In Praise of Lights by Barbara Quinn

Light! More Light! were the dying words of Goethe.

I’ve been thinking a lot about light lately. I’ve always been drawn to homes that have a lot of windows to allow the sun into the rooms. I find I have trouble breathing in dark Victorians with tiny windows. I don’t have screens on many of my windows because I prefer to have an unobstructed view and to allow more of that lovely light inside. Give me a sunny day and I’m instantly ready to take on the world.

The room where I write at the shore is bright on sunny days, so bright that in the summer I have to draw the curtains to temper the too strong late afternoon sun. But now, in fall, the light has changed. The sun sets in a different spot relative to where I sit, and the presence of that orb is most welcome, regardless of the time of day. The shadows in the room also change depending on the season. The rectangles that edge the light elongate differently, slant more to the left on the rich wood floor. Out on my balcony, sometimes it’s still warm enough to sit and watch the ocean which now is darker blue. The light does that, changes the color of the ocean from day to day, from season to season: pale blue-green, and green in summer, medium to navy blue in winter. There’s a starry night effect some days, the light twinkling off the darkness of the ocean mesmerizing me and lulling me to a calm place.

The evanescent time of day when light fades to dark, when it’s neither day, nor night, is always a wonder. Blink and that crepuscular moment is gone. But, oh, catch it for a second or two, and hover there, caught in the beauty of life.

It’s fascinating the way the sun does make a difference in our feelings and moods. Who wants to run around when it’s rainy and dreary? I’d rather snuggle under the covers with a good book. But a sunny day. Now that’s instant energy.

All this dwelling on light has made me realize that some people are like bright sunshine, filling you with warmth. They’re wonderful to have around. And like the light, we take them for granted, expecting them to always be there, recognizing their importance only when they are gone leaving us bereft and struggling in the dark. I intend to embrace and acknowledge the lights in my life while I can.

Positivity. by Patresa Hartman

You know what I think is fantastic?

Positivity.

I do not mean the oblivious, falsely enthusiastic, step aerobics and pat-the-bunny, cute like buttons positivity. I mean the kind that comes genuinely from decision -- acknowledgement that there is bad and rotten, but that there is also choice to actively search for what is good (because there is always good). (Always).

My body has developed extra sensitivity toward negative vibes in the last year or two. I am increasingly aware of the effects of nay-saying and complaining, flaw-focusing and arm crossing, blind refusals and failure-expecting, on my physical person.

I feel it in my shoulders.
It tugs downward at the corners of my mouth.
It leadens my step.
The atmosphere grows thick and impenetrable with it.

Conversely, I have become increasingly aware of the buoyancy that comes with surrounding myself with people who seek light and celebrate possibility. I want to sit across tables from daring positivity-excavators, share desk drawers, sip wine with these potential-finders. I want to offer them my brain and my brawn, share air and ideas and punch out holes in darkness. I want to join forces and illuminate.

I feel it in myself -- the joy and openness I feel when I high-five success and breathe patiently through imperfection. It isn't easy. All too often, I find myself crabbing when students do not do what I want them to do, when my husband does not choose as I would choose, when the earth does not rotate in sync with my step. I feel my eyes narrow and forehead crease with perceived slights. Everything goes heavy, and I do not like the sound of my own voice. I do not like that in a moment of disconnect, I slip easily into negativity. I let frustration and pride usurp a space that compassion and grace should unconditionally fill.

It is not about being false or naive. It is about understanding the nature of energy. I must remember the effects of the energy I send, because I understand well the effects of the energy I receive.

Gratitude for the Wellspring of Hope by Barbara Quinn

Today, with a huge hurricane bearing down on the Gulf again, I’ve been thinking about the difficult times so many are facing. I find it hard to find anything to be grateful about in the face of nature's wrecking ball. But in reality, there is much to be grateful for at times like this. The "hurricane hunters" who fly into the storm to get bearings on where it is going, the government officials like Mayor Nagin who urge people to get out, the bus drivers and hospital workers who make sure people get to safety, are humanity at its best.

Besides all these angels of mercy, I have come to be grateful simply for being able to hope. No matter how bad things get, when I dig down deep there is a small spring of hope trickling away waiting for me to discover it. That's what enables us to act. That's what keeps us going in times of need. We hope that we will be all right, that things will change, that there is light on the other side of the darkness.

I rely on that tiny trickle of hope. It’s elusive at times and sometimes I'm afraid it's dried up entirely. But I’ve grown to be patient about waiting for it to grow once again, and fill the chambers of my brain with the silvery liquid of life. When hope gives birth to joy, well, there is nothing better. Joy, like hope, washes over us without any thought and we accept it willingly without questioning. No dwelling on either of those to muck up the day.

Dante’s Hell had a sign over it, “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.” Think of it. A place without hope. Hell is darkness, burning darkness, the complete absence of hope. Living hell. Horrible to contemplate, and horrible to live with. We all have dark days, and when I do I am amazed at the power of the darkness to blot out everything. This darkness is palpable at times, weighing heavily on me, making movement difficult, threatening to plug up the wellspring of hope for good. Nothing matters, nothing attracts, nothing makes sense.

So what do I do when the darkness falls? I dig deep and search until I can find the trickle of silvery hope that is meant to keep flowing, meant to lie in wait until the darkness passes. I can’t hurry the dark, but it does pass, the way night passes. I find one good thing to think about. And then another. I take care of other people to the extent I can. And then good old hope returns, slowly at first and then so bright some people shy away from it. Hope is a good and glorious thing. I wish you hope wherever you are, no matter your situation. It can keep you going and get you to the other side. Act, take care of yourselves and those in need. Hope will follow. Godspeed to all in the path of the hurricane.