A wasted life but still a splendid path
(This poem is still being composed; not finished yet)
I need a PhilHealth card and SSS,
two IDs that need IDs to procure.
I’m out of touch, I cannot long endure
a half-hermetic living style like this.
Although it’s not my own initiative
that I’m securing papers nowadays,
it’s something I should now address and face.
My luck won’t hold much longer I believe.
Career-wise, I am well advanced in age
but not in prized achievements, far from it.
It’s though I am devoid of sense and wit
not to achieve what’s even average.
And so so late in life I take a stock
of what my life has turned to, blasted thing,
when I had traits and chances fit for king.
What I am doing now can truly shock!
Retrieving pieces of a shattered life
or altogether waving them aside.
Restarting life anew, half-mystified,
with no wealth, honor, clout, success nor wife.
I toiled in vain and wasted strength for naught. (1)
My batchmates wed and worked for worldly goals;
and some have flown out somewhere, bless their souls.
Yet I still seek what as a kid I sought.
Most of my peers in age, unlike myself,
have children and grandchildren. Shakespeare asked
a son from me and blithely I unmasked (2)
Lord Francis Bacon’s childlessness himself! (3)
For Bacon wrote each Shakespeare’s play or song
as Mark Twain and so many others think.
The sonnets in particular — (*I wink*) —
were mainly meant for dear me all along!
My teacher saw my coming, as revealed
to him by some celestial visitors
when he was 12 or so. This set his course
to help fulfill our mission jointly held.
It’s known the brilliant Bacon planned and dreamed
of a Great Instauration; it’s the same
as my dreamed Golden Age. What’s in a name?
We work together closely. We are teamed!
What’s mine is his and what is his is mine.
It is not only ordained from Above
but also due to tender, sacred Love
‘twixt chela and guru whose minds align.
You’ve heard about Confucius, I’d suppose,
who often dreamed about the Duke of Chou.
They’re master and disciple. As you know,
they lived apart in time, not even close.
The same with Bacon and myself: We are
well-separated by four centuries.
And we belong to two ethnicities:
I’m Flip; he is Britain’s most radiant star!
Lest I forget, let’s also introduce
the Teacher-pupil tie of Jesus Christ
and Francis of Assisi. Be apprised
of their Piscean team-up. Is it news?
Oh no, it’s history, of recent type.
The Christian dispensation is complete.
It’s now Aquarian Age, the stage is set.
My teacher now presides, if I may hype.
O noble lord and teacher, how I yearn
for your wise guidance and high leadership!
You are the paragon of statesmanship
from whom the world can profit much to learn!
I haven’t found Love nor ideal State
but you’re the Leader I could ever wish.
In you my Threefold Quest, with much relish,
is 1/3 found, and that I celebrate!
But I digressed. I’m yet supposed to wail
my lack of offspring as compared to them
of my own generation. Though I dream
to found my lineage, it is getting stale.
Two cycles they completed, I not one.
I’m soon ascending from this earthy plane. (4)
I’d leave and no descendants will remain.
There’s none to bear my name when I am gone.
So this is my prophetic destiny,
severed from normal earthly life, and born
a man of sorrows used to grief and scorn, (5)
a fate I earned by serendipity.
Yet I cannot lament or else regret.
This is the Path on which I had to tread
no matter if I’d end alive or dead!
It’s make or break, a do-or-die, and yet …
… there is this curious promise of reward
for wasting all my life; it’s truly weird
but it is there in Scriptures, fully bared
for all to see, and grasping isn’t hard. (6)
What’s difficult to understand is, why?
Why pick a failure with a wasted past?
Why cap with lemon an exalted cast
of heroes, lords and sages standing by?
It must have been for previous services
that I have rendered to the cause of Light
or for some current duty which by right
I am entitled to all bonuses.
God knew my shame, my deep embarrassment.
I wouldn’t come out, though I wished I could.
I wouldn’t step forth, even if I should,
to lead Society and the Government.
I heard the Call, I heard my Mother’s voice.
Although perplexed, I meekly gave my nod.
Yet in my soul I somehow knew that God
would render no aid. I could not rejoice.
And all of Heaven’s hosts would never help
insofar as my problem was concerned.
Nobody was allowed to, I discerned,
no matter how I’d yowl or yell or yelp.
I couldn’t understand but I could sense
that it’s the centerpiece of something strange
that Heaven cooked up. So I must arrange
my own solution and my own defense.
I still remember my initial thought
on dealing with my pesky plight that year.
I uttered, “Let it hang!” Though I’d still bear
the onus of my fault and stayed distraught.
In truth I never got comfortable
despite the clues that I was merely framed.
It’s shameful matter for which to be famed
e’en though I’d point that Heaven’s culpable.
It’s something that I couldn’t just evade
for it’s my centerpoise and centerpoint.
Isaiah’s verse and Shakespeare’s verse conjoint
both dish out expose instead of aid!
I didn’t try my nod to be exchanged
for succor to my self-inflicted mess
(although contrived by them nevertheless).
I didn’t want their plans be disarranged.
In other words, I gave my fullest trust
to God and to his initiatic crew.
