A Filipino lawyer's musings on theology, law and everything else.
Brownout.
Black actually.
It is hot and sleep cannot
descend on me,
not when the heat drives it away.
I hear the thunder rumble
far away,
and the clanking of the chain
around the old dog’s neck.
Far away too
is the music of a party
that won’t accept
its cause is lost.
Oh well,
the night is deep
and sleep is miles away.
Let it come when it so desires
and bring with it cool breeze.
(Photo by Krista Mangulsone on Unsplash)
Just one thing:
like sushi
in Jiro’s life.
Reminds me of the Sun.
The Sun at the center,
outshining everything.
No stars, no moon, no planets
are visible to the eye.
They are hidden from sight
by the one supreme light.
Whether this is a life worth living,
I am not sure.
Hyper-focused on one thing
to the exclusion of all else –
Is that not an idolatrous waste
of energy and time?
To look at the sun
straight in the eye,
never averting one’s gaze,
is to be blinded by light.
(Photo by Luigi Pozzoli on Unsplash)
God’s mercies fall like heavy rain
from morning clouds above;
the earth awakes alive and sane,
responding to His love.
I wake to wonders all around,
a world that smiles at me.
But though these miracles abound,
deep sadness covers me.
I long for love and joy and peace,
but find these difficult to grasp,
save maybe in a father’s wish:
an infant’s hand to clasp.
(Photo by Liane Metzler on Unsplash)
Pride is the sermon for today,
a serious malfunction of the soul.
The preacher presented the consequences
and pointed the way to be made whole.
To be proud and to be arrogant
is to follow in the devil’s steps;
‘Tis the humble and the penitent
whom the Holy Spirit helps.
I surrender, Lord, this vicious heart
for you to cleanse and cure.
Tho’ powerless from you apart,
in you the victory’s sure.
(11 August 2019; Robinson’s Bacolod)
(Photo by Annette Batista Day on Unsplash)
At first he said, “I will not go;
The vineyard I won’t tend.
There are better things that I could do.
A hand I will not lend.”
He wrote a lot of poetry
and played the piano too;
and his career was doing well-
this was what he loved to do.
But his father loved the vineyard;
he could not fathom why.
He cared for every inch of it;
for it he’d gladly die.
And the son felt guilt stirring
in some deep neglected place.
He sensed his father’s sadness
when he looked into his face.
He raised his eyes and saw the need
and thought the matter through:
“The vineyard that he loves so much,
could I not love it too?”
“I’ll go to work today,” he said,
“in the vineyard by the lake.
In spite of my misgivings,
I’ll do it for his sake!”
(Photo by Kym Ellis on Unsplash)
Some give up:
lava on the street,
no walking from now on.
If grace is true,
where is the power?
Why still a slave to sin?
But grace flickers
amidst the ocean
of corruption,
like a magic candle.
Soon it will burn
everything up!
I haven’t smiled the whole day,
not when uncertainty looms large again
about what I’m called to do.
I’ll always be divided. Sad.
What a waste of life!
It’s wicked to be focused
on what is not your birthright.
(Photo by Mario Gogh on Unsplash)
My God has gracious plans for me
spanning all eternity,
without beginning, without end:
forever servant, son, and friend,
I am in his omniscient sight.
Reborn with destiny too bright,
I cast my sinful past aside,
and in his holy word abide.
And at the core of everything
is Christ my shepherd, Lord, and King:
The pattern of my future self,
Abridger of the yawning gulf
dividing holy God from man
(but by his death he has made one),
Fulfiller of the ‘ternal plan,
All glory to the glorious Son!
I’d love to write my future down –
a future full of joy;
one free at last from tears and fears;
one moths cannot destroy.
This bloody world will soon explode
and fill deep space with red,
but I will soar towards the void
to where my heart is led.
The night will be a thing that’s past,
I’ll miss the stars for sure;
the prospect tho’ of Light’s embrace
makes up for all things lost.
Oh soar, oh soul, towards the void;
fear not the emptiness!
The tunnel’s end reveals a glimpse
of worlds all new and fresh.
(Photo by Jake weirick on Unsplash)
The dream
made of airy reality
will fade away, though faded now,
and faded all the more shall be
when – I – the dreamer’s gone.
Oh say, oh say, what’s in your heart;
let not the dream just die unborn.
Oh pray, reveal what’s in your heart
and let your gift behold the morn.
The dream,
a blessing to the world of man,
must put on flesh and walk this earth.
When it has donned solidity
then is your duty done.
(Photo by Christopher Campbell on Unsplash)
