It is Light
She knew not what she would write. Sitting down. She began to let life speak for itself. It is the light guiding her from birth up to this moment, the only point worth making.
The freedom is light guiding he who finds there is no meaning; that he can finally go and be no one. It is light in the darkest room, beneath two thin sheets where there lies a body—cold, shivering, surrounded by loved ones—under one roof, and those outside that sleep tenderly in the night.
It is light under two eyelids shut, that touch the cold and the warmth both truly, and know the second can never end; not even death has that much power. It is light that leads her light steps, heavy hurt real, honoring heart, continuing to follow the energy of soul, a path she has committed to in full. It is light.
The acknowledgement of weakness. It is light.
A child’s cry for her mother at night, part of each one’s path. This is the mortal life beside the immortal evolution. All that hear listen for and honor the light, knowing these sounds well. Light does have a sound. It can be a big seashell up to your ear, whooshing openness, widening eyes to cascading memories of a childhood by the sea. Taken away, the sound lingers still, though the body might sway; the mind, consider.
It is inside every one of us. Certainly. Certainty. Constant. The shell is just one more reminder. There is no such thing as “for no good reason” when you honor the light. It is light, not the answer, after all; there is only your true path and the off road.
What is reason, after all? It is not something that guides. It is something we use.
It is light shining through the crackled ground illuminating the imbalance in the soles of my feet; someplace my mind has led me to. I wouldn’t define it by labeling it ‘good’ nor ‘bad.’ Perhaps, that is a start. Light has a warm feel, likewise, in the coldest moments. Truth is the closest word I know to describe the light I know little of, yet feel.
It is light pulsing, radiating through the chambers of my chest, touching this arrhythmic heart. It is light eroding the mind’s need to define signals. It is light that disproves anything tangible, ideological, reasonable, realizable, as something worthy of consideration. Anything chased after is illusion: a cloaked shadow of false promises.
One must only follow the light. Pursuits in line with truth naturally emerge; some will bear fruit. Things obtained along the path of light are not successes. Things lost along the path of light do not signify failure.
It is light, ironically, that is the only signal.
We are not to assess the worthiness of our pursuits. We are not to define our lives, our thoughts, or our brethren. We are to connect to the light that is everywhere, by letting light in, and most importantly, by honoring the light inborn.
It is light—the voice of our souls—to be followed.
It is our duty to let the light from a higher truth shine brightest on this mortal plane.
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Assistant Editor: Christina Lorenzo/Editor: Bryonie Wise
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