Friday, August 16, 2013

Where Little Lights Play

When we read a writer’s thoughts we seldom see where he or she sat as the words first hit the page. To me, that would complete the picture and enhance the idea. My writer friend would be more than his or her thoughts; he’d be a person in whom I could feel more connection. Yet, even as I say this I rather doubt that my readers would feel they know me better if they could see me here on my patio in robe and slippers sans make-up or combed hair. Sometimes we can, in the flesh, be a distraction to our words.

If I could share with you the little light show I’m enjoying, the playful sparkles of sunlight on the creek where it bends out of sight, if you could drift with me into musings that rise to the sun bursting through the tall trees and sending out brilliant threads of itself, then I think you might feel closer. 

Here in the cool of a morning can’t you see why some ancients would want to worship the sun? They understood the obvious, that none of our earthly joys could exist without our sun. Everything here on this little orb depends on old Sol. He is too brilliant to view with the naked eye but we see exact replicas of him in many places. I see them on rear windows of cars ahead of me at the stop light. I see them on bumpers, on fenders, on smooth surfaces everywhere. Little lights play and cavort in strange places, but never stay. Here on my patio I see the sun peeking through the trees begging me to look at it but I can’t for long. Instead I watch how its rays play on the shingled walls of my house, how they sneak into the kitchen window and invade the bird’s cage to touch Tommy's tail feathers. Those dancing lights on the water's ripples at the bend of the creek send sparkles of joy into my soul. 

Of all the pleasures of getting older I can think of none that I enjoy more than the grace to sit still and toy with thoughts like those little lights dancing on the water. It may be a grace that younger people know too, especially babies. If we've aged enough to find stillness and solitude in beauty and gladness instead of sinking into the dark depths of pain and sorrow we know what it means to get better as we get older. It even allows us to see our own halos in the mirror of Mind. Wow!

I could stay here all day and may, indeed, come out again to sit and ponder, to read and reflect, but for now I’ll head on into the house, get dressed and do what needs to be done to the house. My daily tasks might seem more pleasant if I would see myself at play with all the other women (and some men) who have to make home sweet, clean and comfortable. Just think, gang, we’re little lights playing on the waters of life and reflecting the great Sun we cannot look at but without whom we would never be! We can’t see each other, but we’re here together, lighting our paths one way or another and sharing our own unique take on what life is all about. Thinking of you makes housework playtime! And getting older? Who cares? There's beauty in that if we grab it and run!

1 comment:

  1. Dear Joyce, what a nice post!
    We're all little lights...
    So we are.
    I've read some of your essays and enjoyed them greately.
    Have a nice still day (though it's evening in your place)

    tatyana

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