Starry starry night. Raging infernos casting tiny lights across the night sky. Cool to our eyes they are, but at their cores emotionless, cataclysmic turmoil roils to near infinity. All that they may exist and, that others who exist may experience their communal gathering as a hunter, a scorpion, a ram or a guiding light to the north.
So much energy, so much creation, so much destruction, and for what? Is it better to burn out than to fade away? Perhaps. The life of a star is predictable, like the life of a human. Birth, growth, temporary stability and ultimately death.
Light from without, a star, in our galaxy, the sun, draws the eye, warms the flesh, and the soul.
What about light from within? Is it a myth? Surely not as many have documented their experience of it in song and prose. If we’ve never felt it how can it be found? Once found how can it be sustained. Is this inner light like that of a star; explosive, tumultuous, destined to consume itself? At times this would seem the case.
When a fire ignites it may burn white hot, for a time, but like all fires it is destined to run its course. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Out of the ashes of many fires may come a new perspective on the nature of what it means to bring light to one’s life. Perhaps the raging of a sun doomed to extinguish becomes a burden. Perhaps instead the desire for light, or meaning, sheds the thought of creation through destruction, and instead leans into a less brilliant yet more sustainable goal. In this desire for light without conflict we may in time become phosphorescent.
