Trying to look at the light through all the branches and twigs and brambles is hard, but it keeps tugging at me, commanding me. I try to turn away, but it makes me look at it again and again. It won’t leave me alone. There are so many obstructions in the way of the light. They look like barbed wire, holding me out or holding the sun in--I’m not sure which one. I’m not sure if it matters. But they’re a menace as they try to block the light.
|Reaching for the light.|
It’s so simple, really. Just go to the light. Go to the goodness. But the branches! The twigs! The brambles and thorns! They stand in my way. I can't! Yet the light seems to pass right around them or through them--again, it doesn’t matter which. The fact is that they pose no barrier to the light. It breaks right through those seeming barriers and comes straight for me. In the silence, I hear a voice in my mind telling me that the obstructions are a mirage.
Pass right through them, it tells me.
“But I am not the sun,” I say.
Are you not?
The path goes both ways. Try again.