Where the light gets in….
Early morning’s alpenglow reflects sun preceding sunrise, miraculously
paints mountain glowing red for a moment’s flare, much like the few minutes of a newborn’s first breaths, or the look on a face when they hear yes, they are safe. There’s only a flit of relief, shock of gratitude, gone, that can never be again, never be remembered exactly.
It is like watching the night sky when I find the Pleiades in my peripheral
peripheral vision, invisible when found, only seen in not seeing, or in the forest when I see the flick of god in the space between trees but gone before I can recognize what it was I saw.
That’s the moment when being human is worth it, is worth the pain
and struggle to catch a flash of eternity, the everything, seen without looking. That’s the instant I know what it means to be alive, awake, a part of something greater than knowing. It’s the crack in the façade, the peek behind the curtain, the lightning bolt of creation that we are part of and will never know.
Sharon Lopez Mooney, Where the light gets in, “Evening Street Review” Issue #36, July, ed. Barbara Bergmann, Sacramento CA, December 2022