A Stroke of Lightning

Wow. Every now and then you really need to marvel at the awe-inspiring phenomena that abound in this world. And sometimes it’s the incredible minutest of details, bringing them about, that cause me to wonder. Take lightning for example. I am sure many would agree that their power and intensity are something to be appreciated… or even feared. We find ourselves many-a-time amazed at their spectacle when, in fact, the true miracle is that they even strike at all. For, despite their high voltages, “a bolt of lightning is not nearly strong enough to overcome the insulating properties of air.”¹ Another factor needs to come into play- something that is not based on the lightning’s power alone; and for all the high-speed cameras that are continuously being improved, its cause remains elusive.  

This one missing piece: the spark that starts it all. It is an unknown beyond one’s comprehension- something we cannot see nor fully grasp. And that’s where the light shines greatest in lightning. For if these tiny, unseen details are already taken care of in this world, I wonder what changes are possible in me.

¹Johnson, George. "Chasing Lightning." National Geographic. August 2012: 106. 

Saving Superman

-A short story-

My best memories of childhood always began with a hunt through the linen closet. I would be looking each time for the indispensable superhero necessities: a rag to fashion a cape- an old towel would do perfectly- and a strip of cloth for a mask. A few tucks here, a little adjusting there, a poor attempt at forming a knot and, voila, I became a caped hero, defending the world from the masked marauders of the night.

There was always that anticipation of dressing up, that delicious feeling of being someone else for a short period of time, where my reality would slip away and I could escape from the confines of my small, childhood world. In those fantasy-filled moments, I fully believed I had become one of them and that by defeating my imaginary villains, I was somehow protecting the world from the horrors that plagued it. As if by simply wearing a cape, I could take the burdens of the world upon my childish frame.

But I was young and my sheltered eyes had seen little of those horrors; my imagination unable to truly construct what held the world in bondage. My war was of a fun sort, where the good guys always won and vengeance always dealt without fail. When I look back upon that period of my existence, it is easy to laugh at the ignorance of my childhood innocence. Because to me then, the world was of a monochrome nature; where right and wrong were divided as clearly as day and night. Not at all like the hazy twilight where I find myself pondering such beliefs, now so many years in the future.

And what is it that I believe now? For the difference between adults and children is that we see the world through a different lens, so that we often reject what is right before our eyes: the pure, the innocent, all that is simple and good is lost in the shadows of cynicism. It is our inability to clearly distinguish the difference between night and day that sends us to the stumbling block of nations. Maybe if, for a moment, every leader of every country were to lower himself to the eye level of a five-year-old, the world would be a better place. But these are most likely the mad ramblings of a delusional dreamer.

So is that why today I once again yearn to see things through the over-simplified worldview of youth? It’s morning once more and I’m looking out the window. I hear laughter and soon see a boy appear from behind the house across the street. He is wearing a mask, his eyes peering out from its exaggerated features. I’m trying to discern whose face he is hiding behind, almost frantically now because I think I already know. He is running and jumping, twirling and bouncing through the sun-dappled morning. And suddenly- might it be because of the angle of the sun?- I can see it clearly. For here I am, in a cape once more, but trying to save superman.

In the Peace of Dormant Day

Sunday, July 29, 6:15 am

I thought I was going to get to see the sun rise this morning. There was a brief moment when all was calm and the sky was streaked with red. The whole world was filled with anticipation it seemed; and I was part of it.  But then the clouds came and covered the small, wavering rays of the new day. This happened slowly, the clouds creeping over the horizon so that I didn’t notice it right away. Now two birds are bickering outside. The moment of peace has passed and all is beginning to awaken with a clatter to the hectic realism of life. There’s always tomorrow I suppose. Maybe then I’ll be able to hold on to the ever-seeking sun for a moment longer.

This is what I saw. It is also how I felt.

Small Victories

Sometimes it's the smallest things that tug at the curtains of despair and nudge you onward. I am always amazed at how even the dreariest rainy day can be transformed into a sparkling sunrise. You just have to search for the source of light. Today it was a child's pair of pink and yellow polka-dotted rain boots left out on someone's front porch. They were quickly filling with water. In my mind, they took on a life of their own, bouncing through puddles: a spraying, laughing and dancing whimsy of delight. Moments such as these are like waking from a dream. Suddenly there's a little less denial, a bit of a smile and opened eyes. Small victories. I think they're shaped like teardrops. But it's those that fill one up with joy.