Image Image Image Image Image Image Image Image Image Image

Pinay.com | September 22, 2018

Scroll to top

Top

kathangpinay, Author at Pinay.com

kathangpinay

Associate Professor of American Multicultural Studies
Project Director, Ctr for Babaylan Studies
Editor, BABAYLAN: FIlipinos and the Call of the Indigenous
Author, A Book of Her Own: Words and Images to Honor the Babaylan
Author, Coming Full Circle: The Process of Decolonization Among Post 1965 Filipino Americans
Co-Editor, Encounters: People of Asian Descent in the Americas

Posts By kathangpinay

When Indigenous Peoples Are Evicted or Displaced, We Are All Culpable

The last time Leny wrote for me and my online publications was in 1999 when she wrote about pagbabalikloob. This week she writes about Bai Bibyaon, indigenous Filipinos, their plight and how they are our kapwa. At our essence, we “modernized” and global Filipinos are still connected to them, despite the differences (more…)Read More

External Blog Entries

Rain

10 July 2018 | 4:35 am We were blessed by Rain today. Up to 5 inches of rain and more in some places. Still it is not enough to end the drought but I am grateful just the same. The ground is saturated and this will be good for the fruit trees come Spring. The rivers and creeks are full and perhaps there will even be fish in them if we have more rains the rest of the season.

I went for a walk in the rain. I felt happy as childhood memories flooded in. How we always played outside and drenched ourselves in the warm rain. How we watched the flood waters rise until the road is covered and we would see the fish from the overflowing creek squiggling across the road. We caught these little creatures and put them in gallon jars - our makeshift aquarium. We didn't know that the fish do not eat rice so, of course, they died a few days after.


Read More

June 5, 2017

10 July 2018 | 4:35 am Dream

It was the end of a conference and I was in the process of checking out of the hotel. I was trying to decide whether I should spend another day to check out the town and do some sightseeing by taking the bus or a tourist bus. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do.  Walked back to the hotel and was looking around. A young woman asked what I am doing next and I said I don't know. She said I should do some writing for the next generation.

Woke up wondering what it means...

As I made pancake breakfast and after eating, I felt my heart rate go faster. I took a dilthiazem and half a fleicanide. Then went to pilates.

It feels like a panic attack but I could tell my mind not to be afraid.

I just need to rest. The last three days have been full of people.

Read More

The Cave of Summer

10 July 2018 | 4:35 am Dear Nina and Rachel,
I lit a candle in my altar this morning in preparation to writing this letter to you both as co-facilitators, mentors, sisters - of my heart and soul. I went to bed last night reading your book, Rachel, and your powerful meditations about claiming our divinity as daughters emboldened me to write so thank you!

I've been observing the flow of emails in our cohort and I, too, have been careful (too careful) in responding. But this morning, I woke up with some thoughts that have crystallized over these past weeks and I want to share them.

I woke up with these questions: What would  make me want to go back to another retreat? Do I want to go back to a gathering where the women of color express their trauma and pain under white supremacy, colonialism, and patriarchy and where that pain and trauma is then projected towards individual white women in the room? Do I want to go back to another retreat where I feel that the dialogue never gets deep enough to really address the elephant in the room?

Then the follow up question was: What would you like to see happen instead? And the answer was: I would like to see and hear white women talk about the impact of white supremacy and white privilege in their lives. I want to hear their stories of how they have healed from the violence of the civilizing/whitening process through their own deep ancestral work. I want to hear stories of how they resisted the temptation of cultural appropriation because it is what was easily available for the taking. I want to hear stories of how they are doing "reparation" work that leads to healing and reconciliation.


Read More

The DAVAO DIARIES

10 July 2018 | 4:35 am -->
 (I have been looking for a home for this piece but then decided to just share it here. Maybe it will be found and shared by a reader someday).


-->
THE DAVAO DIARIES

Leny Mendoza Strobel

In this other land, I wake up to the view of the mountains and the water. Am I a stranger here or someone who has come home to embrace your Water and your Mountains? Are these mountains connected to the crust of the ocean's bottom that connects to my oceans back there -- in my other home? I have written about islands and continents before -- how I straddle both, how I live in both, dream and imagine in both. I imagine that You do the same. We are not bound by time and space. Such mis-imaginations only create distances. Always I need to feel connected to You and You to Me. (Journal Entry: Davao, July 16, 2006, Day 6 of Fulbright trip)

These stories are long overdue. But perhaps some stories need to marinate awhile and live in the dense forest of memory before being born as healing medicine. Yes, stories are medicine. It took me a while to gather these stories into a medicine bundle. I am offering them now to you, dear reader, in the spirit of gratitude for the gift of healing and transformation that I have received from the stories. May it be so for you.

I came with a group of mostly Filipino American teachers from California to Mindanao in 2006 and 2008 through the Fulbright Hays Group Study Project. We came because we wanted to become better educators for the sake of the Filipino American children in our K-12 classrooms. We wanted to improve our curricular offerings and enrich our students’ knowledge about their own Filipino heritage.  As an academic project with our host institution, Ateneo de Davao University, and In-country host, Fr. Albert Alejo, we co-created a program that satisfied all the requirements of the Fulbright-Hays program. For six weeks in both years, we toured national historical sites, visited public and private elementary and high schools, interfaced with local teachers and exchanged ideas about multicultural education, visited indigenous communities, met with public officials, stayed in homes with host families, befriended lumad scholars, enjoyed the lectures from distinguished scholars, and learned about the many facets of Mindanao. At the end of the trip, the California teachers worked on creating curriculum in language arts and social science that shows how they have integrated materials gathered from the immersion program. In the post-Fulbright conferences, these materials were shared with  several hundreds of California teachers.

I knew deep down in my heart that this trip would transform the teachers who came with us; that they would be challenged in ways they’ve never imagined and they will fall in love with their homeland and see it with new eyes. They will learn concepts like decolonization, white privilege, critical multicultural perspectives, and privileging indigenous paradigms. We learned all of these and more.

What I didn’t foresee was how I would be transformed by these experiences. As I look back on those years, I see now that it was the small stories that opened the doors and windows of my life to a vista that I couldn’t have imagined at that time. Prior to the Fulbright experience, I have already written a book on the process of decolonization for Filipino Americans and published many journal articles and popular essays about this pagbabalikloob or Turning Home. What began as a way to understand myself as an immigrant to the U.S. led to an academic journey that eventually took me to Mindanao – the part of the Philippines that beckoned to me as my search for my indigenous heritage deepened.

The vignettes that follow taught me how to become a more embodied person. In my heart, I’ve never wanted to be a mere scholar who lives in her head. I wanted the body-mind-spirit integration, this kabuuan ng Loob, so I could walk about this earth secure in my sense of belonging to a Home. I give you the small stories and I want to string them like sampaguita buds here, nuggets of memory that have returned with the lessons that they’ve taught me.

Beauty

            Please! Allow us to express our Beauty! I hear her voice in my head still. The woman elder from a Manobo tribe spoke from her heart as she addressed a small group of teachers from California who came to hear her share the struggles of her indigenous community.

            I remember being struck by her choice of the concept of Beauty. She could have asked for Justice, or Peace, or Freedom but no, it was Beauty that she claimed. I remember being rendered speechless and awestruck as I let this sink into my body. The indigenous woman knows this sacred Beauty. In a world where this Beauty has been marred and scarred by capitalist greed, she is making her voice heard: Please allow us to express our Beauty!
           
I’ve re-told this story to various groups of audiences since then. I tell it to honor the voice of the indigenous woman elder. I tell it to claim my own re-connection to my indigenous spirit. I tell it to re-claim the Beauty of my people. I have stepped into the river of Memory where this Beauty can be remembered through the oral and literate traditions of indigenous peoples – the myths, stories, dances, songs, chants, weavings – all of which are still alive and powerful when reclaimed by those of us who have awakened to the nightmare of modernity.

