It seems to me that when you look back at a life – yours or another’s – what you see is a path that weaves into and out of deep shadow. So much is lost. What we use to construct the past is what has remained in the open, a hodgepodge of fleeting glimpses. Our histories, like my father’s current body, are structures built of toothpicks. So what I recall of that last summer in New Bremen is a construct of both what stands in the light and what I imagine in the dark where I cannot see.
You can see clearly in sacred moment of light.
What liberates us is the light and love.
Travel is costly yes, but it pays dividends too.
God is the only book that can never be touched, open and seen.
Caine erupted in disbelieving laughter. “Yeah, that’ll do it. ‘I’m just a kid, Your Honor!’ Hah. They’ll have to find a few scapegoats, and guess who it will be? You and me, surfer boy. You and me.
In a futile attempt to erase our past, we deprive the community of our healing gift. If we conceal our wounds out of fear and shame, our inner darkness can neither be illuminated nor become a light for others.
The spirit of light dwell in thee. Let it shine.
O’ melancholy,hectic chill for human soul,herewith dismal presence,any spirit does descent.
Sometimes it’s our darkest moments that make us shine.