Light Laughs away the Night

The morning seemed surreal just before sunrise. Even the birds weren't up yet.  The lamp in the study was already on as choral music played softly, suffusing the stark hour.  The door was open just enough for the warmth of the study's creative atmosphere to flood the hallway where the neighbor's black cat lay licking himself after his morning can of salmon. 

Embraced and sustained by the comfort of that early riser's ritual, the morning held a repast of ideas that might fuel the day. Worry had eroded the youthful free abandon that had once echoed through the halls of the old house, in days when the music was louder, and the day began after the sun had already prepared the playfulness that lay ahead. 

When did worry take prisoner such a carefree youth, who once laughed, mercilessly teasing life?  

The quiet held a resonate expectation on this particular morning.  Even genius stirs fitfully at the daybreak of creativity as the newcomer is seldom welcomed.  Ritual and tradition can bind one to the past, steeped in regret's rancid dark night, walling off the breath of life.  

Grace, who bore all the children of light now free of Plato's cave,  blinded her newborn to the illusory power of the phantoms who would stalk them in the night.  As she warned them not to look at the lumbering visitors, hunting their joy, the very light of their souls, she bade them to listen with two ears - one to the footsteps of those marauding merchants, who would rob them of their joy and freedom and bind them again to their oppressive plight, and the other to listen vigilantly, mindfully, to the sweet respite of her love, beaconing to them to grow ever brighter, lifting, ascending closer to her outstretched arms, welcoming them along the lighted path home.  

Worry cannot enter through the gate. The width and girth of its company forbid passage into wisdom's lightbeam. Yet, the ancient heartache would depart at lightning speed, unable to halt an attendant soul who knew the difference having tasted Grace's wine and willed away the weary woes of the past now powerless in the presence of her wisdom.  She would remind all who carry such heavy burdens of worry and woe of their meaningless non-reality in the light of life's timeless truth: suffering cannot save nor pain redeem. 


The sun peeked through the large windows as the morning doves cooed outside in the warmth.  The cat wanted to return home and his bidding stirred the study's occupant.  The breath of the new day sang into the quiet study.  The choral music had ended and for the first moment in a very long time, a sweeter song seeped into the burdened soul, humming the call to come, come into the light and be blinded by the freedom from all that would haunt and harm. Remember that Grace has bestowed on all her children the gift of choice, to choose her wine over the sickly poison of sinister thieves. She graciously invites all to come away with her and bask awhile in the light of her love.