All the Beautiful Lights, Shining

If there is light in your heart, you will find your way home. ~Rumi

I was seven years old. It was summer. I was stretched out in the grass, watching the clouds.

What I will always remember about that day:

How warm the grass felt against my bare feet and my bare legs.

How fast the clouds were moving through the sky and how quickly they changed shapes: a dog, a tree, an angel, a heart.  

 
The sound of my own slow breathing.

The loud voices of the boys next door.

The way my heart sank when those boys called my name. How I knew I should just ignore them.  How I knew.

How I did not ignore them.

How I wished I had ignored them. How I wished I had stayed in the grass, watching the clouds.

What I will always remember about that day:

How I wished I had stayed in the grass.

How I wished I had stayed in the grass.

How I wished I had stayed in the grass.

I should have kept watching the clouds. I should not have gone over to them when they called for me. They were older, those boys. And they were rough, mean kids.

They called my name. But I shouldn’t have listened. I should have listened to myself, to my heart that felt nothing but dread.

We have something for you. Is what they said.

How I wished I had stayed in the grass.

***

When I was a toddler, I would always tell my mother about little orbs of light I could see floating all around me, all around us.

Lights, I would say to her pointing to the air. See?

She could not see them. But I could. And I spent a long, long time watching those little floating lights that she could not see. She said I would watch these lights constantly; that I was quite fascinated with them, tracing their movements through the air with my fingertips, almost as if I was in a trance or hypnotized.

  

See? I would ask her. See?

I don’t know exactly when I stopped seeing those lights. I don’t know if they faded away little by little or if they vanished all at once. I just know that as I grew up, those little floating lights disappeared.

But.

Sometimes.

Sometimes, those lights would come back.

***  

The first time those lights came back to me, I was five years old. It was winter. It was early morning.

I was at a school bus stop, waiting with my sister and all of the other grade school kids. I was standing next to a big, jagged boulder. It was very cold and everyone was quiet under the dark gray sky.

We were very quiet.

What I will always remember about that day:

The cold.

The quiet.

The way the sun was lost behind a wall of gray.

The way everyone’s frozen breath floated from their mouths. Like chimneys puffing out smoke.

How I looked at everyone and thought: You look like chimneys.

How her hand felt against my back. How I thought: There is a hand on my back.

How I looked over my shoulder and saw her. The hand on my back. It was the girl from across the street. It was her hand.

What I will always remember about that day:

Her hand on my back.

Her hand on my back.

Her hand on my back.

She pushed me, then. Just as I turned my head to look at her. She pushed me hard. Straight into the big rock that was right in front of me.

God, how that hurt. The rock smacked sharp against my head.

And that is when they came back.

Those lights.

They came when I lifted my head up from the rock. They came when the blood started pouring out of my skull. When the blood rolled down my face and fell into my cupped hands. When the blood filled my palms and started leaking out of my hands. There was a lot of blood. A lot. It spilled over my knuckles and fell in big splatters onto my winter coat, staining its fabric with blots of dark red.

That’s when they came back to me. Those lights.

What I will always remember about that day:

The way they came back. Those beautiful lights. The way they came back to me. The way they shined.

How they floated in front of me like a cloud of very bright stars. Very, very bright stars.

How I watched those lights float. How they took all of that pain away.

How I really didn’t feel any hurt at all, once I saw them. How I only felt the warm blood running down my face, sliding into my mouth. The metallic taste of it. How it kept falling from my head. How it dripped into my cupped palms.

How I watched the lights and felt no pain.

How I felt blood running down my face.

How I felt blood but no pain. None.

How I only saw light. A cloud of very bright stars.

How I only saw them. Those shining lights.

What I will always remember about that day:

How I only saw stars.

***

They came back again. Those lights. They always came back when I needed them the most. I needed them a lot when I was a kid. Our neighborhood could be pretty rough and mean.

When a tight fist punched my face, they came back. And they shined.

When I got kicked in the ribs enough times, they came back. And they shined.

When my face got shoved into the ground and I sat up with a mouthful of dirt and dead grass, they came back.

And they shined and shined.

What I will always remember about those days:

How they always came back. Those lights.

How they took all of the hurt away.

How I only saw them.

How I only saw stars.

***

How I wished I had stayed in the grass.

I was seven. It was summer. I was stretched out in the grass watching clouds in the sky change shapes: a dog, a tree, an angel, a heart.

I heard the boys next door call out to me.

They called my name.

My heart sank.

We have something for you. Is what they said.

We have something for you.

I should have listened to my heart. But I listened to them, instead. I went over to their yard and stood at the bottom of their front porch steps.

Wait right there, they said. We’ll bring it to you.

What I will always remember about that day:

The screech of the screen door.

The screech of the screen door as the first boy opened it for the other boy, who disappeared inside.

The way the first boy stood outside with me, his hand on the door, holding it wide open.

The way he looked at me.

The way he smiled at me.

The way he smiled at me as the other boy came back through the doorway, holding a great big cup of boiling water.

How I wished I had stayed in the grass.

Run. Is what my head said. Runrunrun. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. My legs wouldn’t move. The boy came through the door with the steaming water and I froze.

I did not run. But I did shake. I shook and shook. My hands shook and my knees shook. But I did not run. I watched the boy come through the doorway with a great big cup of steaming water.

It was for me.

What I will always remember about that day:

How I froze.

How I shook and shook and shook.

My head said Runrunrun. My thoughts moved very fast. My heart beat very fast. But everything else seemed to be unfolding in slow motion. The way the boy walked through the doorway, carefully holding the big cup. That was slow, almost dreamlike. The way he balanced it so delicately between his fingertips. The way the steam rose up from the water. That was slow. The steam. Swirling up from the cup. That was very, very slow. And soft. And quiet. The way his hands pitched forward as he threw the water at me. That was slow. The way the water flew out into the air. That was slow. The way it landed on my bare legs. All of that water and steam.

What I will always remember about that day:

How fast everything moved.

How slow everything moved.

The sound of their laughter.

How it burned.

How everything burned.

Everything burned.

The water rolled over my skin. Dripped down to the ground. I heard them laughing. My legs would not run.

That’s when they came back to me. Those lights. Those little floating stars swirling up into the air, rising like steam.

They came while the water soaked into my skin. While I shook and shook.

What I will always remember about that day:

How they came back. Those lights.

How they shined.

How they took all of that hurt away.

How I watched them float.

How I only saw light.

How I only saw stars.

What I will always remember about that day:

All the beautiful lights, shining.

***

They still come back. Those lights. Maybe they never left. Maybe they just changed their shapes. Like clouds floating in a sky. Like clouds changing from a dog to a tree to an angel to a heart. They change shapes over and over, but they are still clouds.

And those lights. They are shape-shifters, too. They don’t actually float around my head anymore, but they are still with me. I find those lights here, where I can write out my stories. Where I can let these things go. I find them in your stories. I find them in art. I find them in music. And I find them in the beautiful people who always seem to come into my life exactly when I need them the most.

Those beautiful, beautiful people made of beautiful, beautiful light.

I gather all of these lights and I hold them in my heart and I carry them with me on this long walk home. And it is a very, very long walk that sometimes gets very dark.  Very, very dark. But in my heart, I have the most beautiful lights.

They shine and shine.

And I will always find my way.