"But all things that are exposed are made manifest by the light, for whatever makes manifest is light. Therefore He says: 'Awake, you who sleep, Arise from the dead, And Christ will give you light.'" Ephesians 5:13-14 (Orthodox Study Bible)
"Love is not consolation. It is light."
"A rooster crows only when it sees the light. Put him in the dark and he'll never crow. I have seen the light and I'm crowing."
"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."
Martin Luther King, Jr.
"Faith is the strength by which a shattered world shall emerge into the light."
It's finally the tangible morning light when I let up the window shade that heals me. The light in Merced's slightly diffused, so that these mornings, objects have a softened edge to them, like paintings of heaven. It's out into this light that I start the day on an early jog. I have limbs; I use them. I have eyes; they're made use of, this morning, finally, after some days of darkness, by light, by Light. This newness enters me like a creeping quiet, and with, it seems, little effort on my part (unless noticing the light and holding my gaze on the noticed could be considered effort), some ugly feelings fall away and I am something else. I praise the day with whispers as I jog lightly down the creekside path; I ask for Divine breath to move and sustain me. I cannot take these moments of light for granted or try to hold onto them or boast about them. I do find myself cherishing the whole course of my life--each joy and even more so, each tragedy or perceived loss. It's a kind of faith I'm granted after weeks of obedient prayer, the prayer of discipline, not of feeling.
I used to always imagine that when a romance was shattered, that the pieces were colored tile that I could pick up again and re-arrange, but now I see them as shards of crystal, each staying still in its place, reflecting light.
And everything, for this morning, is light, and I crave the next morning, so I put myself to bed a little bit earlier, so I can wake with the new sun.
Some mornings, she walks the asphalt path
along the creek and the sun
shines it shines on water
so she thinks her reflection is light
she is light
all is light
it’s like this late summer
wants her figure to be such a big she
she becomes the cottonwood trees
and the sky between