Friday, April 8, 2011
the light gets in
the paint peels, the siding rots, the roof leaks, ants eat away at the beams, stones on the chimney chip and crack and fall away, bombs drop, the wind blows, the earth moves, lightening strikes, waves crash, the whole structure comes tumbling down. in our lives the things around us have a tendency to break and crumble; we are helpless, unable to stop the gradual decay. we, each of us, scramble to repair the damage, to stop the assault on the infrastructure that shelters us, helps us to survive, makes us human, keeps us civilized.
on the nightly news with brian williams we are witness to a demolition project, a fire, a flood, a squall, a tsunami, a snowstorm, an earthquake, an avalanche, a hurricane, a war zone, all contributing to the piles. surrounding us are heaps of rotting rubble, the debris of humanity, either of our own making or created by forces beyond us.
and yet, stop for a minute. see it? through the splinters and shards and piles of our broken lives, light still somehow manages to squeeze past and get to us. no matter what, no matter how bad things become, light gets in, darting into the many gaping cracks and holes. the cracks provide a place where light can move, always illuminating, always finding a way, an opening, into the crevices and the damage, blazing by the shadows, to tumble through and shine the darkness away.