mahiwaga

In the abstract, I can speak of it
with a backdrop of
the serene, sterile, sanitized silence
of geometric shapes flickering hither and thither
red, green, blue vectors intersecting in four dimensions

There is a balance to be kept
and neither happiness nor sadness
peak and trough
victory and defeat
zenith and nadir
Not the balance of utang ng loob, the debt that cannot be repaid, here
and then karmic repayment, there
but the unmovable center
that weaves and flows around the hard places of the world

The rocks loom up ahead
I am negotiating the rapids

The meaning has been twisted by misuse
virtue is based on truth
virtue is not something that is applied or earned
but is—like God—existence
To understand that I am
broken, imperfect
and that this is the way things are meant to be
despite the deep aching in my soul
In this reality of ours, to be complete
means the same thing as being dead
To be always searching for what I never knew until I lost it
That is the price of original sin
but without that choice, and the chance of dying, there is nothing to live for

I have tried to do this, what, five, six, a million times?
To flush this bitter poison from my soul
The regrets and failings of seven years
And finding myself up against the very Hand of God
sent me sprawling on the ground, face down
head in the mud
but oh-so painfully still alive
as if each time I did not learn a thing

It is only in retrospect
that I realize that I was trying to bridge a gap
with the wrong kind of span
Trying to suture a wound closed
with nothing but wishes upon stars
vague hopes and whispered prayers

There are some places that roads are not meant to go
Coming to realize that maybe I will never make it to the other side
this barren desert is all I’ll know
(though no less beautiful for its emptiness)
The road veers sharply away, turns aside
I am left looking wistfully in the rear view

Vast cities and empires up ahead
bewildering interchanges, off-ramps to everywhere
there are a million, trillion paths I might still take
all towards the greater glory
and still my name might be remembered in song
(for ill or for good)
and yet I fear that I will be haunted forever
by that one road that I might never take

Even if I map that very points where the mainline of my life
changed alignment, again and again
(as all plans go astray, stymied by arguments, dying on the commitee floor)
There is no returning
even if I circle back and forth
roving around that event horizon
the black hole sucking all light from my vision, robbing me of foresight

Each time it ends like this:
My heart balks whenever I try to give it away
and I cannot help but cling, given way to fear
I do not think I can ever open my arms wide to the world again
for fear of stones slung and sharp blades thrust

Though I might have taken it for real,
I am always watching the mirage disappear over the horizon.

There is much good still to be done in the waking world
It is only in my dreams that I am overcome by my emptiness.
And in my dreams, I am always screaming, and there is always no sound.