September 12, 2021
Past an hour in the middle of Sunday, I decided to walk home under the hesitating sun which occasionally peeks from thick dark clouds like Peter Pan. I walked past the White House where Divine Master once lived. It is almost old and unattended. But minor patches or recent innovations now lie fallow and unfinished. I wished it was preserved so that people could visit it just like the house of Jose Rizal in Calamba. I can see the side, or its outside walls worn by the tides of space and time. If walls could speak or if walls could record those voices and whispers of long ago, what a joy to listen through time!
Divine Master… Of course, who would not have thought with melancholy and gladness the moments and times of His life. I never met Divine Master. When he crossed over, I was in my elementary days, and I lived far from here. Blessed are those who saw him, felt him, and being blessed by him. I do not know why but I am sure that this man whom they call the ‘mysterious superstar of the South’ is no ordinary man.
I’ve read a lot of books. I’ve read a lot about those controversies and acts of Jesus which as of now are called myths by scholars. I’ve read a lot of those theologies, religions, physics, and epistemologies but I’ve never read about any man who can transfer his powers of healing and miracles to any man who would follow him. Pythagoras could not. Moses could not nor Elijah nor Apollonius of Tyana. Not even the sainted Comte de St. Germain nor Cagliostro. I’ve never read any man who could readily transfigure himself from his young feature to an old man—who is a child in the morning, a vigorous young man in the middle of the day, and an old Man in the afternoon.
Bi-location was from many instances displayed by saints and adepts. Sages displayed their siddhic powers too. Possessing also these magical powers, only one man, if he is properly called to be a man, could raise the dead back to life; only one man could release a newborn baby out of nowhere called ‘reincarnated’. Only one man so far as I know could perform such feats. If Jesus Christ the Galilean Master could turn water into wine, Ruben Ecleo changed seawater into gasoline. He calmed raging seas and winds. He could even stay underwater for hours!
Once a young girl cried because her toy was destroyed, Master Ruben approached the child with a smile. He opened his closed hand and suddenly a bird appeared out of nowhere giving it to the crying child. He also made the blind see, the lame walk, and the deaf restored their hearing. With the magnetic passes of his hands over barren wombs, women miraculously conceived. He could predict future lives, and future events, and not one of them, not even a single of them failed. He is a mysterious man among the many. Professionals could not fathom him. He is a mystery.
These were my thoughts as I walked down past Buray Avenue. Random but nostalgic. The middle of the day is silent. You can see the road all the way down towards the sea. I look around not even a stir you hear. Most of the folks inside I’m sure are taking naps; some lazied themselves in front of their TVs while most of the kids stooping busy with their phones. It is a long history down the memory lane. But that is a secondhand memory passed down to me or shared with me whose content is from the stories of people who met him; from the people who were eyewitnesses to his miracles and deeds; from people who shared their secret thoughts and their experiences like Canterbury tales.
But what is beautiful even now is that all those folks who are living witnesses are still alive. Some have gone but some still remain. I even had the chance to talk to Tatay Cuper Edera years before who is also an eyewitness to the three men from a yacht anchored at Cabilan Island. If in ancient times, the disciples were troubled complaining about the lack of books to write the deeds of the Galilean Master, we now have all the resources but alas, we lack the writer whose pen could muster his deeds!
I once dreamt of a book whose title is “The Life and Times of the Divine Master”. I never saw its contents. Maybe I opened it and read but I didn’t remember upon waking up. All I saw was the book and title. Maybe it was an Akashic record only to be read in the spiritual realm.
These were my thoughts as I walked down Buray Avenue. I was totally melancholic about the things that passed in the past which I wished in my heart I was there to see it. I never saw the Divine Master. I never heard his voice nor saw how he walked or his gestures. Even I do not know why I should feel it like this.
I walked down past Buray Venue. I walked all the way down even though my troubled knees ached (it has been since last year). I can see on the right a large black boulder, a remnant of the past still intact with the houses up and down nearby. I can see beautiful concrete houses well-tended and flowered against the backdrop of gray and torn residences. A man sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree half naked passing his time for some fresh air; a ladder leaning on a street post possibly the lineman stopped for a lunch break; stores different and many of them; establishments, shops all lined down. This is the same street where his feet once trod. It is easy to walk down towards the sea but that means your back against the shrine.
I hate to break it but once I passed by and saw the Admin Building, I missed Grand Master and everything that is all there is to it.
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