Beside
this big old bed is a paper lamp. It is a column of orange light whispering to
someone I can’t see as I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for my thoughts to
stop. I know something I cannot say, can’t even begin to articulate, and the
orange light holds that knowledge in its secret supernatural voice like clear
water in a metal bowl. The story of light has been trying to let me know
something in my dreams. I have been resistant to it, like everyone else before
me. But there is no denying the reality of its narrative, its power, its tricky
strength, its trajectory of claiming. Filaments of orange light peer through
little holes in the paper lamp’s cylindrical body and I think of a column of
fire, a tongue of flame dancing and insistent. Something burning but stable and
unchanging. When will I know what to do? When will the silent fire decide to
speak my name? I sigh and slide between the cool white cotton of the bedsheets.
The lamp’s glass bulb flickers like a candle, goes out for a second, then
reappears, tinged with a purple undercurrent that is impossible to identify
with my eyes but is somehow undeniably present nonetheless. I sit up and listen
for the wind, for the way the branches of the shedding red oaks sound against
the glass of the big windows that open onto the forest. A shower of acorns
pelts the tin roof and the lamp gutters like a torch and goes out. Breathless
but not exactly fearful, I close my eyes to hear what the fire has to say,
adding a layer of chosen darkness to the hologram of orange and purple that
inhabits the new dark of the air around me.
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About Me
- Laura
- Georgia, United States
- I live at the edge of the forest in a little town in the north Georgia mountains. I teach sixth grade Language Arts and am writing a memoir of sorts about family, spirituality, and narrative. I am also exploring a possible writing project having to do with contemporary lay contemplative experience and how it might be informed by the Desert Fathers and Mothers of early Christianity. I am a relatively recent convert to Roman Catholicism and an admirer of Pope Francis, Leonardo Boff, Joan Chittister, and Richard Rohr. I'm a Lay Associate of Our Lady of the Holy Spirit Monastery in Conyers, Georgia. I am interested in indigenous cultures, narratives, and spirituality, especially how these can inform my spirituality as a lay contemplative. I write, read, take pictures, play around with creating ephemera from paper and cloth and other organic things. I cook, hike, watch wildlife, and collect random bits of interesting oddness, both tangible and abstract. I am a seer of smallness and a caretaker of ridiculous minutiae. If you want, e-mail me at riverrun67@gmail.com or lksorrells@hotmail.com.
Thank you. I needed your words today. xo
ReplyDeleteIsaiah 40:31King James Version
31 But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.
Thank you very much, John, for the comment. I'm glad my words reminded you of these.
ReplyDeleteOh I read that at Mom's memorial service, for her. It has a special place in my heart. I so very much appreciate your kind words. It makes me so happy when something I write is helpful or welcomed.
ReplyDelete