incandescence

There must be always remaining in every one’s life some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself is breathlessly beautiful and, by an inherent prerogative, throws all the rest of life into a new and creative relatedness, something that gathers up in itself all the freshest of experience from drab to commonplace areas of living and glows in on bright white light of penetrating beauty and meaning — then passes.

— Howard Thurman

my relationship with time shifted this year. living does that. somewhere along the line, a rock is thrown. it shatters what it hits. and as you stumble to pick up the pieces, you start to see that you won’t get it back to what it was. the picture window is no longer. instead, the shards are what you hold. 

i’m beginning to practice gathering the shards, holding each to the light. being careful not to get cut on the sharp edges, the piercing edges. knowing the shards are what’s left, i find it easier to lift each one, position it in front of the flame, turn it this way and that, and watch for the incandescence. 

it’s called seizing the day. 

it’s why we watch babies, stare at them mesmerized. they are our sages, the ones whose every dandelion, every dust mote floating by, is a new encounter. can you imagine emerging from the dark wet womb and suddenly feeling fleshy arms cradling you, soft lips kissing you? can you imagine finally putting form to the face from which that one murmuring voice has been coming? 

babies seize everything because it’s all new. the rest of us learn to seize things when we start to realize they won’t last forever. 

if only we all realized how fragile a life this all is. we would be kinder to it. we would be kinder to ourselves maybe. we’d let go of the hurts that poison us. we’d shake off the fears that strangle us. we’d dig down deeper maybe, and let all the beauties out. and, critically, we’d let more in. 

and so, with my understanding of time now deepened, my frame of time shifted, i am more determined than ever, and finding it far less arduous, to step out of my old, afraid ways and into the incandescence of each and every shard. each and every blessing called “this day.” this holy day.

i am, as thurman writes above, keeping an ear out for the singing of angels, and allowing the bright white light of this most blessed life to enfold me, to behold the breathlessly beautiful. before it passes. 

where are you seeing the incandescent? are you letting it in?

and happy blessed blessed new year. while my seat belt is buckled for the year ahead, let us hold hands, and bump our way along, scaffolded by those few fine things we know to be immutable and imperative.

note to true wonder: the bottom photo i took driving home from your farm all those blessed years ago. yes, i drove and clicked. and how it happened, i still wonder. but that heartland panorama i do love. and the heartland farmer.