The Nun

            Sister Rose, a Bagobo, spoke softly and emotionally as the daughter of a Bagobo datu (Duhay Lungsod). She cried as she recalled for us how she saw her father struggle to preserve indigenous culture amidst colonial pressure to become civilized and Christianized. Now as a Catholic Nun she has come to embrace her indigeneity and now also works alongside indigenous peoples’ advocates.

            So one can be indigenous and be a Christian, I thought to myself.  I pondered what my own story would have been if I had learned about my own Kapampangan indigenous roots alongside my Protestant upbringing. How different it would have been! Now Karl Gaspar has written a book, Mystic Wanderers in the Land of Perpetual Departures, where he calls on Catholic devotees to reclaim their  Filipino indigenous values and spirituality in order to become good Catholics who can affect social transformation.

            This gives me hope.

Roadside Sign

            Children waving. Please wave back.
            So we did.
            We saw this sign from a jeepney on our way to Malagos. The uniformed children were walking home. They waved to us and we waved back.

            I thought about the many folks in the U.S., who are baffled when they see smiling children in poor countries. How can they be so happy when they are so poor? they ask. I hear this often in my classrooms from white suburban students whose education has taught them to see the world in “us versus them.” In one of my exasperated moments, this poem came to me:

the child who appears in your photographs infomercials and youtube videos
so that you can appeal to your funders' sense of do-gooding
for the poor of the world

was she born thinking she is poor?
who impoverished her?
who stole her country?

you say that the poor barrio folks are primitive
left behind by progress
so they need you and your aid

and yet you do not say why the poor makes you feel good
why their smiles and gestures of kindness
warms your heart. makes you feel human.
why do you need the poor this way?
your tears do not fool me.

Bai Diwa Ofong

She looked just like my grandmother, my Impo - the one that, as a child, I never got to know very well because she lived in the city and we lived in the province. In Lake Sebu, I sat with Bai Diwa Ofong with two other Fulbright teachers, and Jenita, a young lumad scholar and community leader, as translator. At first, Bai cried and apologized for not speaking any other language than Tiboli, for not having anything to give us because she is poor. She said that our visit gives her hope because we are teachers, because we can reach children. She appreciated our respect and interest in the community. We cried and hugged and cried some more -- as if we have been touched by the recognition of our primordial ties to each other in this ancient land.

            Can we know our grandmothers again? Can we reconnect with our ancient ancestors? During a meditation, I called on my ancestors and expressed my regrets for not knowing my genealogical lineage. How can I reclaim my indigeneity without this information? Who are my ancient people? What is our creation story? What did the Land teach us? Then they whispered: Leny, you may not know our names, but we know you. We have always been here. We have never left. Thank you for remembering and calling on us now.

BEAM

I took down these notes during a lecture about education issues in Mindanao:
·      BEAMprogram (Basic Education Assistance for Mindanao) funded by the Australian government to the tune of $30M.
·      The focus of BEAM support is "capability building."
·      Two of its notable programs are the Lumad Integrated Functional Education (LIFE) and Providing Educational Access for Cultural Enhancement (PEACE). Note that the Institute for Indigenous Peoples Education (IIPE) is also partly-funded by BEAM.

And wrote this as sidenote in my journal:
During Dr. L's lecture, we noticed two corporate logos on the BEAM project materials and we asked who these corporations are. She didn't know. Later in the afternoon, one of our participants googled the names and found out that they were mining or mining-related corporations. (The Philippine government has recently re-issued the Mining Rights Act which opens up Mindanao to mining corporations).

            The Fulbrighters asked what the motives might be of mining corporations in supporting education. Is it to “tame the wild” and subdue it so that it can me made submissive to the development-oriented capitalist system? What business is it of ours to question this issue? We asked ourselves this question. Many of us are critical of corporate globalization and to see it so closely linked to its impact on indigenous communities and ecological environments in Mindanao was disturbing and so we argued with the lecturer. Were we wrong to do so? How can we deny that funding to education is needed regardless of its source? Sometimes it is easier to embrace an ideology theoretically than to grapple with the realities on the ground.

            If I want to sharpen my self-reflexivity and critical thinking skills, I must struggle with these issues. I bring these scenarios in my university classroom in California. Today I hear myself telling my students: The onus of responsibility lies in us Americans who have the largest carbon footprint on the planet. Before we question the practices in modernizing countries, let us ask ourselves what our responsibility is towards the global mess we have created. Who is paying the social, cultural, political, and moral mortgage?

            In my journal entry of August 2, 2006, I have written:

As I write this, I am reminded of a comment made by a Nigerian working in the diamond mines: "We have diamonds...why are we poor?"


Ritual

Journal entry: Day 18, July 31, 2006, THE HEALING RITUAL

Earlier in the day, we told the group that we will meet in the evening at Ponce Suites. We didn't give any further information about the place. We told them they should plan on arriving an hour earlier. I went by myself two hours earlier so I could videotape and be alone before everyone arrived. I brought the candles that Paring Bert asked for.

Kublai at Ponce Suites created a labyrinth on the top floor made of dark and pale round stones in the form of a lizard. We arranged the chairs on the edge and lighted three candles and placed them in the middle of the circle. (The wind kept blowing them out though).

Paring Bert tried to lighten up the now-quiet mood by saying: "well, what do you think?" and then he chuckled...and then began to speak slowly: why we were gathered in this place; he reminded us of his remarks on the first day that on this journey, many things will happen that are transformative, deeply transformative.

Paraphrasing Paring Bert: Now we are here. In the last few days you have learned a lot about the Philippines but you are also learning a lot about yourselves...as individuals and as members of this group. Your emotions are raw and on the surface; you have had a lot to think about; your interactions with each other elicit strong emotions. You have expressed your thoughts to each other. Now we need to have a sense of closure or a sense of forgiveness and healing.

Perhaps there are things you want to express individually but haven't done so. Maybe you want to say "thank you" or "i'm sorry" to each other. Maybe you want to say something that you've been holding back. So if you want to do that now, pick up a candle and approach the individual you want to speak to. Stand face to face and talk to each other. After you receive the candle, you may then return the candle to the center or you can bring it to another person.

A few moments of silence.

Paring Bert stood up and brought the first candle to me to say "thank you for being here." I took the candle and brought it to Cheena and I told her how happy I am that she went from Fear to Courage and am glad to have witnessed it. Slowly, one by one, we picked up the candles and passed them on. Soon everyone was standing face to face with one other person hugging tightly, tears flowing and once in a while you would hear Paring Bert's chuckle.

I was specially touched by Miriam who said: "I already know you have four sisters, but I want to be your sister, too." "You became my sister the first day I met you," I told her.

"Thank you..." "I am sorry..." "I am afraid...." -- when all was said and the tears have turned to laughter...we knew that was the transformative moment we had talked about and anticipated (we just didn't know how and when it would happen).

We sipped chamomille tea and smiled. Ritual had found us and we are whole again.

            Ritual has found its way into my life since those Fulbright days. I have become more conscious of how ritual connects us to the ancient memories held in our bodies. I am learning how to tap into the wisdom of my body after decades-long conditioning of living mostly in my head as an academic. I see more acutely that norms of patriarchy and colonial thinking are embedded in academic institutions and I cringe at the extent to which I, too, have internalized these norms. How then can my academic life transform itself into a more embodied practice that honors my indigenous soul? Can the academe be indigenized? Where are the indigenous responses to the imperial order?
           
As soon as I posed the questions, the answers started to trickle in. I am in good company. In fact the phone rang just moments ago and a Hawaiian elder told me that she could see that I am transitioning from being an academic scholar to a cultural practitioner and that the work that I do now through the Center for Babaylan Studies (www.babaylan.net) will evolve and shift to a more embodied, culturally-rooted practice.

The ancestors do not like being put on hold, I chuckle to myself. Ask and you will receive. Sooner than you expect.

Politics and Governance

Lecture on Politics and Governance

The Fulbright participants posed these questions to the political science professor:

How should we (Filipino Americans) address the question about the perception of the Philippine government as being fraught with corruption? How do you suggest we answer this question?

