The Golden Light
I have very few memories of childhood. And when I say few you’d think I had gone through some Matrix form of erasing the memories of my brain. I am pretty sure that didn’t happen. However, I understand from lots of reading on psychology that our brain, in cases of painful memories, does work to erase them. And so I assume that is what has happened to them. In the case of positive memories, those are few as well. In fact, there is one memory I’m not even sure is real. Perhaps it’s the image of a little girls dream of a beautiful life. It’s a beautiful memory of me lying in a field full of sunshine. The light of the sun is glistening off the tall grass, my blonde wisps of hair moving in the wind, as I smile peacefully up at the sun.
In honor of National Poetry Month I thought I would turn that image into a poem. I had a lot of fun writing the first one. While two poems in, I still don’t know poem etiquette from a hole in the ground. Nevertheless, I do hope that this poem from the heart of a novice poet will touch your heart as much as it did mine. And in our standard Devoted to Growth format there will be a journalling exercise at the end so that you can reflect on your Spirit and how you let it shine.
There was a field whose edges extended out into the vastness.
Barely one, she’d lie there on her belly, face to the sun.
Nothing but a warm golden light dancing throughout the field.
Every blade of grass and wisp of her blonde hair gloriously shown.
In the brightness, she closed her eyes and radiantly smiled back in return.
In the light and warmth of the field she felt so alive, so relaxed, so at home.
Then without warning, the dark clouds arrived, each darker than the other.
There was the dark cloud of death, of abuse, of alcoholism and sexual abuse.
Startled with a great fright, in a flash of lighting the field went dark.
The dark cloud of death was the first on the scene.
The lightning burst so sharply it severed the attachment to the Light.
Run it said. Hide it said. The light of love is dead.
The second cloud of darkness arrived soon after. Abuse was her name.
Her thunderous roar unrelentless.
Hide she said. Be quiet she said. The light of truth is dead.
The third cloud of darkness was named Alcoholism.
It gave her invitation to dance in the rain, but Abuse blew it away.
Run she said. Hide she said. The light of joy is dead.
The fourth cloud of darkness arrived. Sexual abuse was his name.
From him poured the torrential rains of shame.
Run he said. Hide he said. The light of innocence is dead.
And hide she did. Coming out only briefly here and there.
The field was ominous and had lost its warm and tender light.
To where did the golden glow of vastness retreat?
Dark clouds of various sorts continue to fly over the field.
Hauntingly they howl with a thunderous bellow.
Hide they say. Be quiet they say. Remember, the light of love is dead.
And in her hiding, all she could do was ponder.
Where is the beautiful light?
To where did the golden vastness flee?
Then in the faintest of whispers she heard herself cry.
From within it whispered, I don’t want to die with this light still in me.
I’ve been hiding here all along, hoping the golden light would return to the sky.
I want to come back to the field and bask in the sun.
To want to dance and play till I lay down to rest.
To be warmed by the Light to smile my golden light back in return.
Help me she cried. Help me put the voices of the dark clouds aside.
Tell me. Tell me please. How do I return home to the golden field?
Oh how my heart longs to frolic once again in the light of innocence, truth, joy and love.
Grab your journal; it’s your turn.
- What resonated with you in this poem?
- Does the world see your glow? Do you see it clearly?
- In what ways are you hiding? Why?
- Take a few moments today to thank those people in your life that see your light even when you don’t. Thank them for their encouragement.