But it was bright out. Even with the blinds down, summertime light was pouring in through the gaps in the slats. I couldn't just drop off to sleep with the light still apparent through my closed eyelids. So my mind wandered, too tired to get up and do anything, too awake to doze off in slumber.
This is what I thought: Even when we try to shut out the light, we can't. I mean this in the metaphysical sense. (NB: I'm not trying to be religious or particularly New Age, either. Although if either of those apply to you, I'm not dissing them. By all means, if what I'm saying speaks to you, no matter what you consider yourself, let it speak to you. I'm just explaining in terms of my own life. I don't consider myself religious or New Age. Rather, I'm just a person seeking meaning. And sometimes the words that describe this meaning for me--light, faith, grace--overlap with the terms used by other institutions and communities. Side note over.) So back to the light. The metaphysical kind. In my life, I've tried to shut it out before. I'm not sure exactly why. It hurt to see the truths light made evident, maybe, the cobwebs it exposed.
The point, though, is that I couldn't shut it out. My metaphysical eyelids, if you will, could keep me from seeing, but they couldn't keep me from knowing the light was still there. So I always ended up opening my eyes again, like I did today when I couldn't sleep, and greeting the light and all it had to show me with grudging respect.
(For the purposes of full disclosure, I do realize that there are other methods of blocking the sunlight when you're trying to sleep in the day--sleep masks, a pillow over the eyes, blackout curtains. None of those are equipment we're born with, though. For this metaphor, let's go with that as a criteria both physical and spiritual. Your means for light-blocking must be something you're born with. Is that fair?)
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