"I fear that I am ordinary just like everyone..."

Since 96 I've been wallowing in mediocrity...I long to live a life less ordinary!

Beautiful Backdoor

Visita Iglesia, American Style

My Easter visit to the East Coast is perhaps one of the most memorable. I felt the divine presence in the beauty of both God and man-made wonders as we traveled from state to state, strolling, spelunking, and road-tripping. Indeed, what better way to celebrate the Resurrection than to embark on a spiritual journey of sorts. The highlight of the trip, however, was a post-Holy Week visita iglesia, which took me to three of the greatest Catholic churches in the US.

The Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, DC cannot be missed, owing to its great size as well as its proximity to the famous Catholic University of America. Numbered among the largest churches in the world (and the largest I have ever visited), it spans more than 77,000 square meters and its two levels—the Crypt Church and the Great Upper Church—can accommodate almost 7,000 worshippers.

It houses more than 30 chapels, most of which were gifts from different cultural groups such as the African Americans, Irish and Mexicans, just to name a few, and were in honor of the different images of the Blessed Virgin enshrined there. Our very own Our Lady of Antipolo (known to Antipolo denizens as Our Lady of Good Voyage) has her own special place at the Crypt level. Also at the Crypt is the Memorial Hall, where thousands of names are etched on marble walls and pillars, a tribute to those who supported the Basilica since its inception in the 1920s.

Renovation was going on at the Upper Church during our tour. The once bare domes were replaced by magnificent mosaic ceilings, each one a grand assortment of tens of thousands of colored tiles depicting different biblical themes. Two domes—the Redemption Dome and the Knights of Columbus Incarnation Dome—were dedicated recently; one more has yet to be unveiled. One has to see them in person to truly appreciate their breathtaking beauty, and we were fortunate enough to be one of the first groups to have done so.
Of course, a visita is not worthwhile without hearing Mass. The Eucharistic celebration at the Basilica should not be missed, especially when one gets the chance to hear the cherubic voice of one of its singer-commentators. It was a heavenly experience indeed.

A few blocks from Baltimore, Maryland’s Inner Harbor stood America’s first Cathedral. The Baltimore Basilica, as it is commonly known, was established more than 200 years ago by John Carroll, the first US bishop and founder of Georgetown University, together with US Capitol architect, Benjamin Henry Latrobe, to cater to the spiritual needs of the growing population of American Catholics following the adoption of the Constitution.

Many significant events unfolded within the Basilica’s walls such as the launching of the Catholic University of America and the ordination of Father Michael J. McGiveney, founder of the Knights of Columbus. Well-known figures from around the world have knelt on its pews, including Pope John Paul II, Mother Teresa, and poet Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Fortunately again, the Basilica has just completed its 30-month long restoration and renovation. Unlike the Gothic churches of Europe, it donned a neoclassical look, and is believed by many to be one of the best neoclassical architectural masterpieces in the world. If we have visited a few months earlier, the tour guide told us, we would not have recognized the bright, American-style interiors, which was how Latrobe envisioned it to look like. Twenty-four skylights, which had been previously removed, illuminated the altar while hazy handmade glass windowpanes gave us a picture of the life in the once simple and dust-paved streets of downtown Baltimore. The Crypt, too, has been refurbished, enabling the visitors to pass through its dimly lit red-brick walls.

Amid the bustling streets, tall modern buildings, and highly commercialized shops of the Big Apple towered a grayish-white structure that has been a spiritual haven for tourists and New York Catholics alike for more than a century now.

Like its European counterparts, the Cathedral of Saint Patrick is a magnificent Gothic work of art. Two identical 330-foot spires shoot up to the skies. It has dimly-lit interiros, great and intricately designed arches, as well as beautiful stained glass windows. The Great Organ of some 7,000 pipes hovered over the giant Gothic bronze doors which opened to the city's modish Fifth Avenue.

Unlike the two churches we visited, the Cathedral was teeming with people, probably tourists like us, and had tighter security. A group of high school students on their field trip sat at the back pews. Flashes from dozens of cameras lighted up the shadowy interiors. Outside, more tour groups sat on the church steps and took pictures.

Noon Mass was being held when we got there. Although we were a bit far from the altar, our Pinoy instinct told us that the celebrant and commentator looked and sounded like our kababayans.

Shooting Rapids in Pagsanjan

Of pianos and old dogs

Some say you're never too old to play the piano.

There are some, however, who say you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

So, what is it really, then?

She is just napping

Years ago I thought my muse has left me for good. She slipped away quietly, while I was out in the big world occupied with those so-called matters of consequence. When I became fully aware of her disappearance (which began when I lost my pink poetry notebook), a new kind of depression enfolded me. Before she left, when I was depressed, sadness just flowed through my fingers and released the pain into inked or painted messages. Now, it's as if the painful black ink has dried up in my veins, disabling my digits and numbing my brain. Artistic gout, that's what it is.

I tried searching for her--in solitude, in disorder, among the crowd, among the shadows, in between sips of alcohol (she seemed to have reappeared, but only for a moment brief enough for me to compose something intelligible), only to find myself still empty and at a loss for words. I even tried going back to where I felt and embraced her overwhelming presence--through the little cracks of my colorful college days--but no trace of her.

After nursing a fever and staying mostly in bed for 24 hours, reading Og Mandino's The Greatest Miracle in the World, a thought suddenly came to mind.

Maybe, she is just sleeping.

Could it be true? Could she be here all the time, just slumbering, without me knowing it? Being narcoleptic myself, I haven't thought of that. But asleep for years? That's some sleeping sickness you got there, muse.

Maybe it is true. It is perhaps why inspiration sometimes comes to me, like some odd pixie dust lifting me up to the air in one happy or sad thought, and then suddenly drops me back to the hard earth. I can almost picture her in a scene where she is on the verge of wakefulness and then, realizing there's no hurry waking up, goes right back to slumber.

Perhaps it's the fever that's causing me to think deliriously. Perhaps it's some other form of depression. Perhaps it's God's Memorandum starting to work its way through my soul--count your blessings (I have a muse, just a sleeping one); proclaim your rarity (I have a muse, just a sleeping one. Yay.); go another mile (I will try to go on, with or without her); and use wisely the power of choice (I will try to go on, with or without her--as if I have a choice).

Whatever it is, one thing is for sure. I have not given up looking.

If you're listening, my dear muse, this is your wake-up call.