Light Upon Light

Perhaps light upon light is more difficult to perceive than light upon darkness. Light upon light contains the soft touch of ‘something else'. And what if this something else could be spun into a fine, indestructible thread, and woven into the most ordinary clothing? Would the trajectory of this new creation be considered perpendicular or parallel?

Maybe it is important to remember that any trail that has long since vanished from air or water still remains visible. With each and every breath we enter the inspiration that binds feathers to the feather-bed, egg whites to the omelet; that infuses a hint of eternity to three coin-sized moths flitting into artificial light, milky-white after months of a dark, melancholic journey - flickering for a moment in the jeweled silky brilliance of their destination's gemstone.

Several Directions

Perhaps every single moment of life stands open in several directions, like the unknown figures we see in dreams. A bird catches my eye, flying low through the air as I hear the woe-is-me call of the mourning dove, the screechy cries of jays and crows hopping on the lawn. Who are you? I ask in my deepest voice, as winged feathery swarms scatter and lift, bright balloons disappearing into the sky. Whose wings will I follow? And why? 

Maybe while the past is lost forever, everything that didn’t happen is doubly lost. Everything that could have been different is the hardest part. No landmark, just the contours of the many missed moments leading me on like a compass point. The tugs on my sleeve, the pleading whispers, the forest more than ever full of voices. I now know the cost of what once seemed effortless, of we who saw each other always for the last time. An absence so large the crows call out its sorrow. I forge on into every dark day searching for you with only a day’s supply of food, a mirror, and a flashlight. 

The Search

Perhaps they were soft, small and made of cloth so they could easily be held in our arms and hugged.  We clutched them in our sleep, played with them on rainy days, carried them to the post office, the preschool, the grocery store and the park. And since it was not unusual during this time for a lion to lie beside a zebra, for a shark to be cuddled, or for a black panther to be kissed and stroked, they came to represent the world as we often wished it were – soft, small, and good.

Maybe as we grew and our childhoods were crammed into small cardboard boxes, we continued, for a time, to demand justice against the sufferings of the world. Yet at some point it was easier to forget, along with everything else we were never very comfortable talking about. Today, although there is very little light left on the road, we turn around in an effort to reunite with what was lost, what was forgotten, what was harmed. There is still time to find it, we believe. It couldn't have gone very far. Neighbors come to help, but immediately become aware that the road is very long. What are you searching for? they ask. Please tell us where you lost it or put us into the path of where you last saw it. Several of them are smoking cigarettes. One of them is looking at his watch.