Scraps of Light

Suggestions of swear words

I’ve never had to grapple with a problem of this magnitude in all my 64 years. And I see no way out. Nothing in my experience has prepared me for solving anything like this.

Friends, siblings, children, have about as much chance of getting me out of this as does my beautiful Himalayan cat Dulcy. I know they would try if I told them what was threatening to tear my life apart. But I haven’t. The truth is I’m more than a little ashamed of letting myself even get into this awful mess.

It’s noon now and the bright sunshine invading my space seems to mock the darkness that has settled upon me like a leaden cloak. I realize I’ve had nothing to eat for 24 hours and heat some chicken soup. It’s supposed to be good for the soul, right? Or something like that.

It is rather soothing, but most of it goes into a container in the fridge. I return to my recliner, which has pretty much been my home since everything came crashing down yesterday afternoon.

I sit and think. Thinking starts to hurt. So I just sit. And sit. And sit. Dulcy keeps me company, her sapphire eyes seemingly full of sympathy for her mom.

The scene outside the floor length window facing me marks the passing hours. The glimmer on the emerald green grass, the glow on the golden flowers, the diamonds on the rippling lake beyond, slowly give way to creeping shadows.

Dusk arrives to signal suppertime for kids playing on the beach. Birds singing their siren songs begin retiring, one by one or in formation. Lights come to life on boats bobbing on the water and homes nestled along the curve of the shoreline. Comfortable, everyday things, so normal and peaceful. Also feels like mockery.

And as the earth continues in its foreordained path, it all yields to the inky night, which has ushered in a thick blanket of storm clouds. And so the sky and I become a perfect match.

But now that synchronicity is being somewhat dented by a few bright stars peeking through rare spaces. Wait, weren’t there tunes about the answer being in the stars?

I gaze intently through what has been almost exclusively my only window to the world since yesterday. Do those twinklers have something to tell me? I concentrate with everything in me, until that starts to hurt. If hope had even started to spring, crickets instead of revelations quashed it but good.

And so it’s back to hopelessness. And an enhanced dose of self-recriminations. It’s my fault, 100 percent, that I’m in this spot. And that I didn’t foresee that this spot would likely have no solution. And that others would be affected too. Triply beating myself up.

I’m no stranger to getting myself in trouble, nothing really illegal, though I may have skated up to the edge on occasion. But I always knew the risks, saw a way out in advance or found a way out in the aftermath, kept others out of the fray. Knowing the right people in the right places helped too. So what went wrong here. Has age dulled my senses? Has over confidence eroded my instincts? Was it really all luck that has now run out?

And then suddenly some of those clouds part just enough to make way for the moon, almost as if deferring to royalty. It’s at full glory, now turning indoors and outdoors almost daylight bright.

But . . . is that effer grinning at me? Mockery everywhere.

Nature calls, and as I enter the hallway I see that the moon has deposited a bright square onto the carpeting via the skylight. Oddly, it’s also found a way to scatter bits and pieces on the wall.

Looking into the open door of a bedroom I see stripes of light, compliments of the blinds. That’s OK. But there’s also an somewhat unexpected line of little teardrops on the crocheted bed quilt.

The door of the bedroom opposite is open just slightly and a single bar of light has sneaked in there too. An opportunistic streak that has streamed from the other bedroom window, through the open door, and into that small space between this door and frame.

There’s something so compelling about these rays working their way in here and there, landing in different shapes and sizes, merrily displacing the dark. I mean I guess that’s always happened but I just haven’t paid that much attention before.

In the bathroom with its mirrored medicine cabinet, additional mirror on the opposite wall and glass enclosure, all in cahoots with the shiny metal of the faucets and shower frame, the moonlight is having a field day. Designer patterns abound.

Then into the kitchen for a glass of water and there before me, more lunar handiwork. It has partnered with geometry to decorate the room, and even the back of the pantry, with fanciful configurations, at the same time creating a spotlight in the bottle of liquid soap.

I feel something stir within me. I run the water and start to fill my glass when my glance wanders to the adjacent wine rack. Hmmm, maybe a nice little glass of Cabernet could help interpret this strange new sensation.

Uncork, pour, take a few steps. Backtrack, pick up the bottle too, and on to the chair. Dulcy jumps up on the side table, successfully navigates around glass and bottle, and settles in my lap.

For the first time in countless hours my thoughts aren’t on THE PROBLEM, but rather on some relevant recollections. I’m thinking again about this phenomenon I’ve previously observed casually, but not much beyond that.

Light.

The persistence of light.

It shows up everywhere, even in the darndest places. Sometimes you know the origin, sometimes it’s a mystery. It takes shape in ways that might make sense, might not. And of course sunlight knows all those tricks too. When mirrors or shiny objects are present, it bounces around with total abandon. And if the wind joins in, moving shadows can give it a kind of heartbeat.

But here’s what’s true in all cases. Light finds a way. It will not be denied. It uses openings that we may not even realize are there. It takes advantage of reflective surfaces to multiply its effect. Light goes as far as it can and does not give up or give a ra . . . uh, a care about its size or shape at the final destination.

I think I’m on to something but just yet not sure what. Hmmm, probably shouldn’t be having this second glass of wine without a little cushion. Maybe some cheese and crackers.

Into the kitchen for just that. And a few olives can’t hurt.

Back in the chair, I see Dulcy sniff the wine and step back with squeezy eyes. And watch with a smile as she instead surgically relieves one of the crackers of its cheese, and still chewing curls in my lap.

I take a bite. A sip. A bite. A sip.

And the words form in my mind’s eye. See the light. I think that may have two meanings for me. Dulcy scans my face as if she senses a shift taking place.

More. Learn from the light. And I think about that. It always finds a pathway. And . . . it uses every opportunity to redouble its effect. And . . . it may create a large splash, or lesser patches, sometimes even just scraps.

So is this the revelation? It seems right. Be the light.

I’m feeling my way. What seems important is, Go as big as you can, even if as big as you can is - small. It’s emerging more easily now – look for the openings, the available pathways, let nothing stop you, make a large splash if you can, downsize if you can’t. Like the light.

I’ve been in such deep despair, facing the reality that a complete solution for this is – and I don’t often use this word – impossible. But now I’m thinking “Go Small.” Little ways to make amends wherever possible, to mitigate the fall-out to whatever extent I can, to try to at least limit the damage to myself and others. Productive baby steps. Increments of improvement. Scraps even.

And yes, I do believe I’ll swallow my shame and contact a couple of trusted allies to help me. To multiply the effects. Like the light.

Maybe in time it can all build to a fuller solution. Or maybe not. I know no matter what there will still be consequences, and I will accept them with no whining because Lord knows they’re deserved.

But through it all, persist, persist, persist, right to every available end point. Like the light.

With this new perspective, that burdensome cloak feels like its being replaced with a soft shawl. At the risk of disrespecting Caesar, I saw, I learned, maybe I’ll conquer - one small part at a time. Even better, this is a lesson that can come into play again and again, and not just for clean-up on aisle "life" either.

Sorry stars. This time the answer was inspired by that bright ball in the sky. The man in the moon? The woman in the moon? Whichever you are, many thanks.

It’s almost a miracle how I’ve gone from utter hopelessness to blooming optimism. Maybe celebrate with just a bit more Cabernet.

Cheers! And here, my sweet Dulcy, let’s share this last piece of cheese.

And then? A nice dinner for both of us.

- end -