There are days when listening to the news is too much for me. Talk about feeling like we are living in apocalyptic times—seeing and hearing about record heat waves, poor air quality, fires, drought, war, famine, floods and senseless shootings—is overwhelming. The drumbeat of doom goes on and on. At times like this I spend time looking for the
Hidden Light
that can be found in everything and everyone. And I say lots of silent prayers of thanks to nature and the earth while holding those who are in pain with love and compassion in my heart.
So this is the story of the birthday of the world. In the beginning, there was only the holy darkness, the Ein Sof, the source of life. And then, in the course of history, at a moment in time, this world, the world of a thousand thousand things, emerged from the heart of the holy darkness as a great ray of light.
And then, perhaps because this is a Jewish story, there was an accident. And the vessels containing the light of the world, the wholeness of the world, broke. And the wholeness of the world, the light of the world, was scattered into a thousand thousand fragments of light. And they fell into all events and all people, where they remain deeply hidden until this very day.
Now, according to my grandfather, the whole human race is a response to this accident. We are here because we are born with the capacity to find the hidden light in all events and all people, to lift it up and make it visible once again, and thereby to restore the innate wholeness of the world. This is a very important story for our times, that we heal the world one heart at a time. And this task is called “tikkun olam,” in Hebrew — “restoring the world.”
— Rachel Naomi Remen
I look for and find the hidden light in ordinary life, the smile on someone’s face, a bird soaring high overhead, a friend reaching out, the green of the trees, a shimmer in a child’s eye. Flowers are an endless source of light to me. And yesterday I spent much of the day appreciating and photographing a beautiful bouquet of flowers that I got at Bachman’s.
This summer I am not able to do all of the things I had hoped to do. Travel that I dreamed of is now on hold and I don’t know if or when I’ll be able to travel again. Long hikes in the woods and wild places are also on hold. But I can and do take short walks in my neighborhood. I grieve the losses and at the same time cherish the possibilities my life still holds. Perhaps I cannot do everything I want to do — who can? I can breathe in the sweet scent of flowers, hug my loved ones, grow a container garden, make photographs through my windows, read books, and more.
And so perhaps this is about our wounds, that the fact is that life is full of losses and disappointments, and the art of living is to make of them something that can nourish others.
— Rachel Naomi Remen
Being alive means living with the light and the darkness. It means grieving for losses and celebrating joy and beauty. One cannot live a full life without experiencing difficulty and loss. Fearing loss or trying to protect oneself from loss means missing out on the juicy parts of life. I’ll take the full catastrophe — the light and the dark, joyful and painful.
This is life. Isn’t it marvelous?
I choose to work on finding the hidden light and “healing the world one broken heart at a time.”
The way we deal with loss shapes our capacity to be present to life more than anything else. The way we protect ourselves from loss may be the way in which we distance ourselves from life.
— Krista Tippett
Where do you find hidden light, my friends?
May you walk in beauty.
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