An Attitude of Light

Some days are harder than others. We know that, but this day was like one of my favourite books I used to read to my children when they were young. Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day.¹ They would yell “terrible, horrible, very bad day” at the top of their lungs every time it occurred in the book. Somehow, we felt better after that.

Driving my son to his early morning shift, I felt physically as awful as Alexander. Not awful enough, though, to ignore the light quickly glowing brighter in the sky. It captivated me and diverted my attention away from my painful body. Anticipation rose as I drove around the block to the airpark. Would I get there in time? Just as the sun broke the horizon, darkening the ground, I pulled into the parking lot beneath streaks of blue sky touched by the orange hues of sunrise.

My understanding of how spiritual light works in the darkness has been growing. I woke up feeling every bone in my body aching, even my head bones. My arm throbbed where the nice pharmacist had given me my shingles shot. Eyelids drooped and drips from both my eyes and my nose were irritating, yet there was an attitude of light inside me that seemed bolstered by the morning sunrise.

I didn’t reach for pain relief tablets. Heck, I didn’t even give myself permission to sleep all day, and I could have. There was a noticeable difference between feeling sick and feeling depressed because I was sick. Still, 7:30am came quickly, and I hauled myself out of bed, got dressed, and headed out to the car for the morning’s drive where the sun was ready to dazzle me with its brilliance and teach me more about light.

The sun glowed so brightly that it dispelled the darkness. Even on a cloudy day, the sun’s light still breaks through the clouds. When you think about it, the sun always shines despite eclipses, hurricanes, atomic bombs, and even when I’m feeling physically rotten. As I drove around the corner to the Airpark, the rising sun inspired me and brought me back to the question—how does light co-exist within the dark? We know through science why light and darkness exist. We know we can take medication to feel better physically, but emotionally, we react like rollercoasters.

I used to experience that up and down emotional ride, especially during menopause. Lately, though, I know in the intuitive sense that my light is shining brighter no matter the shadows, the circumstances, the obstacles. Maybe that’s the answer. Mother Teresa worked daily with people who were ill and had no hope, no joy, yet her light infected those around her. She definitely had an attitude of light. As she cared for them physically, her light touched them.

We see or feel light because it contrasts with the dark, or vice versa. The light taught me that the darkness always reveals what we need to learn from trials, traumas, and just plain life. When we learn those lessons, there is often the light of awareness and understanding that follows.

From sensing the light in ourselves and how others bring light to those less fortunate physically and spiritually, there are other ways of experiencing that light as old as the first humans on Earth. Think about a bunch of cave dwellers witnessing a meteor shower in the night sky for the first time. We might call it a dopamine rush or collective effervescence now, but they probably felt dazzled just as we do today. What about growing spiritual light?

Did the Sufi whirling dervishes of the 13th century experience something akin to a dopamine rush as they whirled around to grow closer to God? While I wouldn’t want to try that method to grow spiritually, I have had a few experiences through lucid dreams I can’t explain that definitely drew me into what I can only describe as spiritual bliss.

One particular dream I experienced in 1974 was like that. I dreamed I had been travelling for a long time before I arrived at my destination. The road unfolded before me in the dark. The scent of evergreen trees lining the driveway was a real scent in my nose, and I could see the faint glow of light from a lamp attached to a small cabin. I slept a delicious sleep (still in my dream) then woke up in a different dwelling that I seemed to own.

The dream contained many details, but I wanted to highlight the feeling I experienced when the dream ended. It felt so real that I questioned whether I was awake or still dreaming. What happened next is difficult to put into words. Imagine feeling bliss, love, and timelessness all at once. That blend of feeling remained inside me for days and had the quality of something I had already lived or was about to live. The depth of joy and peace I experienced still washes over me when I think about that dream. This was spiritual bliss as the dream unfolded from the darkness through a long journey to the light of discovering who I was as a spiritual being. It changed me, giving me a light that was born of joy, peace, elation, aliveness, and divine love.

Not all events involving light are transforming and life changing. Do fireworks transform me? No. They may transport me to happiness and excitement for a few hours. Did hearing two of my music idols, Yo-Yo Ma and James Galway, play in person transform me? No. Yo-Yo Ma’s cello sang and the feelings he evoked in me as he played transported me to an elevated space while he was playing and some time after. James Galway’s quick wit, amazing technique, and ability to make me hold my breath in amazement dazzled me. Those experiences didn’t come close to any kind of spiritual transformation.

Through experiences that take me beyond everyday life, I feel light bubbling up through me. The more light experiences I encounter, the more I move closer to engaging with that transforming light again. I also realized that I answered my question: How does light co-exist within the dark? The dark and the light still exist within me, yet with every light-filled experience, the dark’s lessons become a lot easier to identify and change.

1. Judith Viorst, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, illus. Ray Cruz (Atheneum Books for Young Readers, New York).