How can you say that the U.S. governmental structure is working when most Americans are not politically engaged, don't vote, don't inform themselves about crucial issues especially foreign policy issues that affect countries like the Philippines?

If colonialism has imposed a governmental form that is not "user-friendly" to the people and the culture, why do we keep insisting that the form remains?

Why do you think the Philippines continues to look to the United States for "what works" when the rest of the world is becoming aware that most U.S. economic and foreign policies are deeply flawed?

I felt that it was good for our group to wrestle with these questions even though we didn't always arrive at any complete answer (nor should it be expected). As we locate ourselves as diasporic or transnational peoples, we can at least develop a view from both sides and wonder aloud about how we should formulate our own positions. It is always good to ask the kinds of questions that push us to think in ideological terms -- a good exercise!

            Speaking of ideologies, there are other Filipino American scholars who are critical of my work because they deem it as nativist and essentialist because I privilege indigenous paradigms.  Perhaps in telling the above vignette, they would know that I am deeply engaged in political questions precisely because in using indigenous paradigms to critique modernity, I am able to reference a much larger discursive context beyond modernity. I wish they would read the Babaylan book where I describe lengthily how I came to use indigenous paradigms as a critique of modernity’s projects.[1]

Kublai

Day 16, July 30, 2006, Journal entry:

As Kublai described his creative process that night on the rooftop of Ponce Suites (reminiscent of Gaudi's architecture), I felt his Fire envelop the space and I slowly felt it warming my tired bones and spirit. He works "very fast" he says because it all comes out of him as energy that needs to be released. As for the giant sculptures (in churches, parks, public spaces) he is usually able to harness the community's or parish members' cooperation to help him. He works with cement so he needs to work fast before it dries, so oftentimes he works continuously without pause, high up on the scaffolding. In one near-death accident where he fell from the scaffold, he hurt his back and today still works with excruciating pain on his back.

He spoke of his then 5year-old daughter and his newborn son (10days old). When his daughter was three years old, he introduced her to paints. Kublai then ushered us into a room where 500 paintings by a three-year old daughter were proudly displayed. Aside from the "public" walls of the suites, he also showed us the "private" rooms where he works and the rest of the art that is not on the walls.

Kublai doesn't like to talk about selling art. He says it's not his job to sell art. However, he did speak of friends who have received gifts from him. His mother told us that she is supposed to do some marketing for him but so far, she hasn't gotten around to it either.

If I were a young graduate student today, I'd probably do a dissertation on this young Filipino artist -- to document his life, his work, his legacy. He is a culture-bearer but his work transcends culture. I don't know of any other artist who is simultaneously a poet, sculptor, photographer, painter (abstract, mixed media, collages) and works with varying themes: surrealistic, transcendental, indigenous, nature, people, religion, spirituality, technology, politics, resistance.

            I have postcards of Kublai’s work tacked on my wall in my office. There are days when I daydream about Ponce Suites and the large installations around Davao and how awestruck I was then and now. Once someone asked me if I am an artist. I said: if Life is an Art, then I must be.

            Culture-bearing Filipino artists are my teachers and inspirations. In Kapwa: The Self in the Other, Katrin de Guia’s stories about Kidlat Tahimik, Angel Shaw, Aureaus Solito and others point to the powerful creative Fire in the indigenous and indiogenius alike. The sariling duwende that manifests in their art continue to inspire my own attempts to live an artful and gracious life that is not blind to injustice.

Lumad Scholars

            I have Retchor’s pen and ink drawing on my kitchen wall where I see it everyday. Retchor is one of the many Lumad scholars that Paring Bert supported throughout their college careers. Retchor was studying to be an architect. I wonder where he is now. Does he know that when I see his drawing, my heart lies still and calm? Does he know that I think of him often? His drawing reminds me of each of the scholars who became our friends during our stay. Who could forget that night when we went to their dormitory and we were fed so lavishly with food and stories about their aspirations.

            This was the key moment when the Fulbright teachers realized the parallels between the Lumad scholars and the Filipina child in a California classroom. The Lumad scholars shared with us their feelings of vulnerability as minorities in a largely affluent, middle class, Christianized school. We heard the sighs of homesickness, of being away from family for too long because they do not have the money to visit often. We heard the resolve to become teachers, anthropologists, and architects because they want to serve their communities. I also saw the strength of their indigenous soul – were it not for the core conviction that to be a Lumad is to be whole – perhaps, survival in the university would be much more difficult.

            In the U.S., we hear the same refrain from the immigrant child in the classroom: homesickness, loneliness, and alienation from the mainstream. In schools where there are Filipino American teachers who can offer nurturance, the children thrive; where there aren’t any, the students become silent and they bury the precious parts of themselves so that they could assimilate and function in a world that requires conformity. Suicide, depression, teenage pregnancy, drop-out rates are high among Filipino students in urban areas. I sense that, unlike the Lumad whose memory of being indigenous is intact, our children in the diaspora are further removed from that core strength making their journey that much more demanding; and in a culture where we are constantly barraged by weapons of mass distraction, the Indigenous Soul keeps waiting for a return that may or may not happen.
           
Death and Grief

            Kalpna, a young, passionate, excellent, and beautiful high school teacher at Berkeley High School left her body in Davao. I remember Paring Bert wrapping his arm around my body-in-shock saying: Do not interpret too much, Leny. I tried not to but was only partially able to do so. As I look back on those days now, I am only filled with gratitude for the community that embraced us.  Tantan Cena and Katribu took us to the ocean so we could make offerings and do leave-taking ritual for Kalpna’s transition. The university president and Karl Gaspar and so many friends and even strangers came by to comfort and be with us in our grief.  This generosity of spirit, of pakikipagkapwa, is the mark of the Filipino. Our strained capacity, due to the isolating culture we come from, to receive such largesse of spirit, was humbling.

Kalpna’s last words to me were: Leny, thank you for opening so many doors for me. I knew she was referring to the Beauty of the Filipino, the Beauty of the Land, the Beauty of the Soul as embodied by the Lumads and non-Lumad friends who embraced us.

            It took me more than a year to befriend Death and get to know it intimately. In that time, I learned to develop a relationship with death and dying not from a place of fear but from the core of an unfolding heart that contained all the social conditioning about death that I have had to unlearn. This unlearning took me to the shadowy parts of myself that I had to gaze upon. Oh my heart, what is it that you are afraid of? And as I named all the things on my list, I gathered them all in the shade of my Lola’s tree and offered them to her for healing.



Gifts

            My sojourn in Mindanao through the Fulbright Hays project has given me precious gifts. Our Filipino American teachers learned to sing the national anthem; they learned how to dance; they listened to lectures that filled their minds and hearts; they cried, struggled, and wrestled with questions that had no quick answers. All of our hearts were broken…open.

            You could see it in this picture, don’t you? Can I let the ineffable speak for itself here?
           

            Dear reader, out of the hundreds of stories I could have told you about my Fulbright stories in Mindanao, I chose these few morsels to offer a glimpse of why and how my love for Mindanao remains. Having been to Mindanao, I can now return to my Kapampangan homeland and seek its face again and find what it was that I missed on my first go-around and this time, hoping to come full circle.

            For isn’t this what all journeys are about? Of finding Home -- not as a beautiful and profound abstract concept but as a beloved Place that gave birth to my ancestors. It is the ancestors that connect the seen and unseen worlds for me. Home is the place where my personal history merges with a cultural and political history that has wrought damage and pain in the course of modernity and yet, knowing now that the Indigenous Soul keeps on singing its courtship song has kept me and my people alive.

            I also offer this as a bridge over the oceans that separate us. I often stand on the shore of the Pacific Ocean in Northern California and stare into the horizon. My islands just lie over there, I say to myself.

            Once, someone asked me: Leny, if you love the Philippines so much, why aren’t you here? I said: I am an accident of History; I had to leave so I could come Home.

            I have always been in search of a language that heals and although am not a poet, I find the poetic more powerful than the virtuosity of the academic pen. So I write from my heart now, confident that the mind has succumbed to the allure of the open heart. Allure. Alindog.

