Light

In the early hours, the light pours in thick and soft through the windows in my kitchen. I woke this morning happy for no conceivable reason, and sat by the pane cradling a cup of tea, feeling the heat envelop my side. Something in the fullness and warmth of it reminded me of Baha’u’llah’s Shrine in Israel, and how surprised I was when I stepped in for the first time to find the light pouring into the room from the skylights, and all of the foliage and life, the thick scent of rose water and silence, the intimate mystery of the space. I remember that it struck me as so completely perfect, that this space be always filled with light, that I started sobbing uncontrollably all over the elegant Persian rugs and wished I could dissolve into every shard of every ray of sunlight and cease to be contained within the confines of my skin. I thought about that day this morning, and sipped on my tea, as the glowing, voluptuous body of that same sun rose over the rooftops of houses across the street.

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About A B

"There is all this untouched beauty, the light, the dark, both running through me." -Over The Rhine
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