Monday, December 20, 2021


            The older I get, the brighter the light of life seems to shine. I almost feel like I constantly need sunglasses just to cope with the luminescence of everyday life. I don’t mean to suggest that all my days are serenely happy, or that sorrows and worries don’t sometimes follow me, but even in times of confusion and fear, there seems to be a dazzling shine on everything, as though even sadness has a radiance that can be observed and appreciated. It’s like I’m always living on the edge of the Grand Canyon, always seeing the grand luster of everyday life – the dazzle of eggs and toast on a plate, the flash of my fingers tapping the computer keyboard, the glow of both fear and fun, the shimmer of this moment and that. What’s wonderful about this is that I don’t have to do anything to make this alluring light shine, because I am part of the light. It’s simply there, here, always, like an endless, glittering Grand Canyon spreading out in each moment, filling life, including me, with glamor and glory. Do I understand this light? Can I study and explain it? Absolutely not. All I can do is gratefully feel the moment-by-moment brilliance of it, as though I’m doing my living and fearing and loving and fussing in the center of the grandest and most luminous canyon of all.  

(Harrison P., 61, Blessings, CT)

His illness makes it hard to walk and speak,
but he has learned to freely dance and sing
with smiles. He sometimes feels weak 
while walking, but when dancing, he can ring 

the bells of liberation, and the songs he sings 
sound loose and easy, like a lively breeze. 
He suffers much, for sure. His illness brings
him pain, but in strange ways it frees 

him up and helps him feel new and light. 
He often laughs at his disease and sings some songs 
that aren’t on key and waver, but delight 
in inner freedom shines inside them. It belongs 

to those who’ve beaten fear and made it flee. 
His clumsy, carefree dancing shows that he is free. 


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