In Search of Light

the art of holding competing strands of life within a single heart

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Golden hour comes twice a day, every day. The first hour after sunrise, the last hour before sunset. It’s a time of absolutely unique light quality, though it often passes by unnoticed in our daily lives, even by an over-noticer like me :) Sleepy photons filter through thick layers of atmospheric molecules, lingering on surfaces with gentle caresses, extending leisurely good-mornings and good-evenings.

Our eyes are used to seeing in bright daylight, where all the details stand out sharply, where colors run true and full. Our brains process in that light all day long. When we need to see more clearly, we add light.

And yet…

Seeing in golden hour light provides new visual opportunities, fills gaps in our visual maps, that just wouldn’t be possible at other times. Staring through this tender young maple leaf, backlit by the evening sky, connects me to the fullness of its beauty in delicate details that would be completely blown out by full noonday sun.

Golden hour is just designed for contemplation. It’s not the racing energy of a busy day, lit bright, on target, checking off tasks and marching towards objectives. It’s all searching and reaching and wondering, it’s very what-if and had-you-thought and did-you-notice? I wander out into golden hour light when my heart is uneasy, because seeing more deeply is an anchor in a world that can run a little stormy.

It’s in the golden hour light that I can begin to coax out the nuances of my restless thoughts, my attention preoccupied with new perspectives, as tentative troubles gradually nose their way out from the shadows and into soft consideration. It’s the perfect place to wonder…

Is the maple samara in front of me right now…

…less lovely because I already saw one last year?

Is the wild blueberry bud in front of me right now…

…less lovely because I know how stunning it will be in the future?

Will I grow impatient with the grape buds…

…because they are not yet grapes?

Will the beauty of this hyacinth blossom sadden me…

…because I know that it is destined to fade away?

Or will the faded blossom ease my heart, because I know that it will bloom again next year?

To honor the past, appreciate the present, and look with hopeful expectation towards the future, is a unique and beautiful gift of the human mind in connection with the world around us.

Beauty is its very-most-beautiful, in this present moment, precisely because it weaves in the story of its history, and threads in the hope of its future. A cord of three strands, a braid of strength and elegance, a tapestry of aching loveliness, even more lovely for the aching.

Problems arise when I wish the present blossom were more like the past blossom. Or when I am unable to appreciate the present blossom because it falls short of my vision of the future one. Or when my worry over the present blossom eclipses its past history and future hope.

Tension is the key. Too tight, tangle. Too loose, tangle. Proper tension, smooth weaving. Greatest strength in lightest touch. Holding each element in equal, gentle, steady, constant, uncompromising, unwavering, compassionate tension. Tall order.

To hold competing, even conflicting, strands of life in harmony is the work of a soul searching for truth. It often feels like a knife’s edge, though it’s actually the softest whisper-touch of hands guiding threads. When you feel you must cling tighter, you most often must fight most fiercely to loosen your grip…

Our family went for a hike this weekend. We visited a nature preserve on Mount Desert Island because I had read that you can often view seals there. Turns out, in fact, it’s a bit of a seal nursery. It’s well-positioned with sheltered coves and low ledges so that youngsters have an easier time getting in and out of the water. So we sat on shore and watched the seals, gleaming dark snouts held just above calm seas, heart-warming pairs of one-larger-one-smaller gliding gracefully at ease, moms gently acclimating their young pups to wide waters.

Back on shore, it’s an election year. Alongside spring’s unfurling leaves and blossoms, the countryside is also unfurling political endorsements. I live in a very rural area, and the proliferation of Trump-supporting material is as utterly-expected as it is deeply-distressing for me, a rather sensitive person.

So can I hold this wildlife moment of incredible tenderness and hope in my heart alongside this social moment of baffling advocacy for an unapologetic instigator of racism, misogyny, violence?

I can. I think. Barely.

It is, after all, all of it, part of this tapestry of life, weaving inexorably onward toward distant futures that will become someone else’s hazy history. Still, it’s good to have a golden hour to tease out a softer hold amidst a tangled tension.

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