Crack of Light

GospelLuke 9:28-36 

Jesus took with him Peter and John and James and went up the mountain to pray. As he prayed, the aspect of his face was changed and his clothing became brilliant as lightning. Suddenly there were two men there talking to him; they were Moses and Elijah appearing in glory, and they were speaking of his passing which he was to accomplish in Jerusalem. Peter and his companions were heavy with sleep, but they kept awake and saw his glory and the two men standing with him. As these were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, ‘Master, it is wonderful for us to be here; so let us make three tents, one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.’ – He did not know what he was saying. As he spoke, a cloud came and covered them with shadow; and when they went into the cloud the disciples were afraid. And a voice came from the cloud saying, ‘This is my Son, the Chosen One. Listen to him.’ And after the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. The disciples kept silence and, at that time, told no one what they had seen.

I didn't intend to post today but this parallel thought came along - a little late but, ar least, not never.

The recent moon has marked the season known as Lammas; a season that marks a number of traditions that go back farther than written history could hope to follow. Part of the tradition balances Brigid's  February blessing of planting and promise with August's celebration and making ready. They make sense in many ways for a people in touch with the land. Both involve a clearing of the living spaces and, for the first time in a while, I have thrown myself into it;

So...
Garden - rusted garden seat; piece of mirror rescued from a skip; slices of purple roof slate collected after the storms; stone rabbit with ears glued on; ancient owl pockmarked with rain; various stones - some with holes, shells and bones; lengths of driftwood, rope, nets and lobster pot makings; bottom half of a cast iron pub table; lengths of rusty anchor chain; various hangings made from the above.

Shed - more of the above; peat from the Isles; water from a loch; sand from Arizona; driftwood from the Holy Isles; stones; feathers; candles, marbles and glass; sacred talismans, prayer beads, icons, crosses and other objets - made and given; torn sailing canvas; broken beads; rosaries; homeless books.

Car - churchyard pinecones; gull, crow and heron feather, an icon of Madonna and Child, piece of seaglass; prehistoric bead; woven grasses from a prayer walk; an iron ring; a pure white stone.

These weren't the things I threw away - these were the treasures I have kept and spent hours over the past few days reacquainting myself with. And not because, one day, I will make them into something else - although that it a possibility - because they are beautiful; as old, cracked; damaged and strange as they are. 

My creative skills will never be a patch on the Creator; even the smallest and insignificant stone or shell reminds me that God made all and all is good.

Tonight,  I made a fire with the leavings; the wormy and coral ingrained wood; the dustier of the cones and nuts, the dry feathers; bits and pieces of metal, leather and canvas and I watched as the fire affected each substance in a different way. The fire was surely the same, yet the essences within the pieces created different reactions. Sparks, changes in colours of light from bright oranges to turquoises and magenta; squeaky hisses of air and tiny explosions accompanied by sweet and acrid scents as each was offered up. A fascinating meditation.

My Facebook check in had Rumi's well known quote about needing a wound, a crack, so as to let the Light in. I wondered if Rumi was only half right.

Jesus tells us we are Light; I am Light; you are Light. Meant to stand on a hilltop; to guide Masters and Bridegrooms through the darkness.

The trouble is; within us is a fear of the darkness; the darkness that covers us in so many ways in the simple living of our lives. So we start off protecting the light by hiding under a table and end up building barriers; as time goes on, every hurt, insult, abuse or misuse of ourselves or others; every loss or betrayal thickens the skin to a dense, opaque spiritual barricade. 

A guarding armour against the threats from those who would deny us the freedom to be who we  are.

I wonder if the wound, sometimes, isn't just the hurt. Perhaps it is the attempt by the couragous flickering spirit that is hidden by the ego of fear and self-protection to break through the darkness. Like the hatching of a new life struggling to take wing. 

Perhaps the wound also allows the Light, our Light, to come through.  Perhaps we should take the time to reacquaint ourselves with our spiritual flame. Making space to experience the sacred spark that changes us, even as Jesus is changed.

Allowing us to remember who we are in God's eyes - surrounded by those who love us; Beloveds; sons and daughters; chosen of the Father. 


wordinthehand2013


Comments

claire bangasser said…
Simply beautiful, Word. I just love what you wrote here. You have me teary-eyed. Thank you.
6 August 2013 at 21:36
Mairie said…
Thanks Claire, it was something I needed a reminder of - blessings :) xx
8 August 2013 at 11:41
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