spreading our sails on the sea of light...

This is what the heart knows (under, through, and above) all words: that beyond our small sense of things a magnificent light surrounds us. Mark Nepo

Summer in Nova Scotia,  I love it.  Through our new screen door a lovely freshness wafts down the hall tinged with the aroma of wild roses, continuing on past this desk, by the piano and out onto the deck. We have a postage stamp front lawn edged with rainbow-summer divinity, flowers. Looking up, I catch the yellow finches, as delighted in the new summer sun as I; criss-crossing in the air as they seemingly play tag around the bird feeder  -- spreading their "sails on the sea of light." *

Summer emits an aroma of lightness, I can feel it, I am lighter. Birds saturate the air with song. I know when they wake and when they sleep. A friend arrives. Her dress is flowing in the breeze, arms wrapped in velvet-warmth. She is happy, laughing easily. My son arrives in shorts emitting a vacation-feel yet he has just worked ten hours. Finches, flowers, friend and child arriving, indeed, the light does dance, "my darling, striking the chords of my love."* I feel it in my bones, in my eyes, in my skin. Even the clouds are edged in this warmth of summer sun -- inside and out.

Imagine, all, at essence, at core, at heart is light. Leaders of the great religions fill millions of libraries around the world with this message. Everyone of them witnessing it while walking in and with their personal tragedies. Jesus stated clearly, "I am the light of the world." When Buddha was dying his student wept feeling the light on earth would be extinguished -- yet the reply was, "Anan, Anan, be a light unto yourself." Mohammad after his experience of enlightenment observed, "To the light I have attained and in the light I live."

I know I am light, that we are all essentially light. I know that beyond my small sense of things a magnificence does surround me, is me at core. Yet, the problem is, rather than catching glimpses of it, I want to be living in the feeling of it, having that as my "home base" rather than catching it on the wing different times of the day. I want to know how I can thin my veil, wear a path, awaken my senses enough to experience the trickle of joy, a warmth that begins to thaw me in the moment.  I want thoughts that spread my wings on the sails of light, and like Tagore, shatter into gold every clouded thought.

Then comes a luminosity, a caring, an awareness of exquisite Presence. I feel a smile, a laugh, a giggle birthing. Mirth, "my darling, is spreading from leaf to leaf."* And, I take some hope as my grand daughter who is four asked me the other afternoon, "How come you are "laughy", Grandma? I might reply, "It is the reflection of your own light, Grand daughter."

photo source: fotolia.com
* Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore, Novel Peace Prize, 1913