Monday, November 27, 2006 Walking with big bro By Zosimo T. Literatus
THERE is in places of history a certain kind of spirituality that grows with the passing of time, with the passing of lives, and with the passing of the spirits of nature. And surprises of this kind could be stunning when you least expect it.
But the curse of familiarity is the tendency to miss (translate: take for granted) things we often see every day in our lives. Often only strangers learn to harvest the richness of a historical gift because of the inherent awe for strangeness.
The Rizal Park in Dapitan City was a common sight among Dapitanons and even Dipolognons. When I was a high school student in Dipolog City, I never visited the park as often as tourists might. A drop on the way to a nearby beach would be enough and the haste sufficed to provide only a passing glimpse of the place that Dr. Jose Protacio Rizal developed and where he lived in for four years.
But staying in Cebu City for many years for my college studies and thereafter makes you a stranger of a once familiar place. And visiting The Rizal Park became an event to look forward to.
Coming back to The Rizal Park imbues an atmosphere of newness and wonder. Every step was a delight; every turn of the head spoke of a hungry search for something to fascinate the spirit and the mind.
The park bridge in the middle of the grassy lawn of the Rizal Hut stood silently in welcoming arms. The bamboo hut, where the Rizal couple stayed and Jose sometimes played pranks at Josephine, watched silently at us. And the small rivulets of water in a manmade spring softly sang in crystal songs.
As we sat on a concrete bench, made to stand the changing seasons, my attention drifted to two boys walking hand-in-hand on slabs of concrete footpaths around a circle of wooden fences surrounding a pool of seawater coming in through a manmade channel underneath the park.
The bigger child was about 12 years old; the younger one, around three. The height of the younger one was twice shorter than the older kid. Their steps were regular, taking the time to enjoy the company so separated with age-defined differences–Big brother, walking with small brother. It’s like Jesus holding our hands as we confidently (or perhaps fearfully) walk in this life.
There is in places of history that grows. And that can grow in us if we allow the spirit of the place touch our hearts, inspire our minds, and open up a new sparkle in our lives.