In Kapwa, there is no Other.

            Here is my closing gift to you, written on the closing days of the Fulbright trip:

First: We honor each other just by listening...first to our own heart as it beats to the tune of the unfamiliar words of the Other...words that pierce a corner of our heart where nothing may have yet broken it open. When the heart breaks open, it is painful at first, like the pain of childbirth when something is being born within you...it enlarges the heart's capacity for compassion and empathy. Second: I will not always like what I hear but I can hear it, hold it in my heart with tenderness and charity. I can have a conversation with the inner self - the one who is baffled, confused perhaps, a tad frustrated and disappointed, even lonely. Third: I will ask for a soft touch, a kind glance, an open palm, a song, a gesture. A minor clue that you are still with me and I with you.


           





           


           












[1] See Introduction to Babaylan: Filipinos and the Call of the Indigenous, published by the Center for Babaylan Studies, 2013
 




Read More

June 3 2017

10 July 2018 | 4:35 am Dream (after Kamayan with Rako, Vince Sales, James, Nini and Phoenix)

Family was renting a country home somewhere. Lots of people milling around, children playing. We were all getting ready to go to SSU graduation so we were preparing sandwiches -- which were quite messy to prepare - like using green salad to put in between two pieces of toast. it wasn't quite working and we were running late.
When we finally got to SSU we were an hour late and Miriam said we could still use our tickets but then we all just decided to skip it and said we'd just check out the campus.
The campus is in the heart of Manila - the Philippine Normal University -- and it was crowded and very quickly I got separated from my family. Wondering around Cal finally found me. He was riding a chariot but now i don't remember whether it was a horse or a big dog that was pulling him. I still had to walk along with him on the way back...and then i saw that there was an alternate way go down a path. Instead of the stairs, there were rollers so I took these rollers down and down...and soon I was in a basement and couldn't find my family.  I wandered around and saw an alley thinking it was a short cut to get back to campus but it turned out to be an ancient obstacle course that has been abandoned. I had to go through each obstacle course and in one part of it, i got sucked by air that sent me flying and then abruptly ended on a cliff and then i had to thread my way around the chasm holding on to dry and brittle trunks of trees.  When I finally got back on the main street I was still lost and i couldn't recognize anything. I didn't have my bag and cell phone and even if i could borrow a cell phone i didn't remember the cell phone numbers of Cal and Dustin. It was getting dark and I was getting worried.
I woke up tired and I kept telling myself it was just a dream and it's okay.


Read More

10 July 2018 | 4:35 am 101 - is my Mom's age come April 7
101 - highway that runs north to south
101 - name of boutique with rude white saleswoman
101 - title of basic courses such as Math 101
101 - can also mean one-on-one as in mentoring

woke up feeling refreshed after a day of tiredness.
but felt that i needed the extra hours of sleep and slow movement
the rain is soaking the ground

mamerto calls and says that he will do a death ritual for Harold Conkln, the Yale anthropologist who studied the Mangyan and the Ifugao. what do you think of that? the ethnographic subject doing ritual for the anthropologist! that is significant!!

on the homefront, the drama that keeps popping up has to do with "this is my home/kingdom and i am being manipulated by this other person in my home" -- this, too, will have to be deconstructed. the notion of village must become the new paradigm.

thinking of mom - why did you say you want us to rebuild the village unless you know or already trust us to do it? that this is the way forward to heal the family traumas...





Read More

8 May 2018 | 3:08 am http://galatearesurrects2017.blogspot.com/2017/05/leny-mendoza-strobel.html

Alex Tizon's article about Eudocia

Read More

29 March 2018 | 6:12 am Monica Anderson: Yogi

Read More

Interview on Revolutionary Wellness TalkRadio

24 May 2017 | 4:41 pm Decolonization and Learning to Dwell in Place

Rochelle McLaughlin hosts this interview. Please enjoy.

Read More

The Holiness of Mothers

24 May 2017 | 4:25 pm
(I gave this talk at  Daly City United Methodist Church
May 14, 2017, in honor of Mother's Day)

THE HOLINESS OF MOTHERS

Grateful to be on Ohlone land.

----
When Lilian Sacun called me a month ago about speaking with you today, I was at my grandson’s baseball game as a weekend chaperone where we watched him play 4 games during the weekend. For that is what Lolas do, isn’t it? We drop everything when we are called to our apo-stolic ministry.

That is also exactly what my Mother used to do when we were growing up. Children always came first. My mother was a one-woman social welfare agency; she often brought in kids from the street, bathed them, fed them, and then sent them home.

All of us have memories of our mothers doing ordinary acts as if they were extraordinary.

This is why I want to focus my talk on the Holiness of Mothers.

***
In Hawaii, there is a sacred site called the birthing stones where the Hawaiian royal babies were born in ancient times. The place, Kukaniloko, is believed to be filled with mana and it is here that the gods would recognize the child’s royal birth.

When a Filipino American friend brought me to that site a few years ago, before we entered the site, he offered a chant to ask permission for entry, and he asked us to remove our shoes for we were on holy ground.  As I walked bare feet around this sacred site with tears in my eyes, the thought that kept coming to me was Thank you for the holiness of mothers. My tears were my prayer at that moment in that sacred ground.

Ever since then I’ve always reflected on the holiness of Mothers.
***
For several years now I have also been reflecting on my Mother’s Catholic faith and how she agreed to become a Methodist when she married my father. I have often wondered how that conversion affected her devotion to Mother Mary and how she may have had to hide it. I feel in my heart today that it may have been Mother Mary who sustained her faith and gave her strength and courage to raise six children.

So this morning, it feels right to me to talk about the holiness of the mother of Jesus, Mary.

In preparing this talk, I looked for information as to why Protestants do not talk about Mary a lot.  I found plenty of information online which I am not able to detail here but I share these few points:

·      Around 1054, the Eastern Orthodox Church calls Mary – Theotokos- The Mother of God. Acc to the church, Mary was chosen by God and Mary freely cooperated in that choice…therefore, she is honored above all saints.

·      Around 1500, Martin Luther, the Protestant reformer, wrote  “Mary is the embodiment of God’s grace” as he was writing a commentary on the Magnificat (Mary’s hymn of praise to the Lord based on the gospel of Luke)

·      Marian devotion lost favor with Protestants in the 16th century. In the meantime, as Catholicism spread during the colonial era, churches were built on top of sacred sites that were dedicated to the goddess.  In ancient cultures there are myths that refer to the virgin birth of the gods.

·      Today, Protestants are beginning to take another look at Mary as a bridge to ecumenism. Cynthia Rigby, a Presbyterian theologian, writes that Mary is the archetypal Christian, the mother of all believers.

·      Kathleen Norris, a poet/ author, says that she didn’t learn much about Mary from her Methodist and Congregational upbringing but after spending time in Benedictine monasteries, she grew to identify with Mary. "Like Mary, I am invited each day to bring Christ into the world in my prayers, thoughts, and actions," she says.”

·      In the book Mary: A Flesh-and-Blood Biography of the Virgin Mother, Middle East historian Lesley Hazleton speculates that Mary may have been a shepherd, herding sheep and goats on the craggy hillsides and learning about healing and herbal cures from village women, techniques she passed along to her son. https://www.usnews.com/news/religion/articles/2008/01/25/a-warm-protestant-welcome-for-mary

·      Mary is also revered as a symbol that bridges disparate cultures. Mary appears prominently in the Koran, where she is compared to Hagar, the mother of Ishmael, founder of the Islamic nation. In Mexico, where she appeared to an oppressed Aztec Indian in the 16th century, she is Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe; ten million pilgrims a year flock to a shrine honoring the dark-skinned Madonna. (https://www.usnews.com/news/religion/articles/2008/01/25/in-search-of-the-real-virgin-mary


·      In the Philippines, devotion to the Virgin Mary is the “mother of all devotions.” http://www.positivelyfilipino.com/magazine/2013/5/mother-of-all-devotions


So clearly there is a powerful resonance to the story of Mary, the mother of Jesus, that is beyond theological and doctrinal debates in the history of the Christian church. 

