Awakening



Awakening


The awakening was signaled by three bleating alarms and a burst of rain.

I definitely did not want to be awake and clutched the comfy comforter for comfort. I certainly am lucky that I could count my blessings wrapped in the warmth of the world of slumber and puffy blankets. I landed softly in the day despite the jarring call of clocks.

I lay there a bit, soaking in the pillowy night while gradually accepting the day. How lucky I was, too, to have the time to disregard time and lay there. Then, the rain came like melted butter sliding over the morning hours.

It was the (ugh!) too bright light in the kitchen which convinced me to get up. It was too much for my blindfold to bear, the blurriness seeping under my eyelids even with my eyes shut. Still, I waited for the impulse to put my feet on the floor to come. Ironically, I think it was when my partner flicked off the light and I was left in darkness again that turned on something inside. The bathroom door was outlined with inside light and so was I.

And this led to a realization: we decide how much light to let through. I want the door to be totally open-my essence a blast of light dazzling on-lookers. Do people only glimpse the outline of what my light could be? I want to be good, and my goodness to flow into the darkness, clearing it up. But I also don't want to be afraid of shadows: to sit in them when I need to reflect and come into the light when it's right. That's my right as a living, feeling being.



Photo:  <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/pexels-2286921/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1852985">Pexels</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1852985">Pixabay</a>Text: Kristen Mastromarchi

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