In my little house the lamps are burning in every room.
Outside the night is dark; inside it would be just as dark, were it not for
these little lamps. They make me feel safe. They give me identity. They are the
things I cherish, the things I can't imagine being without: my health and
strength, my five senses, my mobility, my intellect, my circle of friends, the
security of being accepted by my own tribe, my comfort zones of every kind.
So I live in dread of any of these lamps being extinguished.
I cling to them; everything I think I am depends on them.
But then something happens. Outside a new dawn is breaking.
Beyond and around and above my house, my safe little box, the sun is rising.
Its dazzling brightness draws me beyond myself, beyond my
house. I walk out, in awe and wonder ad this greater light and warmth.
The lamps in my house are still burning, but they are barely
discernible in the brightness of daybreak. I can't even remember whether I have
switched them off. It doesn't matter anymore. The morning eclipses them all.
And I choose to set my face toward the new day.
From Compass Points by
Margaret Silf
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