Personally, I am most attracted to the story that Mary may have been a shepherd learning about healing and herbal cures from other village women; something she may have passed on to her son.

I have been interested in the ways that indigenous peoples and their spirituality manifest in their relationship to the animate Earth. This is what we call traditional ecological knowledge and indigenous science today but if you ask the indigenous folks how they know which plants contain medicine, they simply say: The plants told me. The plants are alive.

So when I think of Mary as a shepherd who might have known of healing power of herbs and plants and that she might have taught this to her son, it is very meaningful to me.

We, too, have mothers or grandmothers who may be arbularyos or hilots, who know the healing power of ampalaya, guava leaves, alugbati, malunggay, guyabano, at iba pa. We may have had mothers and grandmothers who connect with the spirit world as mediators and bring healing from Spirit. Today we still have healers, shamans or medicine people. In our Filipino languages they are called babaylan, catalonan, mombaki, belian, ma-aram, arbularyo, …

The fact that these gifts may have been lost to many of us (because they have been demonized) in this modern age doesn’t negate the fact that this knowledge may still be in our cultural DNA waiting to be awakened.  Perhaps if we ask Mary, if we ask our beloved ancestral mothers, we will begin to awaken the memories of our wholeness as indigenous peoples before we were called Filipinos. Even before we were Methodists.

I bring up this up as a way of talking about different ways of Being in the world.

Just like Mary, the mother of Jesus, whose story invites us to think of the holiness of Mothers.

According to Jason Byassee, former pastor of Shady Grove United Methodist Church in Providence, North Carolina and now a professor of theology, “For Protestants to ask Mary for her prayers may be the key to future ecumenism.”

Another Presbyterian theologian, Cynthia Rigby, argues that if there is a common theme that resonates in Protestant attempts to recoup something lost in the rejection of Mary, it is the description of her as the archetypical Christian, the mother of believers. "We too are ‘virgins’ who are incapable of bearing God," until God deigns to be born in our ordinariness as in Mary’s.

What I get from these sources is that the call to reconsider the importance of Mary in Protestant churches is a call to build ecumenical spirit, to encourage interfaith dialogue, and to create bridges across all kinds of differences. Or simply, to reclaim the power to birth God in the ordinariness of our lives.

In the recovery of our Filipino indigenous spirituality, I invite us to honor our Filipina mothers who have always been powerful not in a domineering or better-than-thou way, but powerful because they offer their lives in service to their families and communities in the same way that Mary offered her life to serve God’s purpose.

I invoke the holiness of mothers as the power to create Bridges: for example, the bridge between our US-born kids and immigrant parents. As a university professor, I have taught many Filipino Americans who tell me of their conflicted relationships with their parents. They talk about their confusion in their sense of identities as Filipino Americans. They question why their parents have not been helpful in clarifying what it means to be Filipino. They talk about miscommunication or the difficulty of bridging the generation and cultural gap between their immigrant parents.  But I’ve also seen the healing of this gap when the children and parents are encouraged to fully embody our Filipino indigenous spirituality alongside our devotional faith as Methodists or Catholics. Believe me, it really is not an either-or. We can do both.

I invoke the holiness of mothers as the power to create the bridge between our neighbors of different faiths. I don’t know about you but there is a part of me that feels envious when my Filipino Catholic friends have their various religious festivals to go to – the Santo Nino in January, the Santacruzan in May, the Simbang Gabi in December, 9-day novenas when someone dies, etc. I guess that is why I wanted to talk about Mary today…because I am wondering how we might create bridges of communion with our Filipino Catholic kapwa.

I invoke the holiness of mothers as the power to create bridges with our co-workers who are different than us. There are many of areas of conflicts in our workplaces that might push us to the margins, push us to become silent, or push us to become subservient. I think if we recognize our holiness, we will also have the courage to break the rules, to speak up, to fight against racial injustice, call out racial microaggressions, and to stand up for other coworkers who are being discriminated against. So, Mothers, please take up your holiness and let it give you courage.

I invoke the holiness of mothers as the bridge to create communication within our communities that does not tear down but build up one another. Let’s have enough of “kanya-kanya mentality” or colonial mentality. Let’s learn how to work together with people that we may not like; let’s learn how to have deep conversations; let’s learn how to use our pakikiramdam to listen to each other in a deep way that connects our kapwa and loob. We live in a culture that fosters disconnection and separation because the more disconnected we are, the more fearful we become; the more fearful we are, the more they can sell us goods, and mindless tv shows, and junk food. Dear Mothers, please invoke your holiness to create better alternatives for our descendants.

The essence of our pagka-Pilipino is PakikipagKapwa, KAgandahang Loob at Pakikiramdam – no English words can fully capture the meaning of these concepts. So to capture the meaning, we have to look to our Mothers who manifest these values. I think about Filipina mothers who are also nurses, caregivers, nannies, managers, entrepreneurs, teachers, social workers, counselors, stay at home moms.

I am in awe of mothers whose hearts are so open and that they can behold so much with compassion. Just like when Mary had to behold her son on the cross, taking in his suffering into her own heart and body.

When I think of the holiness of Filipina mothers, I think of the desperate choices that some mothers are sometimes forced to make – the choice to leave our own children to take care of other people’s children in another country; the choice to leave the homeland to seek opportunities elsewhere; the choice to leave abusive partners; and sometimes even the choice to stay and bear suffering in silence.

Yes, I call this work of making such choices as Holy Work because we trust and have faith that God would not deem our choices as mistakes or sins.  Moral and ethical choices that are often imposed on us by circumstances beyond our control are difficult and heart-wrenching.  Sometimes these codes are a way to maintain the superiority of men over women, or the notion of what is “developed or modern” versus “traditional, undeveloped and third world”. I think in another sermon someday, I would want to talk about how Christianity has been wedded to capitalist values and how it has been in collusion with the degradation of the Earth…and of women and children. It breeds separation and disconnection.

When I think of the holiness of mothers, I think of the comfort women who were taken by the Japanese as sex slaves during WW2.  I think of them because this is still happening and being perpetrated by human traffickers today albeit in different forms.  One of my friends, Evelina Galang, will soon be publishing the stories of these Lolas. As I was reading the manuscript, I would often break down and cry at the horrible acts that dishonored their bodies and their spirit. In the reading of their stories, I had to allow their stories to get into my body. This is how I know that stories are alive and powerful.  I want to honor these Lolas and what they have endured. And we must read their stories and tell others about it. The Lolas said that if we allow their stories to enter our bodies, perhaps wars will end.

And finally, when I think of the holiness of mothers, I think of the stories that we will pass on. I think of the answers to the question: What kind of ancestor are you going to be? Dear Mothers, this is a good question to always carry in our hearts.

 When I think of the holiness of mothers, I do not think of the Hallmark version of Mother’s day.

I think of the holiness of Mothers as the ground of my faith, the rock of my foundation. I pray that we may look to Mary, the mother of Jesus; Mary, embodiment of God’s grace; Mary, the mother of all saints; Mary, the shepherd; and Mary the herbalist and healer. 

All our Mothers are Holy. As you celebrate your Mother today, may you be filled with love, gratitude, kindness; may you be filled with the sweetness of remembering  all of her Holy acts that carry you through each day and always ...like a lullaby that soothes our aches, pains, and our longings to be cradled in the bosom of a Holy Mother.

