I stayed in the shade and hid myself, because I was
afraid the sunlight would expose the darkness in my heart. I was not sure how much there was, but I knew
there was some, probably more than I counted on. There is always some darkness, some sort of
un-light reaching its tendrils out.
Maybe it was some poison I ate.
Like a mushroom, a toadstool, one of those odd things that grow that are
neither plant nor animal, with a vast and secret underground network. The biologists call it mycelium, but I know
what it is. It is the poison of the
world.
That is why the mushrooms require the solace of the
shadows. They do not dare to look at the
Sun or have the Sun look at them. And on
the occasion He finds them, they wither and dissolve almost instantly. So that is why I hid among the trees. Because it was a difficult winter, and I was
not ready for the Sun to come back, but He never listens to me anyway. I needed more time to heal, but that did not
happen. I was afraid if I went into the Sun,
I would dissolve as well. Just like a
toadstool.
“Have you been hiding from me again?” He asked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I lied, and He just
laughed.
“You look uncomfortable.”
“You would too if you were just burnt.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” He lied, and I just
laughed.
I laughed because of myself and in spite of myself. I figured I might as well just get it over
with, because I knew He was not going to let me go without an explanation.
“You see,” I began, “I make so many mistakes. I do lots of wrong things. I don’t mean to. It just happens. Well, sometimes maybe I do mean to, and I
don’t care. But I do care….” And there I was rambling again, being
completely incoherent as usual.
But I continued.
Might as well go for broke. “I
have high ideals, but I get caught up in being human. I get caught up in a slow and lumbering human
body. I get caught up in my own world,
in my own selfishness, in my own pain, in my own anger at the meanness of
others. And they are mean, and they deserve to know it. That might not be something you would think, but I’m not you!”
It was coming out all wrong, but at this point I had
sprung a bad leak and I could not stop it.
For a moment I remembered the old story of the little Dutch boy who put
his finger in a hole in the dam and saved the town from drowning. It was too late for that. The hole was too big, and I was not as brave
as the little Dutch boy.
“Hindsight is 20/20, but I can’t skip to the end,” I said. “I’m stuck in me, and this tunnel seems to be
going on forever. And the light hurts
and I’m sick of it.” That was not very
nice. True things rarely are.
“So,” He said, “You hid from me because you were afraid
that I would see the Darkness in your soul?”
“Yes, and I’m not sure I want to completely let go of it,
either.”
“You’ve always been stubborn.”
“Yes,” I said, “That is one thing we can agree upon.”
Now what?
Retribution? Punishment? Avoidance?
Would I just dissolve like a mushroom?
I figured maybe it did not matter anymore. Hit me with your best shot.
“I’ll tell you something you’ve overlooked,” He said,
kinder than I wanted Him to be. I wanted
Him to be mean so I could feel justified.
Self-righteousness is addicting, after all.
“What is light without darkness?” He went on, “If
everything were light, everything would be known. There would be nothing hidden and nothing new
to learn. There would be nothing to find
and illumine and love again. There would
be nothing to compare light to, nothing to strive for, no boundaries. A little darkness makes life interesting and
creates the concept of salvation. Light
never needs to be redeemed. But darkness? It creates longing, and longing creates
love.”
“So light needs darkness?” I asked.
“Light doesn’t need it, but it is always welcome.”
“So you’re not mad at me, then?”
“For what?” He asked.
“For being a toadstool.”
“Oh, that. Well,
this world is built on the laws of cause and effect. You know that by now. You reap what you sow,” He said, “And I can’t
save you from that. I wouldn’t if I
could.”
“I know,” I said.
“Well, as long as you’re okay with that.”
“Do I have a choice?” I asked.
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.”
The bird flew away and the song ended. I started walking again and felt that I had
more room in my heart than I had before.
Light is expansive, darkness contractive. Darkness creates room for more light. I was grateful for that. It was time to leave the woods and go home
again. There was a meal to be cooked,
chores to be done, and many lamps to be lit.
Many lamps, indeed.
