I thank all those who offered me their prayers and encouraging words. I’ve nothing to give in return but my own humble prayers and some lame descriptives of biblical events. Indeed, to all of you, I am very grateful. I’m scheduled tomorrow for the IVP and for that they made me take five tablets of Dulcolax. Hmmm…limang Dulcolax. Mine is going to be a fun night!
For Coy, tinamad na ako to compose a long reply. Anyway, my message is pretty much the same as what I wrote below your comment on low-profile OT girls. So there…
Back to this post. Medyo parental guidance ito so if you’re below 18, you know the drill. Ask your mom to read my post first so she can scorn it for you. Anyway, eto na…
Novitiate is the time in the life of a seminarian in a religious congregation where he breaks his former patterns of life and develops a life of prayer and a healthy sense of spirituality. There are many restrictions like there’s no TV, no phone, no internet, no techie gadgets, no ATM cards, etc. But mind you, novitiate happens to be the most fun part of seminary life. We learned many things there like the life of our founder, our Enneagram number ( I’m a withdrawn 3), various techniques in prayer and meditation (East and West), types of ikebana (!) and bonsais, all sorts of card games (pinochle, anyone?), and so on. But for most of the time, we spend the day in quiet reflection, leaving me with lots and lots of time on my hands. And this seminarian’s hands will eventually itch to do something exciting. Something that matches the content of my equally idle and often fertile mind. And so I did what every seminarian would do at night when he’s alone in his room and has this sense of urgency, this nagging need, this uncontrollable desire to, uhhmmm, to pass time: I, Bro. Utoy, like the rest of my brother seminarians, wrote poems.
I’m sharing you one poem I wrote during my novitiate years which speaks of my own struggle on chastity. I found my inspiration on this poem from an illustration on Thomas Merton’s biography which shows his doodles of naked moustached women, drawn probably during his bored hours in the novitiate. Never had I claimed to understand what Fr. Merton wanted to convey with his spirituality books, but with this particular drawing, I knew very well how he felt.
I intend to write a disclaimer on how seminarians make better priests when they’re in touch with their sexuality, so you won’t accuse me of being malibog. But what the hoot, say anything you want. I love this poem.
On Merton’s Nudes
(a poem to recite when, at the seminary veranda, the sunset resembled a moist vulva)
Recite me a poem, Master,
that held in, like a wicker cage,
cirrus clouds at dusk, and copulation
-the scent, sweat, saliva and all-.
Just a roundabout koan
which I could cup on my palm,
a projection of my sex, possessing
pointless perfection of pink lotuses.
Allow me to chant it, distill
the desires to a drunken delirium,
pealing: the chakrah of my loins.
It shall be my vesper canticle,
where at the blunt joy of continence,
I’ll approach nirvanah
as empty as an untouched womb.
Filed under: Religion | Tagged: poetry, seminary, struggle | 13 Comments »