Reflections on things that matter.
(Art by Shel Yang)
There are days that come along every so often on which I feel absolutely brilliant. I feel like God is smiling down on me. Like I can see the world for what it is. I feel like I have a glimpse of the divine, and that I can see the other world just beyond the shadows of this one. On those days, I feel so alive. I feel like I’m radiating with light.
Shortly after those days, I fall into a dark hole. I can’t see the sun, let alone the beautiful world of pure light that enraptured me the day before. I feel like a wet match in a dark room.
Sometimes I am terrified of the brilliant days because I know the dark ones aren’t too far away. I am terrified to be brought to the height of glory because everything else is blackness and despair by comparison. But at the same time, I live for the brilliant days. I live for the days when I see what’s real, and I am at peace, exalted above the mundane and the painful, and the weak and the sad. I relish the brilliant days, because God is real to me in those days, so brilliant and glorious and close that all is consumed in the light of his presence, and everything takes on weight and meaning and reality.
When the dark moments come after that, when my mind stops reeling from the shock of removal from that brief glimpse of glory, my heart remembers. My heart remembers the light. At first it wants to despair, being separated from that light, but then, it remembers hope, and that hope carries me from one brilliant day to the next, protecting me from the darkness of the chasm that would consume my soul in grief and despair.