When tree-loads of leaves drop around the roots of my Silver Maple like a weighted blanket – when darkness encloses the shortened evenings like a husky shadow – how do I preserve the fading light as it dissolves into the graying dull of winter?
This year I find myself asking this question as I struggle to look for the light amidst a dark season of loss. During the warmer months I could see the light more clearly. But as summer passes, it no longer presents itself as dappled sprinkles through my Maple’s leaves, or as gentle rays on the pastel rose in my garden that bloomed during the sweet infancy of summer. During those months, I could be deceived into feeling my loss lessened by the sheer beauty around me and the cheerful faces that, like the rose, bloomed in the warmth of the lengthened summer light. But as the light dwindles and the days begin to grow cold, I remember — I remember that the world isn’t right; I remember the sorrows — the scars that the earth bears as she cradles her people gently in her rotation of the sun. And I remember my own sorrows.
To my chagrin, I am coming to the realization that finding light amidst the darkness of sorrow means that I have to look for it with an acute intentionality – I must “labor to find the loveliness,” (if you allow me a little cheesy alliteration.)
And as hard as it is for me to admit, I can’t simply hope that the light finds me, and, in some cases, I must find a way to create it. But when the precious diamonds of creativity are snatched from around my bare neck, I find that I must hunt for the light; for beauty; for hope. Finding it, remembering it, preserving it, and gathering it into a safe place is difficult work - especially when the creeping claws of depression move stealthily across my skin, ready to attack at any moment.
But the toughest part isn’t in the fight against those claws – yes, that’s hard, but it’s in the assembly of tools dependable enough to win the battle against the beast that is the hardest part:
Those moments of sublimity passed, the festive faces, the sunset over my canoe in the lake… all those shining moments must be remembered — I must hold them close. Because the true defense against the hunger of the dark is in the weaving, knitting, and soldering of each precious piece of that light into a glistening suit of armor. And that, my friends, is the toughest part for me. To assemble these moments — these slivers of light — into a wearable defense against the dark? So very difficult. But crucial.
As I begin to sense the shadows lengthening, or see the dusk start to fall, it is in that moment that I need to summon all my gathered light – those memories; those bright, treasured moments — I need to haul them from every storehouse and call them from every cranny: I must collect those fleeting flickers to fashion my weapons for the battle. Because maybe, just maybe, if I raise my refractive shield against despair, I will have a chance at blinding the beast.
So this Autumn, I am determined to spend time hunting for the light and stowing away its lingering rays in the storehouse of my heart, so that when darkness comes, I can harvest those beautiful shafts as they spread their bright wings over all that is good, and all that is true, and all that is beautiful to weave an armor of light so impenetrable that darkness scuttles away in the brilliance of its gleam.
My friends, won’t you join me in the battle against the dark? I would love your company along the way.