THE long holiday caught me stuck in Manila. I got tired checking the availability of buses. Forget about flying for the tickets seemed to have flown away, too. On Wednesday of the Holy Week I stepped out of our apartment and saw a few cars. On Thursday the next day, the streets were empty. I was tempted to take photos of the streets of this big city that were clean and clear. The city, I told myself, is beautiful without the people. It felt like a gift.
Silence was a power bestowed on me last week. It was good. I felt like a god. This is not faith but presumption: I have not asked or talked to a god who could tell me silence was indeed a gift for and from them. But I assumed if there was a benefit being a god, it was that the god could stay away, be silent, and not be blamed for being away. He is also not blamed for being silent, for not responding. In fact, our prayers work because of the stillness that happens during the moment we utter our pains, our joys, the sorrows that make us tremble and give in to that silent space.
Silence always comes with a prayer. One is not expected to be able to pray unless one is able to create stillness around him. We were not taught to ask from the Almighty to bring us to a pause. It is our task to pause. We try very hard to stop, so that we could pray and listen to the god who is far away. We are not bitter that our gods are far. Distance is their prerogative and there is silence in that distance. We keep our silence hoping that we could hear the arrival of the gods. They are not always around and we know the reason for that—we are full of noise and not of grace.
By Friday last week the world came to a halt. But this was only for those who got stuck in the big city.
Already, by Monday and Tuesday, everyone had bags with them. Everyone was going to the airports and the bus stations. These people were not looking for silence because if they were, they could have stayed in the big city. They were looking for a place where noise and reverberation were allowed and not taboo.
It is interesting to ask if an omnipresent divinity could manifest his or her presence in a place, by the infinite sea, on a land where people have decided to move away from silence.
Silence has become a commodity. This is good for those who have money to buy stillness. It is good business for those who have the entrepreneurial spirit to manufacture a grand, lovely pause. The preservation of stillness is yet to be declared a world heritage, perhaps, because there is no sense doing that.
Last week, thus, I wanted to write about how beautiful the city is when its people—or a large number of them—travel away. But something stopped me. There was something quite bitter and sad about the thought that I was happier because people—or all of my neighbors at least—were gone.
A week from now, I may go on a retreat. I will be alone. I will be silent…if only to listen to the words of this world and, maybe, just maybe, find a force so divine it need not be rediscovered in silence.
E-mail: titovaliente@yahoo.com.
Image credits: Jimbo Albano