There Is A Light And It Never Goes Out

There are times, when it feels like all the light just gets sucked out of the room;  times when you can stand in broad daylight, and feel like you're under a starless sky in winter.

Times like these, it can seem utterly wrong to keep doing the small, mundane things that our daily lives consist of. It seems almost obscene to make coffee, bake, pick flowers, use social media, to hear music, to ride in cars, to think about what to get for dinner, what to do tomorrow, next week, next year.

It simply feels wrong that everything on earth seems to vibrate with life. That life goes on. But it does. It's just what it does. And we often feel this most acutely in the presence of death. A huge, wide void opens right next to us, and it suddenly seems like a miracle that we don't all get sucked into it all at once. The world is a dangerous place, full of sharp edges, and tall ledges, crashing cars, open seas bobbing with small boats, wars, illness, and sadness that can follow a person whole. 

Someone I loved died. There's nothing I can do about it, except to remember them as I knew them. The details need not be written down,  and they're not mine to share, but I did want to write something; to acknowledge in some small way, that in the middle of September sunlight, it seems like an eclipse came over. 

The light of course, doesn't ever really go out, it's always there, hiding behind an invisible moon, or just beyond the horizon waiting to return, or in an almost imperceptible pinprick in the inky sky. Remember that.