerogative to speak my truths.
Almost every word in the previous sentence is difficult for me to embrace.
...my own voice
...my prerogative (just cuz you can spell it don't mean you can DO it.)
...speak
...my truth(s)

As someone who has been in the field of higher education since the mid-80s, I predicate my life around the semester system. During summer break--five to eleven weeks long-- I always make it a point to engage in an activity for my own personal growth. Last year I attended the Mendocino Coast Writers Conference. Three writer friends and I rented a cool house in Fort Bragg and lived the idyllic writer's life of walking to workshops a quarter mile away, immersing ourselves in the process out in fresh air, feasting communally on simple but healthy food brought in to the campus where we wrote. And in the evening, claiming a corner in our house, we drafted out the inspirations of that day's sessions.

This summer my growth project was more inspired by the yoga/qi gong practice that I have been doing for almost ten years. I did a 21-day purification (cleanse).

But before that, something had happened which in a way made the cleanse a kind of emotional one as well. After having worked on a manuscript project for over one year, the collaboration turned toxic. I didn't see it coming but then all of a sudden...

I will not mention this again. I will only tell you that the disappointment caused a level of dis-ease that literally made me ill.

This occurrence confirmed the perfect moment to start my 21-days.

I completed it in a lot of solitude and silence. The point is, I took an action. And that's how it relates back to the writing. And to truth.