Searching for Meaning

What is the point of it all? A point is a dot. We are all tiny dots in an infinite sea of dots, so why do we try to give everything meaning? The closer you look the more dots you see. The further out you go the less significant any one dot becomes. There is no point. We are pointless dots.

I smile. This poignant thought takes the edge off the image before me. A bright silvery light shining through a billowing black cloud, from which pour at least a dozen angel rays. Its simplicity rattles me. Is it a cross? A cross of light at the heart of an ominous shadow? I bring up the size of the picture to verify what I think I am seeing. Yes, it is definitely a cross.

It is the first time I have seen the photo. The light from it caught my eye as I scrolled through hundreds in the gallery from previous weeks. I remember the day. Late afternoon. Temperate air. A rare feeling of peace in a time of turmoil. Personal and global.

I don't remember taking the photo. It was just one of a dozen in a bid to capture the serenity of the occasion. I am not a skilled photographer. I ended up with mostly bland pictures of boats on water. Nothing like the majestic scene of the world-famous harbour in real life. Even the sails and arch of Sydney's two iconic landmarks are diminished. Some of the nearby boats look more imposing. And yet I have one remarkable photo to show for my efforts. How did I take something so profound in the sky when my attention was on the water?

That afternoon as I sat in the open air at the front of the river cat with tourists and commuters murmuring around me, I photographed a racing yacht heeling and a big green and gold ferry chugging by. Later I closed my eyes to feel the peace of skimming the water. Releasing the chatter of the mind. Being truly present. It was a Thursday. Not just any Thursday. A holy day. The day before Good Friday.

Prophets see omens in nature. Is it a sign I see in this photo? What else could it be? Dark clouds of doom. A bright cross of salvation. Why was it given to me? What can I do with it? And how dare I presume to forecast hope and proclaim evidence of the omniscient presence of light from a dazzling cross even if it did appear on the eve of the day marking Christ’s crucifixion? 

At the same time, I dare not but take solace from that shining light when so much around me spells doom. Internet news so bizarre it must be false. Sensational TV. Graphic videos of racial wars. Economic woes. Broken systems. People who’ve lost their way like those mythical civilisations now buried under the sea after succumbing to greed.

And if I believe this cross is truly a sign of hope when so many claim the darkness is winning, who would believe me? They would surely condemn me for the mere suggestion or say I was representing one religion over others. What if I simply produced the photo without words? Would people find a universal meaning in it that went beyond a single set of beliefs? No, they would try to interpret my intentions. They would put words into my mouth. Then they would call me names like ‘fanatic’ or ‘nutter’. “That’s nothing special,” others would say. “That doesn’t even look like a cross. It’s just a photo of the clouds. Who do you think you are?” I might be goaded into a debate and try to defend my name, asking them not to shoot the messenger. “It is just a photo open to interpretation,” I would say. But they would return fire with more name-calling and accusations and the point would be lost. After all, there is no point.

Others would want to claim the photo as their own and declare they are the modern-day Nostradamus sent to read the doom in those black clouds. For doom is more interesting than peace. Darkness more dramatic than light. Realism more sensible than idealism. “It is the end of times. People have said it before, but this is the true sign that the end is nigh, and I saw it with my own eyes. I bore witness to the cross in the clouds.” Then the sightings would be announced from all over the world. Everyone wanting to be a prophet in their own corner, having knowledge that would help others navigate what’s coming. I would know the truth that they did not see the sign. Even I could not claim to have seen it as a natural phenomenon. Did anyone see it as it appeared? Someone on the harbour that day must have seen it. Why don’t they come forward? Why hasn’t it gone viral on Instagram or been trivialised in a meme with a poor play on words?

Perhaps it is enough that I can sit with the image now and not be afraid of what appears to be a powerful message from a higher power. A message that even I don’t truly understand. I close my eyes. I feel light from the cross beam into my heart. The angel rays shower me in peace. There can be no fear in this. Only love. I don’t have to tell anyone. No-one has to believe me. It is enough that I believe. That I can feel hope when so much in the world appears to be hopeless. I can emit light when all around me is shadow.

I open my eyes again and enlarge the photo. The more I zoom out, the less clear the image is until there are no boats, no water, no clouds, no angel rays and no cross. It is a homogenous sea of nothingness.

Zoom in. Zoom out. Atoms. Pixels. Nothing and everything. We are nothing and everything. Separate and one. Darkness and light. Incomplete and whole. All searching for meaning.