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Amado L. Picardal



 In the silence and solitude of this mountain

 I sit still surveying the scene.

 I see no burning bush

 nor do I hear a thundering voice.


 From this vantage I look at the sight below.

 I see the fire raging across the land.

 I hear the ascending cry

 of millions of anguished voices.


In the silence and solitude of this mountain

 I gaze intently at your reality

 no longer with a myopic vision

 but with a higher, wider, deeper eyeview.


 The purge goes on within.

 I am emptying myself completely

 to allow you to penetrate

 the deepest part of me.


 The more I become one with you

 the more I fathom your liberating will,

 the more I see with your eyes,

 hear with your ears,

 feel with your heart,

 and walk with your strength.


In the silence and communion of this mountain

I see no beatific vision.

Only the sight below:

Our people enslaved and starving.

I feel no ecstasy.

Only the of seeing them

Exploited and dehumanized.


I cannot levitate.

 I cannot go up another higher storey.

 I have to go down and meet you on level ground

 so that I may walk with you and our people

 in their exodus from this no man's land

 towards the promised land.


How I wish I could pitch my tent

 or build my mansion on this beautiful mountain.

 But my true home is somewhere down below

 where the people are

  and where they are going.

  this mountain can only be the place of rendezvous

 with my deeper self and with the absolute you

 so that I can sharpen my vision

 and clarify my mission.


 There will be other mountains to climb

 along the way.