It Is Light

Another solstice; so many now I've remarked upon, set store on, imaginary marks flourished in an archived digital calendar. All of this science to mark a date as important when this planet and this sun have been celestially waltzing for an eternity. But we need to make our marks; our personal scratches in the sand. We want something tangible to show for having been here; for having lived. All of our hurts, joys, doubt, compassion, and even anger, beg to be traded for something of value. But what is this mysterious something, this value, this qualifying factor? Is it even real?

I've been asked this question many times from many different people the past few weeks. Is it real? How do you answer a question like that? Is this rock in my hand real? Yes. Why? Because I see it. But say you are blind. Now is that rock real? Yes. Why? Because I feel it. I can tell you how heavy this rock is. I can tell you how cool it is, yet how quickly it radiates my heat back to me. I can tell you a hundred tiny details if I try, all because I feel it and I believe it.

The solstice sun. I feel it and I believe it. I don't need to prove it or describe it or even understand it. I simply need to feel its warmth through the cold glass and let my being radiate that warmth back to everyone I meet. That is real enough for me.

Love is not consolation. It is light.

Friedrich Nietzsche