My Favorite Kind of Light

Wakes you slowly. It’s when the morning holds you in her heart, new and warm, singing the silent hum of starting all over again.

The sweet caress of creeping rays that climb the wall in the hall. It’s a poem I feel deeply, watching patches of sunlight make art from what was formerly bare in the dark.

I think that’s how enlightenment happens, we find our flow with the light. It’s this light, morning light, where I’m convinced the veil is thinnest. It needs no sound, no fanfare. It doesn’t even need our recognition. Every day, with sweeping simplicity, this light invites us into the truth. Pause long enough, you’ll feel it in your gut. This light envelopes everything, it’s just our walls that get in the way.