By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

“TUNGANGA” has different meanings depending on the context of the person saying it. For example, when confronted with exceptional beauty, one is likely to say, “Napatunganga ako sa ganda!” (I was awed at the beauty!). That is the context of my late mother, who loved to look at comets and the stars on a clear night.

It can also be the reaction of someone looking at a person he or she is attracted to, making that person speechless. “Aka-tunganga ka la met ed sikato!” (You’re mesmerized by him again!). There is no exact translation of “tunganga” in English. In this context, the word could mean “being spellbound, entranced, mesmerized, awestruck, or dumbfounded/speechless due to wonder, beauty, or amazement.” Acts indicative of tunganga include “gazing, gaping, or being dazzled or rapt.”

But, tunganga can also mean other things to other people. Some say it is synonymous to “tanga”, which primarily means “stupid, foolish, dumb, or slow-witted, used as an insult for someone lacking sense, but it can also mean naive or careless . . .” Others say that the act of making tunganga is to look at something aimlessly and without thought.

I had the privilege of reading the draft of the book, Crossings and Blessings, a book offering of a friend, Marianita C. Villariba (Girlie to friends), where “tunganga” was given a new context, “our indigenous way of being”. According to Girlie, “It’s when someone stares into space, seemingly idle. They’re not rushing, not thinking. Just being. Many mistake it for laziness. But it is, in truth, a portal to presence. . . . You don’t do tunganga. You enter it, like slipping into a pond of stillness.”

I am “in tunganga” often before I write anything, especially poetry and literary prose. It is not a conscious act, but I know it is when I receive the pulse of a heightened state of awareness that offers profound connection with a divine source, enabling clarity, intuition, and wisdom. I do not enter it, I am just there, like I am one with the flow of an eternal dance, dancing in my own rhythm, in sync with the beat of the cosmos.

We celebrated the birthing of Girlie’s book on 07 November through the “triduum” as her husband Ed (Edicio de la Torre) called the three-day sharing of meals and conversations, spreading the event to dates where friends can “risk” their presence, despite the threat of typhoon Uwan. We attended on the first day, as originally scheduled and were gifted with a free copy of the book and four large postcards of her paintings and a hand-painted paper where she promised we could “write our wishes and expect it to come true on her birthday in December.” I was surprised to see my emailed comment as a blurb, at the back cover of the book:

“This book is a meditative flow of universal vibrations and spiritual rhythms from which a receptive reader can practice “tunganga” and become one with the process, so that there’s no distinction between the person and the space, only a unity.

I find myself a habitué of each page, where ancient connections draw very personal strings. In reading, one is able to “see” and recognize that “bridges” meant to be crossed over, are paths necessary to prepare crossing over the many other bridges we are going to cross over in the many other universes we’re still going to traverse. The calling of “pagtatawid” in this life, continues beyond.”