Wednesday, September 1, 2010
I started a post yesterday afternoon in between making supper before going to rehearsal and phone calls and being in town and running errands and doing laundry and taking venison out of the freezer to defrost and, and, and...
And it was about being so tired.
It included things like, "I am tired of assholes and their opinions. I am tired of my own assholiness and my own opinions."
And that I was tired of doing dishes and laundry and taking my walk and cleaning up dog pee and hurting and mostly, I was tired of being tired.
I still am. Tired of all of those things.
I got good sleep last night. And then I woke up this morning and although I could cram one million things into this day again, and I may end up doing that, for this moment, it is all okay. That light you see above is coming through the oaks in my back yard. Light made visible, light made real, the speed of light socked into my heart like a supersonic train, like an injection of pure good.
Go towards it.
Sometimes we have a need to huddle in the darkness and despair. It's okay. But then we have to crawl out again, we have to, and if we're lucky, we find those beams of light, those rays of dancing electrons, illuminating and making holy whatever they land on.
And if we take a moment, we can find them, even in our own backyard.
It is best, I think, to look for them when in the early morning or in the late afternoon when the sun (giver of light) is rising or falling in the sky and the air is magic with the way that light falls. During the hours of strongest light, when we are busiest and life is too full, everything is lit and so there is an overwhelming amount of it and we don't see it, it just is. There. Every where. So what? Light. Heat. Busyness. All leading to exhaustion.
No. It's those moments in the day when it is either just beginning to announce its presence or licking the land with its last sweet golden drops that we are stopped dead in our tracks by the singular beauty of it. Coming out of darkness or about to enter it again- that is when the light is most pure, most welcome, most lovely.
That is when we must force ourselves to be quiet, finally, and see it. Really see it. Look for it. Think about it. Cast off our exhaustion or our tossing dreams of night time to be still and find it. The birds announce it, morning and evening, both wild and domesticated.
We should too.
And this morning, I am greeting it, I am taking note of it. I am slowing down enough to search the yard for it, to take its picture, to write about it here.
To say that this life is tiring but at least twice a day, light dances in a way which is nothing short of magic and that if we all took the time to watch that dance, even to dance with it, to ignore those voices (they are clamoring in my ears even now) which say, "Get on with it, there is this to do, there is that, hurry, hurry, hurry!" we would all be better off.
Dance in the light if you can.