Sa Ugoy ng Duyan…









 


Read More

31 October 2016 | 6:02 am KApwa's Song
by Eileen Tabios

Read More

The Transit of Empire

14 September 2016 | 4:50 pm quotes from Jodi Byrd's book:

theory of place and narrative and the place of IPs within postcolonial theories, queer, race theories

syllogistic tropes of participatory democracyborn out of violent occupatio of lands

how Indianness functions as a transit within empire

to read mnemonically is to connect the violence and genocides of colonization to cultural production and cultural movements

multicultural liberal democracy rationalize historical traumas thru inclusion

IPs must be central to any theorizations of the condition of postcoloniality, empire, and regimes that arise out of indigenous lands

transit - fluidity, noise, instability; to exist relationally, multiply

liberal multiculturalism invested in acknowledgements, recognition, equality, equivalences

US colonialism and imperialism coerces struggles for social justice for queers, racial minorities, immigrants into complicity with settler colonialism

"derealization of the other"

metropolitcan multiculturalism and dominant postcolonialism prose the US as a postracial asylum for the world, the diminishing return of that asylum meets at the point where diasporas collides with settler colonialism

US cultural and political preoccupations with indigeneity and reproduction of Indianness serve to facilitate, justify and maintain Anglo-Amerian hegemonic mastery over signifcation of justice, democracy, law and terror

how would debate change if the responsiblities of the real lived condition of colonialism were prioritized as a condition of possibility

sovereignty without rights to self government, territorial integrity, cultural autonomy

Indian as the ghost in the machine of empire

erasure of the sovereign - racialization of the Indian

colonization = racialization; where Indians become ethnic minorities

loss of intimacies on four continents - genocide, slavery, indenture, liberalism (lisa lowe)

"cathect" "parallax"

conflation of territoriality with conquest by assigning colonization to the racialized body

multicultural liberalism aligns itself with settler colonialism

Haksuba/chaos

postcolonial studies have ignored indigenous struggles in the US

indigeneity can be too dangerous and xenophobic when combined with  nationalism or anticolonial struggles in a world shaped by forced diaspora, migration, hybridity and movement

cultural studies...towards a joyous cacophony of multiplicities and away from the lived colonial conditions of indigeneity within postcolonial-settler society

how did the impulse to constellate the America into European colonial alignment come to depend upon the lamentable but ungrievable Indian? how do arrivals and other peoples forced to move thru empire use indigeneity as a transit to redress, grieve, and fill the fractures and ruptures created thru diaspora and exclusion?

what happens to indigenous peoples and the stakes of sovereignty, land, decolonization when conquest is reframed thru the global historicities of race?

how to discern how the noise of competing claims, recognitions, remediations function to naturalize possession at the site of postracial inclusion, transformative multiculturalism, and cruel optimism.


Read More

Jesus as Babaylan

12 February 2016 | 6:32 pm -->
(This talk was delivered at Asbury Methodist Church in Livermore, CA on Nov. 14 during the Filipino American Methodist Churches' celebration of their annual Pasasalamat/Thanksgiving. The day before I was asked to lead a leadership development workshop on decolonization and indigenization for clergy and lay leaders. The theme of the weekend is "Unos"/Storm in reference to the typhoons that have battered the Philippines; it is also a reference to the storms of life).
Mark, Chapter 4:

Magandang umaga po sa inyong lahat. Mayap a abak pu.

I give thanks to the Creator for bringing us together today on Ohlone land before it was Livermore. Thank you for choosing this place to worship, together.

Please allow me to share some personal background before we talk about the gospel of Mark, Chapter 4.

My name is Elenita Fe Luna Mendoza Strobel. I am Kapampangan. My paternal grandfather was one of the early converts of the first American Methodist missionaries at the end of the 19th century and start of the 20thcentury. The story is that he really wanted to be a priest but when he heard the Methodist missionary on his soapbox at the town square, he converted on the spot.  Alas, my grandfather died when my father was just a young boy. My grandmother, Apu Sinang, raised seven children by herself. I call her a magical woman because any woman who can raise 7 children by herself must possess some magic, don’t you think?

My father, Horacio, was very handsome; people called him Rock Hudson. The story goes that he almost became a movie actor along with Rogelio de la Rosa but instead like his father, he chose to serve God by selling bibles for the American Bible Society that later became the Philippine Bible Society. My Dad and Mom raised all six of us in the Methodist church. After my dad retired from the PBS, he came to the US to get his green card but he didn’t last long here. He went home, went to Union Theological Seminary and then at 65 was ordained as a Methodist pastor.

As good Methodists and being tutored in the American colonial education system at that time, my parents raised us to become individualistic, independent, strong willed, competitive, ambitious. I would later recognize these as White Anglo Saxon Protestant values, as American values. This explained to me why our family was disconnected from our large Catholic clan on my mother’s side and father’s side. After I married a white man and came to live in the US, I slowly came to realize that all of my life was some sort of a rehearsal for a future life in the US – a life that I thought I was prepared for but realized later on that I was mistaken.

When I left the Phil in 1983, my evangelical friends asked: why are you going to the US? What will you do there? My answer was: “I’m going to heaven and I will take as many with me as I can!” I thought that this is God’s purpose for bringing me to the US.

Little did I know that what God would do instead was to bring me back to my Filipino indigenous roots as a way to heal all the feelings that I had as a newly arrived immigrant in the US at that time – feelings of inadequacy, of non-belonging, of guilt, shame, of inferiority as a brown skinned woman. Even when I was on the receiving end of racist remarks, I still blamed myself.

Thank you for allowing me to share this personal story with you. It is connected to our theme this morning on weathering the storms of life.

So for the last three decades I have weathered many storms – anger, despair, homesickness, worry, unfulfilled longings. During these storms, God gave me an anchor – my Filipino indigenous spirituality as I came to know and learn and embody this sacred knowing thru my encounters with babaylans, culture-bearers, and indigenous theologians who were able to articulate our Filipino concept of Wholeness thru the lens of our own historical experience, and specially thru the lens of the indigenous peoples who were never colonized.

Datu Victorino Saway of the Talaandig tribe in Bukidnon said:  they say that we do not have a sacred text like the Bible or the Koran but we have, in fact, the biggest sacred book of all, We have Nature. We know how to read the mountains, the wind, the birds, the land. We know how to listen, We know how to talk to all beings in Nature. Everything is sacred to us. Another indigenous community in Tuguegarao led by the babaylan Reyna Yolanda believe that we would have been better off if our indigenous religions were not taken away from us or denigrated, devalued.  Brother Karl Gaspar, a Catholic brother, wrote a book on Filipinos as mystic wanderers in the world and he writes that if we return to our indigenous Filipino values, the work of social and moral transformation would make a lot of difference in transforming society. Virgilio Enriquez, the father of Sikolohiyang Pilipino, says that the perceived dysfunction of Filipino society lies in the conflict between western-imposed structural systems that do not fit the people’s underlying cultural values.

As you have probably seen lately on social media, these indigenous communities in the Philippines and around the world are also being threatened by the attitude of the rest of the civilized world who do not respect Nature and who do not believe that God is also present in the forest, in the trees, in the rivers, oceans.

In Mark, Chapter 4, Jesus commanded the storm to calm down and the winds obeyed him. This is not a metaphor. This is literal. Jesus did have the power to talk to the Wind and the Wind listened to him. This kind of power is called shamanic power.

Recently, a Jesuit theologian, Fr. Jojo Fung, sent me his book on shamanic theology. Fr. Fung studied with several shamans in Southeast Asia in an attempt to understand how God is also present in the work of the shamans in their indigenous communities. Fr. Fung had first to set aside his own theological orientation in order to understand the shaman’s powers to commune with spirits in nature and spirits in the other world. He surrendered himself to initiation rituals and realized and experienced that indeed God is present in those experiences, too.

In reading of shamanic theology, I recalled that as a young Methodist child, we also knew a Methodist Pastor Antonio who also had shamanic powers. He was a healer and a medium who connects with the spirit world.  My father, too, knew of the healing powers of oils and herbs, and the healing power of hilot. 

These are all the powers that the precolonial babaylans possessed. Vine de Loria, the most well known Native American anthropologist in his book, The Way we Used to Live, chronicled the eye witness accounts of missionaries and anthropologists of the powers of medicine men and women – that indeed these powers were beyond the rational mind’s ability to comprehend or believe in so instead these powers  were declared as evil, heathen, pagan, demonic. 

In the Philippines, the babaylans were systematically exterminated in the first 100 years of conquest.  But their power never went away. It went underground where it remained subversive. You can kill indigenous people but you cannot kill the Indigenous Soul.

