Love in Chains

Earlier I checked the writer's almanac - Jean Jacques Rousseau was born yesterday 3 centuries ago. Rousseau ushered in the Age of Romanticism and the irony was not lost on me - my friend L whom I could not prod to take the leap of faith for one reason or another, crushing her romantic efferverscence and R's Social Contract declaration of "man being born free but everywhere, is in chains" and realizing in this situation, I was part of the chain-gang. Touche.

No chants of Liberte for a friend but over in Iran, some liberties are being compromised, some chants muted. Four national football players wearing green badges during an international match were allegedly booted out, the fate of 2 others, undetermined.

One cannot take a pulse of Iran's political climate without a full grasp of its history and culture so I will not sink my crooked teeth into it. It just occured to me that the first foreigner I met was Nabee, an Iranian student who temporarily lived obliquely across our residencia in Santan St. My father was chummy with him but I never understood their conversations.

An early riser as a kid, I would go to Mano Titing's as a pre-breakfast ritual. Mano Titing, bless him, stood as a surrogate grandfather as my biological ones were in Bohol, was convincing me forever to study archery with him as a teacher but his household stock of Tagalog comics kept me glued to the sofa.

Once I was done with the morning's chitchat, I would go next door to watch Nabee perform his routine in a pole vault he installed in his backyard, back on those pre-gated days when it was easy to trespass on other people's property. A silent spectator, my presence didn't make him self-conscious at all. We would exchange pleasantries after he's through with his regimen as I struggled with my English.

I wonder where he is now or if he is still alive. Could he be joining the demos? In honor of this childhood memory, I am posting some favorite verses of "The Sound of Water's Footsteps," one of the longest poems I ever encountered by Sohrab Sepehri, whose birthday falls a day after mine, as if the connection matters. He is a notable Persian painter and poet whose work is considered 'New Poetry.'

I joined the party of the World:
I visited the field of grief,
The garden of mysticism,
The lighted veranda of knowledge.
I climbed up the stairs of religion.
To the end of the alleyway of doubt,
To the cool air of independence,
To the wet night of compassion.
I went to meet someone on the other end of love.
I walked, I walked toward a woman,
Toward the light of pleasure,
Toward the silence of desire,
Toward the sound of the wing of loneliness.

I saw people. I saw cities.
I saw fields, mountains.
I saw water, I saw earth.
I saw Light and Darkness.
And I saw the foliage in Light,
and I saw the foliage in Darkness.
And I saw humanity in Light,
and I saw humanity in Darkness.

No matter where I am,
Sky is mine.
The window, thought, air, love, earth is mine.

Let us go to the seashore,
Spread the net on the water,
Catch freshness out of the water.
Pick up a pebble from the ground
And feel the weight of being.

(doodles from www.xkcd.com)