Scraps of Light

Scraps of Light

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 on the lake and homes along the curve of the shoreline. People doing their comfortable, everyday things. It’s all so normal and peaceful. Also feels like mockery.

And as the earth continues in its foreordained path, it all yields to the night. And so the outside view and I are now a perfect match.

But now that synchronicity is being somewhat dented by a few bright stars peeking through rare spaces in the hulking dark clouds. 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. Knowing the right people in the right places helped too.

So what went wrong here. Has age dulled my senses? Has overconfidence 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 paint some irregular forms on the wall.

Looking into the open door of my bedroom I see stripes of light, compliments of the blinds. That’s OK. But there’s also an unexpected line of what, in my state of mind, looks like bright teardrops on the bed.

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 moon 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 and additional mirror on the opposite wall, both in cahoots with the shiny metal of the faucets and shower frame, inbound light 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 entire room with fanciful configurations.

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 bit of Cabernet could help loosen this new tickle in my brain.

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

For the first time in countless hours my thoughts aren’t on THE PROBLEM. Instead I’m thinking again about this phenomenon that until now I’ve observed only casually.

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 does not give up or give a rat's patootie about its size or shape at the final destination.

I think I’m on to something but not sure just yet 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. Just like the light.

I’ve been in such deep despair, trying to solve the whole big thing, which just seemed – and I don’t often use this word – impossible. But now I’m thinking “Go Small.” Little ways to make amends wherever possible, little ways to mitigate the fall-out to whatever extent I can, little ways to try to at least limit the damage to myself and others. Increments of improvement. Baby step results. Scraps even.

And yes, I do believe I’ll swallow my shame and contact a couple of trusted allies to help me 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.

This new perspective replaces the burdensome cloak with a softer shawl. At the risk of disrespecting Caesar, I saw, I learned, maybe I’ll conquer. Even better, this is a lesson that can come into play again and again, and not just for clean-up on aisle "life" either.

I realize Dulcy is looking up at me and purring. I know there's a long hard road ahead but right now I feel a little like purring too.

Sorry stars. This time the answer was inspired by that bright ball of light. The man in the moon? The woman in the moon?

Whichever you are, many thanks.

- end -