The clouds at sunset look like a bird to me, and it’s no wonder that the ancients pictured angels with wings. They fly through the heavens searching for the light. Without it, they are dull and gray and cold. But with it, they are made beautiful. What was gray and sinister now shines in shades of pink, orange, and even purple. Subtle nuances come out, depths no one could have suspected while looking at an ordinary gray sky. But then the light comes, and everything becomes sublime.
 |
| An angel. |
Even what did not want to shine, will shine. Even that which was dark and forboding and
menacing will give way to the brilliance and fly like a bird. What tried to stay hidden in darkness will be
found. The light changes everything it
touches. As if touched by Midas, the hidden
facets and the tiny unnoticed wisps become illuminated, poured into a mold, and
made into a crown. Everything searches
for the light, even the things that don’t.
It’s an irresistible pull heavenward to the realm of the angels.
Quaestor Lux
- Seeker of Light.
