It was my third day on the mountain. For the first time in my life, I was disengaged from the usual world – from the usual people, usual ways, usual places and usual time. All around me was a strange land. The people, in their own ways, tried to make me feel welcome. Their smiles managed to thaw my frozen self and their words were kind and gentle sounds to me, but all the same they remained foreign to me. Even matters of the spirit became totally other for me - seeing that there were no crosses, no images, no chapels brought to me a sensation of loss and orientation. Except for my Shorter Christian Prayer Book and rosary, nothing could remind me of my usual prayer life three days ago down there at the Novitiate. In Arasaas, which means rustling sounds made by the wind, something happened to me that changed me and continues to change me.
It was a cold February dawn of 2004 in Arasaas, a mountain community of Mangyans to which I was assigned for my immersion-exposure activities. I woke before any hint of the sun. But I could remember that even before my body was alive; my heart was already awakened by something. The only thing to do was to yield to it. And so I did. I went out from my hut, got my prayer book and went out into the open grounds with the intention to pray while waiting for the sun. This is the setting that met me: I was standing on a mountain, and was facing another high portion – its peak, meaning I was on a semi-plateau area while the rest of the mountain ends up there. It was of a height capable of being touched by the early clouds that the preliminary rays of the sun granted the misty drapes with a beautiful but mysterious reddish hue. I said to myself,
As the seconds progressed, I noticed that the visual drama intensified. I continued through the psalms but my glimpses at the “burning” mountain top became frequent as the crimson glow became so inviting, so appealing and so attractive – then I was disturbed. The feeling crept in when I realized in my heart of hearts that the otherwise natural phenomenon was slowly becoming an unnatural event to me. This time, the beauty seemed to grip me, called me in ways that were not to be rendered in words, and the reddish glow seemed to fill me up with it. I struggled to find the will to continue reading the breviary because the mountain seemed to rival the very prayers I was reading. And so I continued until I reached the words of the reading: You have seen for yourselves how I treated the Egyptians and how I bore you up on eagle wings and brought you here to myself! Right and there and then, I stood motionless. How could the words be so appropriate? The words seemed to describe my state. The words spoke to me. The words seemed to rule over me, had power over me – so strong that I closed the breviary, and looked at the mountains, and as if, the words, me and the mountain became one. I could remember that my mind went blank except for the mountain I see, and the whirling space around me gradually fading in the background. I could no longer continue reading because I felt that and the Lord and I were already talking, and He had just confirmed the reason why I was up there, and I knew that I was there because He brought me up there. I could also remember that while I stood in front of the mountain, my lips seemed to move as if silently forming words but remained silent. I could remember the feeling of happiness, the silent rapture in me and that sense of being loved. I just stood there. I wondered if I prayed and how I prayed – I was not sure. Only the mountain existed.
Then at some point, I was snapped back into my usual self. Looking up, the reddish glow began to lose its hold on me and I felt the growing heat of the sun. I decided to go back into the hut, but I was met with a surprising number of Mangyan children behind me, looking up also at the mountain then to me. From a distance, the older people were also looking at me. One of them asked me, Hintay kawo nakatanaw sa mabariw? Which means, why are you looking at Mabariw (the peak)? And they related to me that I was there looking up, standing for a long time. Indeed, when I looked at my watch, it was 9 am in the morning, but I could remember that I felt it was a very short experience.