’Twas up to them to give my proper due.
They knew their job. I trusted they were just.
Besides, it isn’t feasible at all:
you can’t play hardball with the Masters, nah!
I once tried in half-hearted manner. Hah!
I soon got quite scared of what might befall!
But most importantly, I made a vow
of sweet surrender to God’s holy will.
So I obey! I serve! and I’ll fulfill
the victory of Light to which I bow!
And that is why they can have me disposed
in any lawful way for ill or good.
I’m standard bearer of the Brotherhood;
we are in full communion, not opposed.
How come I fell into this cruel trap,
this odd surreal fix I cannot fix?
It serves as warning not to mess and mix
with cosmic lords nor slap them with a rap
It’s not about myself, though it was me
who spoke before the Council of the Lords
protesting ‘gainst the Heaven-sent discords
that gravely harmed those of the Earth and Sea. (7)
And I demanded justice for my kind
according to the rules of Heaven’s Law.
Displaying elven courage sore and raw,
I flung a dare, an existential bind.
The Challenge of Nobility I hurled
to the assembled Lords with peaceful mien.
Although aghast, their visage stayed serene.
The thread of cosmic destiny uncurled.
For afterwards, they held a conference,
right after I was firmly ushered out
from that sacrosanct Hall, to rule about
the case I brought and what was my offense.
I never wavered nor apologized.
I sent a word I sought not my relief
but those of victims championed in my brief,
the innocents unjustly penalized.
It happened long ago and far away.
I was soon back to the affected spheres
where lowly beings, tyrannized by fears,
had started dying, even to this day.
In this my present lifetime, I began
to gather glimpses of what went before
when I reached 28 years. More and more,
I catch the Vision and the sacred Plan.
And it occurred to me in recent time
why to embarrassment I’d been so prone.
It’s to restore the balance and atone
for that day I embarrassed the Sublime.
We shall soon reunite in Starry Heights
and it is best the record is resolved
through balancing so I could be involved
in High Affairs with clean unquestioned Rights.
But there is still the Challenge that I flung.
It’s clear the lofty Lords deigned to accept
my most audacious dare. It must be kept
and honored by myself or else I’m hung!
My present life has been unfolding thus
as climax of my struggle with the gods.
They who in higher spheres wield royal rods,
all Giants if compared to dwarfs like us.
It’s mostly mental game but fierce and sharp;
results can be so widespread and profound.
I am Exhibit A that roams around,
displaying the conflict on which I harp.
It is quite possible though, I may add,
that some sinister forces interfered.
Like in the Book of Job, be it averred
there can be contests ‘twixt the Good and Bad.
This brings to mind the ancient battlefields
where leading warriors, somewhat fairly matched,
would clash in duels as their armies watched
while idle lay their weapons and their shields.
“The mills of gods grind slowly,” quipped the Greeks,
“but they grind small exceedingly,” they said.
Beside top-ranking Lords I’m just a kid
though I might be among Earth’s greatest geeks.
They think in terms of eons — ohmygosh! —
while I kept fretting on the years I’d lost.
Of late when dealing with the Heaven’s host
I disregard time, feeling grand and posh.
At any rate, the battle has been joined.
Could it be I don’t stand a chance? (*Harumph!*)
No, not so! I declare the sweet triumph
that I have so magically purloined!
The gnomes are nobler than the gods, I hold!
For always: Noble is as noble does!
The fairies serve unsung without a buzz,
enduring nobly sufferings untold :(
It’s not about position, power, rank,
connection, clout, or dignity of birth.
There is no need for lordly gait and girth
nor grace and health nor money in the bank.
But true nobility pertains to traits
of fairness, goodwill and the lack of guile.
It’s courage, patience and a flash of smile
in trying times; a heart that hopes and waits.
It is to do what’s right despite the price
of acting justly in a blasted world.
It’s standing up to Hell and Heavenworld
for worthy causes, wise or otherwise.
It must be wise though — Wisdom is the crux
of godly virtues. It must be attained.
Get understanding, else not much is gained.
It’s clearly stated in the Holy Books. (9)
Nobility’s the jewel of the soul,
a diamond with many shining sides.
It doesn’t fade nor crack with changing tides
but holds the flag in its steady pole.
(to be finalized later.)
(A poem commemorating the 28th anniversary
of my public initiations into Buddhahood at age 28,
with review lessons in the Way of the Cross or in Christhood;
and looking forward to the second tier of the teachings on
the Ten Perfections as promised by the Lord of the World.) (8)
(1) Isaiah 49:4
(2) Shakespeare’s sonnets 1–17, collectively dubbed as “procreation sonnets”.
(3) Mark Twain and many other individuals as well as organizations believe that Sir Francis Bacon, who served as Lord Chancellor of England, was the real author of the Shakespearian plays and poems.
(4) Isaiah 59:20
(5) Isaiah 53:3
(6) Isaiah 49:1–6
(7) Revelation 12:12
(8) Revelation 11:4; Zechariah 4:3–11, 14
(9) Proverbs 4:7; Ecclesiastes 7:12; James 1:5; Matthew 7:24