When I lived alone in my apartment, I kept the blinds twisted shut, not wanting the hundreds of complex residents to peer into my private space. But the apartment stayed very dark. And cold, because I turned down the heat to save energy and money. Wrapped in blankets, I could not wake up in the morning without the end table lamp on a timer. My phone alarm could not wake me, but the lightbulb in my face could, and did. In my new second-story bedroom, I kept the blinds open, and awoke easily to the early summer-morning light. With the approach of winter, the morning skies are dark. But my Aerogarden lights snap on at 6:30, as does my end-table lamp. (Confession: I have a different weekend setting for my lamps.) Sleeping late simply is not possible with those lights blaring. I can detect the difference in my mood between the cavernous apartment and my new quarters, bright with natural and artificial light. I not only see the light with my eyes, but feel lighter inside. Mom and Dad, too, have noticed the early-morning light from my room. On separate evenings, they both mentioned with chuckles how my lights woke them up and they shuffled over to shut my door. They love light, and open their plantation blinds wide to fill the house with sunshine. Light remains largely a mystery to scientists, even though Newton and Einstein and others revealed much about light’s nature and properties. And light is the subject of wonder and power to prophets and poets, who liken light to intellectual enlightenment and spiritual awakening. The scripture of my Church equates light and truth, and explains: That which is of God is light. Light proceeds forth from the presence of God to fill the immensity of space. They that receive light, and continue in God, receive more light, and that light grows brighter and brighter in them until the perfect day. I think it is a beautiful notion that we can allow light and truth into our souls, and can grow in light until we become creatures of light and truth, with no darkness or malice or guile. I want to fill my life with light—except in the middle of the night.
“This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine”…anytime!
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I’m away, Roger, because I’m reading you, lol. I’ve returned to Rabbit Lane. Every time I return, I get the urge to stop though. To write myself. It’s hard to explain how soulfully I connect. To the place, to the writing, to your voice. And then to have you also recommend Oliver and Doyle… Anyway, back to you… Just wanted to tell you (again). 💛
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