The Seeker

In between times …is NOW.


Rose Garden

Rose Garden at Naramata, BC

Rose Garden

“At last you’ve left and gone
to the invisible:
How marvellous the way you
Quit this world.

You ruffled your feathers and,
Breaking free of your cage,
You took to the air, bound for
Your soul’s world…

A love-sick nightingale among owls,
You caught
The scent of rose and flew to
The rose garden”

Mevlana Jalalu’ddin Rumi (1207-1273) ~ Sufi Wisdom

A post in memory of Lucia S. Siglos, my mother.

Mother  loves her rose garden and a design of a rose is on her burial plaque.  Today is the day I first set foot in Canada and I consider it as my Canadian birthday, with gratitude to my Mother. When my birthday comes, one of the things that I must do is acknowledge my Mother.  Without my Mother, there is no life for me, my siblings and the generations after us.  I have instilled this practice for those who wants to listen, meaning the younger generation.

Mother, thank you for giving us a new life in Canada.  I love you and miss you.

Love and prayers, Lady.

Update:  Note from my sister
“I have Mother’s rose bush in my garden. Flowers are deep red. Also has her rose musical glass thingy. And her flower roses made of cloth. My tombstone to be also has roses etched on it like her. I miss her too. Happy birthday to us. XO”

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The Letter That Killed Me | Daily Prompt: Never


Mati, So glad to hear from you and I have been meaning to reblog your winning post so that I have in on file. Keep on writing. Take Care, Tita.

Originally posted on like reading on trains:

Tell us about a thing you’ll never write about.

I’ll never tell you about her.

I’ll never tell you how she caught my attention by asking for my attention.
I’ll never tell about how she looked so cute and beautiful and amazing and wonderful and outrageous all at the same time when I first saw her, whenever I saw her, whenever I see her.

I’ll never tell you how my name never sounded the same after she said it.

I’ll never tell you of the songs that I could only sing because of her.
I’ll never write about the letters and the notes I sent her every day.
I’ll never show you the poems I wrote because of her.

I’ll never tell you about the heaven that she revealed to me.
I’ll never show you the universe that she opened for me.
I’ll never write about the paradise that she…

View original 191 more words


The apple of my eyes

Such a pretty face, such a pretty smile, the apple of my eyes: Michael. He had me wrap around his little fingers; fingers as we played the song “inky winky spider went up the water-spout”

When I baby sat him and his siblings, I rule, even though he can command terror in the Garden of Eden.

There is an apple tree in their backyard that took forever to bear fruit and one day the snake showed me that there is one single green apple.

My eyes lit up and I heard the evil taunting me “come and eat me.”  With no hesitation, I plucked the apple, took a bite and it was the best tasty juicy green apple, ever. It was heavenly.

Suddenly, I heard an angel screamed:

 “Michelle, Tita Lady is eating your apple!”

“Damn #$& ***” explicit language coming from the mouth of a babe. “I have been waiting for the apple to ripen.  That is mine!” loud voice coming out from his ground floor bedroom window.

“Gee, it doesn’t have your name on it. Here, you can have it.” as I passed the half eaten apple through the window.

That made him happy eating what’s left over of the apple but he never let me forget the first fruit when now the apple is so thick of fruit and they just go rotten falling on the grounds.

Finally, he grew up as he ventures into the outside world. The training he received at Katimavic shaped and moulded him. Traveling and working in another country opened his eyes. He became a renascence man, constantly evolving from being a steam fitter to a realtor to whatever he wants to be. I can’t keep up with him anymore.

One day in a family gathering, admiring his beauty, I said: Hey Jude! Jude Law!  He laughed because apparently he has been mistaken as Jude Law before.

For comparison, can you tell the difference?
Michael aka Jude Law



Less is More

Let Go and Let God

Let Go and Let God

The Spirituality of Subtraction

Meister Eckhart said, “The spiritual life has much more to do with subtraction than it does with addition.” All great spirituality is about letting go. But we have grown up with a capitalist worldview, and it has blinded our spiritual seeing. We tend to think at almost every level that more is better, even though, as E. F. Schumacher said years ago, “less is more.”

There is an alternative worldview. There is a worldview in which all of us can succeed. It isn’t a win/lose capitalist worldview where only a few win and most lose. It’s a win/win worldview—if we’re willing to let go and if we’re willing to recognize that this, right here, right now, is enough. This is all I need. But that can only be true if we move to the level of being and away from the levels of doing and acquiring.

True religion is always pointing us toward being. At that level we experience enoughness, abundance, more than enoughness. If we’ve never been introduced to that world, we will of course try to satisfy ourselves with possessions, accomplishments, important initials after our names, fancy cars, beautiful homes—none of which are bad in themselves. They’re only unable to satisfy; and that’s exactly why we need more and more of them. As the Twelve-Steppers say, “We need more and more of what does not work.” If it worked, we would not need more of it!

“Gateway to Silence: Let go and let God.”

Adapted from The Art of Letting Go: Living the Wisdom of Saint Francis
Meditation by: Richard Rohr


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