Our Filipino indigenous soul resides in our sense of Kapwa, Pakikiramdam, in our kagandahang Loob. There we find our sacred wholeness and beauty.

As I read the gospel of Mark, I am awe struck by the realization that Jesus is my Babaylan…that all these years that I have worked as an academic to articulate a process of decolonization – is the gift from the Methodist faith of my parents and the gift of the gospel of Jesus that I now reclaim through this new indigenous lens.

The typhoons that have battered our homeland – Yolanda, Ondoy, Koppa – will continue as global warming and climate change impacts are felt most specially in the global south – in poorest countries. Islands in the Pacific are already negotiating with Australia and New Zealand on when to accommodate the climate refugees that are being impacted by rising ocean levels.

As Filipinos, it is not enough that we pray for typhoons to change their trajectories. It is important to understand how our alienation from Nature has resulted in the crisis of our modern times. This has resulted in large-scale disappearance of species, pollution of the oceans and contamination of seafood, salination of soil and erosion of top soil. As we speak, forests are burning in Indonesia to make way for the mono crop of palm oil plantations.

So many species have left us. They have given up on us. Perhaps they will return again when humans destroy themselves. No wonder the Kogi of Colombia’s Sierra Madre who think of themselves as the Elder Brother and caretaker of Mother Earth are asking us, the younger brothers, to become aware of how we are destroying the earth.

The Kogis understood that it is their prayers and ritual offerings to the Holy that keep things in balance; this is what enables them to survive to the present.

Among our own people, the Teduray who up until the late 1970s lived in the isolated forest of Faigel in between Bukidnon and Cotabato also believed in the sacredness of everything. Stu Schlegel, an anthropologist and Episcopal missionary who wrote about the Teduray in Wisdom from the Rainforest, writes that the Teduray didn’t have hierarchies, competitions, or rivalries. They all lived by the tenet of “do not give anyone a bad gall bladder”…Stu Schlegel came to realize that the world he comes from as a white, male, western, civilized, rich, educated person – is really a dysfunctional world when seen thru the lens of theTeduray world view.  In one account where Stu was trying to tell the story of racial and gender discrimination in the US to his Teduray friend, the friend responded: But, Brother Stu, why are your people so cruel?

Indeed, what would the world be like if we all lived by the wisdom of the Teduray, if we all try everyday not to give anyone a bad gallbladder?

After Jesus calmed the storm and the wind, the disciples wondered who he is. Perhaps they, too, haven’t witnessed such a miracle before. They, too, were already severed from their indigenous consciousness. (As historically speaking, by this time people in that part of the world we call Near East, have already shifted from hunting and gathering to settled agriculture).

What does Jesus mean then when he said, let’s go to the other side? What is the “other side” for us today? In my heart, I believe that this gospel message is inviting us to return to the other side that we’ve left behind in our quest to become modern – the homeland, our indigenous roots, the indigenous spirituality of our people.

In Ohio, a mombaki/shaman from Ifugao, Mamerto Tindongan, is building a traditional Ifugao Hut. He had a dream, you see, and in his dream he saw that the Ifugao Hut can be the way to heal the descendants of the 1904 St Louis Worlds Fair where his people and thousands of other indigenous Filipinos were taken by the Americans to be displayed as savages in the human zoos at the fair. Mamerto gave up his two MA degrees and career in order to bid the calling of his ancestors. He belongs to a lineage of mombakis.  And yet other Christianized Cordillerans in the US said “why should we donate to the building of this traditional hut when we have left the pagan world of our ancestors already?”

The “other side” that Jesus, as Babaylan, would want to take his Filipino disciples today is to that place where we were severed from our own ancestral roots and we were taught instead that we come from a demonic and evil, pagan world. I doubt that Jesus would have said that of us. For if we look at his life, the reason why he was put to death is because he was from the “other side” – everything that the dominant culture set up as norm, he revolted against.

The storms – both literal and symbolic – of our lives are perhaps God’s way of reminding us of how Jesus could perform miracles because of his fully developed Christ consciousness. He has transcended his ego and his GodSelf manifests itself in the miracles he performed; we experience the same miracles in our lives when we put our trust and faith in him.

This weekend, I feel honored and humbled to have been asked to talk about the power and beauty of the process of decolonizing ourselves. Perhaps I’d close this talk with a story told by my favorite priest, Fr. Albert Alejo. Once, while visiting an indigenous community in Mindanao and lunch was being served, the datu said, “perhaps because we have a priest with us, we should pray before eating.” Fr. Alejo then asked, “bakit po, if am not here will you be praying before eating?” And the answer was, “No, Father, because you see, when we prepared the ground, we thanked God, when we planted the seed, we thanked God, when we harvested the seed, we thanked God, when we cooked the harvest, we thank God. So you see Father, by the time the food is served, it is already sacred.”

Fr. Alejo has many stories like these about the wisdom of our indigenous kapwa. Stu Schlegel also inspires me to remember the wisdom of the Teduray because, he says, by remembering their worldview, we, too, can build “islands of sanity” in a world gone mad.

So I would like to invite you and I hope you will find inspiration to remember who we are as a people before we were colonized. To decolonize ourselves means to do the beautiful work of reclaiming our indigenous Beauty. Just like the elderly Manobo woman I met in Davao in 2006, who in a dialogue with a group of teachers from California, exhorted us: Please allow us to express our Beauty!

Let us imagine ourselves on that boat with Jesus. We have just witnessed him speaking to the Wind, we have just witnessed him speaking to the crowd on the shore before the boat pulled away. He invites us to go to the “other side” with him.

What do we find on the other side, I wonder? While preparing for this talk, I asked myself the same question and I remember that my “other side” is the Catholic faith that my mother left behind when she converted to Methodist when she married my father.  Lately, I have been honoring my mother as a Catholic; I have a rosary now. My other side also refers to the calling I feel to be in solidarity with indigenous peoples in the homeland. Perhaps for some us, the “other side” is simply the person that we deem as our rival or competitor; or the person we envy; or the groups of people we look down on or are afraid of.  To go with Jesus to the other side reminds us that in our Filipino concept of Kapwa, there really is no other. Kapwa means You and I are One; or the self is in the other.

Please ask Jesus to give you the same power to listen to the Wind. And let us go with him to the other side.




Read More

The LUNA in my Blood

2 December 2015 | 8:27 pm There has always been a rumor in the family that we are related to the famous Luna brothers: Antonio and Juan.  Now that there is an Oscar-bound film, Heneral Luna, the rumor has again surfaced. This time a cousin's daughter has done some research and found documentation that indeed we are related.

My mother, Esperanza Luna, is the daughter of Gerardo Luna and Teodorica Santos Ocampo. Gerardo Luna is the son of Joaquin Luna, the brother of Antonio and Juan ,and 4 other siblings (Manuel, Remedios, Numeriana, Jose). Joaquin is named after his father:  Joaquin Posadas Luna de San Pedro and his mother is Laureana Ancheta Luna.

The information is scanty but there are fragments to go on with.

My older siblings who lived with our Ingkong and Impo in Mandaluyong said that Ingkong had mentioned that we are related to Antonio and Juan but that is where the stories end. Another cousin said that he remembers my mother's brother, Ben, often talked about his grandfather Joaquin as a frequent traveler between Baguio, Ilocos (La Union), and Manila. Well, it figures now since documents say that he was a government agent for the tobacco industry. Namacpacan, a town in La Union was renamed Luna in honor of Joaquin Luna.

The cousin who found the records on Joaquin Luna said that she saw the names of his children which includes Gerardo's name. But I asked her again to send me the link and she said she couldn't find it. Only that it was in a .gov.ph site.

Trolling around google, I found bits and pieces on the less-famous Luna brother, Joaquin. Before he became a Philippine Senator in 1916 for the 12th district in the first ever Philippine Legislature, he worked for the government in the tobacco industry.  As a Senator, he introduced a bill that created the first state-owned school of music that would later become the UP Conservatory of Music.

