Deborah Taylor – In Tune With The Impossible – 2 March 2013

White Ball of Light A ball of light passes from hand to hand as I play with the energy. I can see the sphere of white and gold as the glow pulsates with intensity. I am five years old and was told that I was wrong. Things that I see do not exist but here I am, in tune with the impossible. I try throwing the energy ball in the air and watch it fly up and sparkle with all it’s glowing radiance on the way down. I catch it again and wonder what to do with it next, when I hear my mother’s voice call to me.  I don’t dare answer.The heels of her shoes make a hollow sound in the hallway as she walks towards me, getting closer and closer to my bedroom door. In a panic I look at the glowing, pulsating ball of light cradled in my hands and my decision is instant. I eat it. Swallow it whole. Now I’m in trouble! What is she going to think when she opens the door and sees me glowing from the inside out? How am I going to explain to her that the very thing that she warned me about, the very magical world that she told me did not exist, is now trapped inside me? The doorknob twists, she pokes her head in, calmly looking at me and announces; “Dinner’s ready”. As quickly as she appears, she shuts the door, turns on her heels and is gone again. I can hear the echoing of her footsteps getting softer the further away she gets. I sit frozen on the bed. Didn’t she see it? How could she have missed the glow inside of me? How is it that she couldn’t see me lit up like the noonday sun from the inside out? I hear myself slowly mouthing the words, “I’ll be right there” as I wonder what to do next. I look down at myself, somewhat hoping that my mother was right and that it was all in my head, just my vivid imagination and childhood fantasy but no, there it is, a glowing ball of energy in my heart space happily shinning back up at me as if to say “Don’t worry. I’m still here and aren’t we lovely?” I’m so glad the light’s still there and I’m willing to take my chances and any consequences that come my way from daring to endeavor into my own special world. I hop down from my bed, open the door and merrily run down the hallway, almost daring my parents to notice how happy and proud I am of my vitality and connection to life. I take my seat at the table, keep my head low and from underneath my bangs, I allow my eyes to slowly make contact with my mother and father, looking to see any reaction in their faces to my incandescence. Nothing. I scrutinize their expressions and can find not a thing that is different from any other night as we sit here eating our peas and carrots. “Really? You can’t see it?” I want to scream, but I know they can’t. They’ve lost it. Their glow has mellowed throughout the years and even I find it hard to recognize a spark in them. Every once in a while it flickers, like when I see my father laugh or when I search my mother’s face and on occasion see the love that she has for my father. How I wish that I could stoke that fire for them both, blow on that flame of love and life and watch it dance once more. All of a sudden I have a horrible thought that passes through me as if I’ve been stabbed by a knife; am I going to loose my flame? Am I going to become deadened to the glow inside of me as I get older and once gone, would I ever be able to get my spark back? It was right then and there, between the passing of the bread and the clanking of the water glasses that I promised myself NEVER to let my flame die, never to let the life that I am so fully tuned into pass by the wayside in exchange for more “important” things. I’ve kept that promise to myself and as I sit here typing away in the middle of the night, the keyboard is illuminated by the glow of my heart and my love of life.   No … I haven’t forgotten nor will I ever forget what it felt like when I was five. Thankfully to this day I still remember and feel, all the while gently dancing to my own fiery ball of light.

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