Midway in our life's journey, I went astray

from the straight road and woke to find myself

alone in a dark wood.

- Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

Finally, I am disturbed by my inadvertence to blog. If it were not for the lack of anything worthwhile to do, I won't write an entry. I don't want to think that I have lost my passion for writing. But it will never be me without my liaison with words.

Ideas nortured, friends changed, wisdom invigorated, storms formed, travesties rose and in one month, life for me became more animated.

The trip to Sariaya was my latest tryst with Earth, Water and Sky. I wrote about it some weeks ago but lost the draft to a roast chicken dish. Perhaps because I did a draft, which I don't normally do. The au naturel of my entry happens in a flick of my emotions, devoid of wisdom's intervention, devoid of technicalities. So that article which I carefully drafted was reduced to nothingness, and after realizing that I lost it, I felt like a soldier in a battlefield, rising to revelry, for nothing. So, I opted to refer to my memory for snapshots of that trip, which remind me of a world outside the clutter, traffic and dexterious fumes of the city.

My most awaited Ega Sai season came during the first week of March. It was my first time to watch the much revered Seven Samurai by Akira Kurosawa. I will no longer question why the film is Steven Spielberg's and Mel Gibson's favorite film. Res Ipsa Loquitur. I was astounded, mystified and in awe of such masterpiece, and secretly wished local filmmakers could emulate Kurosawa's standards of perfection and conscientious effort to bring a beautiful movie into the immortal screen. The film was way different from the master's Dreams creation that consecrated Vincent Van Gogh's works in an enigmatic way, different in a sense that it appeals to my emotions and artistry rather than the deep recesses of my mind. Seven Samurai definitely remains in my list.

The Game gets going. This time, I am a fueled player and now more aware of other players' moves. The chessboard remains still, the scenario unchanged. Yet from where I stand, I plot my strategies, plan out my attack, the blitzkrieg idea never leaves my mind. But this is a fair game where you win by outwitting your opponents. A visionary could easily reach a check mate in a few moves. As Sun Tzu said,

"With careful and detailed planning, one can win; with careless and less detailed planning, one cannot win. How much more certain is defeat if one does not plan at all! From the way planning is done beforehand, we can predict victory or defeat."

Still, others try by sheer luck and gambles on maximum risk and seldom they get lucky. The Game gets exciting as days pass by. I am looking at my ultimatum and I can't wait to get on the road again.

Yesterday, I came across a chatter who happenes to be a physician. He is in his 40s, has a shaky marriage, has two kids, well-educated, well-endowed, depressive and cynical. No wonder I easily guessed that he must have liked the master stylist in any philosophical genre, David Hume. The perennial skeptic influenced him to believe in the non-existence of God. He eagerly preached about Hume's perspectives in "Of Miracles," wherein he posed four arguments on believing in miracles, to wit:

(1) witnesses of miracles typically lack integrity;

(2) we have a propensity to sensationalise, which prompts us to uncritically perpetuate miracle stories;

(3) miracle testimonies abound in barbarous nations; and

(4) miracles support rival religious systems and thus discredit each other.

And in "Of a Particular Providence and of a Future State," Hume hid his arguments in a conversation between two characters, who displayed three arguments on the idea of God, namely: First, our knowledge of God as creator is restricted to the effects that we see in his creation; since the world (the effect) is imperfect, we cannot conclude that God (the cause) is perfect. Second, justice in the universe is restricted to the imperfect justice that we see around us. Third, the singular and unparalleled nature of the universe prevents us from making analogical inferences about the creator.

Yet inspite of these almost sound arguments, I asked him if he was happy with his life. Obviously, he isn't. Then I told him that I dabble into philosophy, too and in fact, Friedrich Nietzsche remains to be my favorite philosopher save for his daring announcement on the death of God. He asked, "What did you gain from reading philosophy?" I smiled, and said, "Cynicism," but of course there's more to it, I added.

Perhaps it was too much for him to understand my idea of bliss, which elation I derive from a personal relationship with God, that's why he bargained to change the topic. I have been an atheist, all right, but I didn't flaunt it like he did, as if it was his crowning glory. What was there to be proud of when everyday of my life I was consumed by extreme depression, too much idealism and emptiness? Atheism became a fad among my friends and I reckon it's the same as with this doctor. I don't expect "normal" people to easily understand my moral principles. In fact, I expect for them to scoff on it but I return the sarcasm with a shrug. Truth reveals itself in time. Even Pontius Pilate pondered on Truth when he asked his wife, Claudia:

"Veritas. What is truth, Claudia? How do you know truth?" She patted him on the shoulder, and whispered to his ear, "You will never know truth, until you hear it."

I sealed the chat with a prayer that people would eventually be enlightened. If not, I wish for them to leave my principles alone.