Oh, did I say that my Ingkong was a violin teacher? Okay, so there is that musical connection.

Another fragment said that in 1903, he was also sent as an agent of the Philippines to the St Louis World Fair.

In 1917, he was appointed governor of Mt Province.

I haven't yet found anything about Joaquin's marriage to FIlomena Baltazar.

At least there is a trail now. Stories await.


Read More

Transitions

9 November 2015 | 2:38 am I am seeing the word 'trans' a lot these days. Transindigenous. Transgender. Transnational. Transterritorial. Translineage. Transcendent. Transitory.

Transitions: this  one is for me.

Having recently filed for the faculty early retirement program, I am sensing the slow dissolution of attachment to a long stint in an academic institution. Although I feel that a part of me will always be doing academic work (based on my own definition of the term and on my own terms of engagement), still the feeling of transition is there. I suppose some of this is grief over the end of a stage of life. And on the other side of grief is the sense of gratitude for having had this grand adventure for three decades of my life on Turtle Island.

I remarked to someone the other day that all of this happened because I just wanted to feel good about myself. I wanted to be happy and I wasn't going to stop looking until I found a story that made me feel whole and worthy as a Filipina in the diaspora. This is how my work on decolonization began: as a journey of self-inquiry and discovery. It is a journey of descent into the underworld as the Jungians would say. It is a journey of going into the shadow world in order to retrieve its hidden jewels. I am grateful for the community of co-sojourners who have accompanied me, including my ancestors, who guided me thru dreams and visions.

I have shared those jewels through research and publications which, in turn, led to listserves and blogs discussing decolonization and indigenization, to conference organizing via the Center for Babaylan Studies.  There is a growing decolonization and indigenization movement in the diaspora.  Now I look around me and see so many seeds sprouting.  Communities are dreaming again and we are making our way thru this difficult time of Transition as a civilization, as a planet.

Self-inquiry and exploration has been a great gift for this part of the journey.  But this time I am becoming aware of a lesson that comes from the teachings of Vedanta: You are not your Mind; You are not your Body. You are not your Personality. All of the conditioning from our personal history that make up our egoic identity is not really who we are. To know your True Self, you must be willing to let these go.

As I try to learn this new way of Being I am constantly translating between different ways of knowing and I find resonances between various spiritual traditions that I've touched upon along my journey.  How beautiful it is to see these connections and to actually experience in one's consciousness how they all make sense.

But "making sense" takes time. And the time has come for me to retreat again into the cave of silence and solitude. I am finding it difficult to retreat from the external world of Doing but it is what my spirit is asking me to do. I am struggling to say 'No' but I know if I don't I will not be honoring the persistent call to Silence at this time. The ego is gratified by the external demands from others who seek me out for guidance, leadership, and advice. But until that moment that the ego no longer interferes and is released from external expectations, I will not be free. Free to be a mentor and elder.

 



Read More

The Power of Living Small

9 November 2015 | 2:34 am At a recent women's retreat I attended I proudly declared myself as a Big Dreamer. I want to Dream Big! I told the women.

But the more I sat with that thought the more unconvinced I became that this is indeed the path for me now.

In this modern culture of hype, spectacle, social media, and super-everything, I've realized that I am not called to ride this wave.

I am called to Live Small.





Read More

Morning Has Broken

9 November 2015 | 2:32 am I sat in my altar this morning where I have pictures of my parents and my Apu beside the vase of locally grown flowers from the farmers' market, candle, and sage. I haven't done this in a long time. But the house was quiet and I was alone downstairs.

For the past week, I have been nursing a painful stiff neck. Yesterday, I tried to cheer myself up by working in the garden sweeping autumn leaves and then I sat under the apricot tree to delight in the sweetness of my surroundings. But I was also thinking that my neck is my throat chakra and maybe there is something to that.

I texted Mamerto and asked for long distance healing. I was surprised when he said "maybe retiring in using your voice to impart knowledge may have created imbalance". He also wrote about the need to access a higher level of energy...maybe through sound healing. Ahh...so true! I've been chanting the gayatri mantra every morning for about 10min and sometimes I can still sing in the shower. I am listening to Uyayi and trying to learn to sing our beautiful lullabies.

At the altar, as soon as I lit the candle and sat and looked at the pictures of my Ma and Tang I started to cry; heaving on my chest with dry tears, I let myself go. Surrendering to the mixed feelings of sadness and joy, longing and belonging. It all felt good.

And then as the emotions settled, Quiet set in and I began to Listen.
Listen to the one you call God
Listen to the one you call Great Spirit
Listen to the one you call Oneness
Listen to the one you call Emptiness

One by one, they spoke.

I am the Sky.
I am the Moon.
I am the Sun.
I am the Ocean.
I am the Mountain.
I am the Wind.
I am the Lake.
I am the Rain.

We are your ancestors. We cradle You.

You is your body.
You is your mind.
You is your emotion.
You is your spirit.

I AM YOU. WE ARE YOU.

You are beyond Time.

Then I opened my eyes.

I am Whole. I am Here. And Not Here.


Read More

My Tatang the Healer

21 June 2015 | 4:37 pm In elementary school I told everyone that my Tatang is a pharmacist. He was the one who attended to us when we were sick. He knew exactly what to do: what oils to use - camphor or aciete de manzanilla or coconut oil - to massage our aches and pains away. He knew what leaves or roots to boil to make poultices or to mix with our bath water. Culantro for chicken pox, guava leaves for wounds, etc. We ever rarely went to see Dr. Tioleco or Dr. Munoz. Our Tatang was our healer.

In high school, I was told that my Dad was not a pharmacist; not a college graduate. In fact, he only had a fourth grade education. But how could he have known so many things? In my young mind, I couldn't yet apprehend his passion and will to learn; he read voraciously! I couldn't yet apprehend his passion to serve God and serve community, his adherence to John Wesley's teachings, his obedience and faith in the Methodist God.

As a teenager, I preferred hearing the story of how he almost became a movie star alongside Rogelio de la Rosa. He was after all a very good looking man. Street children used to call him Rock Hudson! I thought that if he had chosen to become a movie star, we'll be rich and I'll be happier. I would have preferred telling my friends that my Dad is a pharmacist or that my Dad is a movie star rather than saying "My Dad sells Bibles."

Notice the shift from Tatang to Dad? That's how I was in my teens. I wanted to be hip like the other kids who spoke English and called their father "Dad" instead of "Tatang".

In hindsight, I realize that my Tatang is a Healer. No wonder we had a constant stream of visitors at home. People were always wanting to talk to him about their problems: from how to raise pigs and chickens or how to solve church politics or how to mediate between parties in disagreement. He prayed for them or quoted Bible passages, or offered a mini-sermon.  Later on he also became a lover of birds and orchids, fruit trees and whatever plants he could grow in his small piece of land.

Tang already knew about sustainability even before it became a buzzword. He was into recycling and composting before everyone else was. He hated wasting water or wasting anything for that matter. Ever the disciplinarian and prudent one, I learned my habits of thrift and neatness from him.

His busy-ness in helping other people became a source of tension later on between him and my Mom. As each of the kids flew the coop, he became busier in tending to the people that came to our house for his counsel while my Mom felt lonelier without us kids. She longed for his attention and affection.

As I think of my Tang today, I see a Wounded Healer. His father died when he was only seven years old. Thanks to my courageous and strong Apu Sinang, her sons learned how to fend for themselves at an early age. The boys learned how to shine shoes and sell cigarettes on the street.

I am grateful now that he became a serious Methodist later on and lived a life of faith and service to the God he came to know through the lens of his American-patterned education. I am grateful that he chose this life rather than the movie star life. It is the straight and narrow life that served his family well. It is what he knew best.

Even though I came to eventually decolonize this history and how it came to shape my own life, I am coming full circle yet again. This time with Grief and Praise, I honor my Dad's life and legacy.

In his woundedness, I saw mine. And I can see how important it is now to share these stories about him from the place of Praise and Love because Grief has brought us healing.

May all that we Remember and Re-member bless us.

Read More

Loading...
Google+