The recollection of my nightmare lingered much of the day, unprocessed, and in the background. It wasn’t distressing me. I had already accepted its existence in my experience, and ‘dealt with it’ – I thought. In a spontaneous moment of unintended sharing with my traveling partner, it clearly still had the power to unsettled me, and I felt the emotions rush through me. It was a powerful moment to share, and he was there with comfort and support and his steady calm demeanor on which I so rely when I am in distress. A hug, a kiss, and our moment ended; I went back to work. The day finished well, and I thought no more of my nightmare…
…It was on the walk home tonight that the threads of that distant dream began to unravel, to tangle, to take new shape as I walked and considered love, considered the book I am reading now and a book I have long yearned to read and simply never started. I considered the nature of time and opportunity, in the context of this one finite mortal life stretching back 52+ years, and ahead of me some indeterminate additional number of (I hope) years. That was no mere nightmare last night – I walked home today grinning in the sunshine over the feeling of sunlight on my face, on my back, and a feeling of being illuminated from within. Perspective is still a very big deal.
Darkness must exist for illumination to reveal what is hidden.
Proust is on my Kindle now. There is a blank canvas on my easel. There is time in my day, and a feeling of lightness in my heart, as if all that is not mine has fallen away – some strange sort of ‘letting go’ has occurred in my sense of self. I’m okay with that; it’s a beginning.
Evening Light 