The Light's Calling

Prologue

A web-covered chamber rests above a 1900s Victorian home where a young girl lives with her mother. The walls are a deep crimson color that is as rich in color as the color in the wings of a cardinal when its feathers catch a ray from the sun midflight .  The paint on the walls is  peeling slowly, and as it peels, it leaves a white ring to mark the absence of the color that once filled the jagged-edged shapes that creeped up with the passing of time.  A single breath can be heard, and suddenly, the girl sneezes; the dust blows up with such velocity that she is no longer visible to her mother who waits for her at the edge of the staircase. The young girl can hear the sounds coming from the window: bicycle wheels spinning and the smooth sound of the tire grazing on the hot concrete road below. She giggles as she blows the dust away from her face, and then she slaps the floor with the palms of her hands to bring up the dust once again. She pretends it is magical fairy dust, as she claps her hands together to catch the small specks of debris that fly past her tiny nose.

She laughs with much content in her heart, and her mother comes over to sit by her side to keep her company for a short while. A mermaid is the word she'd used to describe her mother. Her mother had billowing locks that held onto the wisps of wind that flew past her. Chestnut is the color that would best capture the shade of color in it; it was curled at the ends and flowed with such movement that each strand of hair seemed to be following the pace of the other, holding one another as they motioned the others to follow. Her mother's cheeks were flushed as were her full red lips on which she regularly applied a light layer of coconut oil that gave it the tropical scent, only captured in a beach escape.  She sits down next to her daughter, and as she sits, her skirt catches a small gust in her descent; her sand brown bohemian skirt graciously drapes around her long, freshly shaved legs, creating  a frame around her larger hourglass frame.

"Are you going on a date?" her daughter asks.

"Yes, my dear, and I have arranged for a sitter to stay with you" she replies.

"How long will it be before he arrives?" the daughter asks.

" He will be here in about an hour, my dear" she answers.

"Can I ask you something, mama?"

"Yes, my dear"

"What is this?" she asks as she points to the surface of each particle of dust that shimmers in the light as it descends to the floor. She sneezed again, and up the dust came, but through it, she could see a sparkle of life chasing the light on its surface, looking for a way to escape with it into the world of possibilities. 

Her mother responds, "If you close your eyes, you see it. It reflects through your eyes as though it were a bright light breaking through the curtains of a dark home begging for you to come to it. You feel its warmth like that of a mother's which exudes to produce the security of a home when you are away. You know that it has beckoned you all along, but for some reason, you turn away from it. Not once, not twice, but every time it has called to you.

The light is one which can only be seen when you go to it and let it sweep you away. Let it overcome you and drown you in it, as it consumes you and takes you to a boundless place. We have heard all the sayings: "They light up a room", "You were the light in the dark"" or "They light up my life". But we wonder where exactly do these sayings come from?

The lights that we speak of but nobody sees are tied to the story of the lights that once could be seen and now are only a reminder through the many sayings we exchange with one another without knowing the meaning, the root of the light that is spoken of.

You see the light through your closed eyes, as its power is harnessed in you, and only you can bring it to the surface to be seen, making it a life-changing moment in your human experience. There is nothing else that you can see as the windows to your soul are shut by the blinds of your eyes, but when your eyes are blinded, your heart sees it all because when we lose one sense, we must feel with another to survive. When we feel, we know that life itself has come to remind us that it looms around us like the air we breathe, only visible in the drops of dew at the break of dawn.   The rose-colored glow destroys the darkness that attempts in vain to extinguish your light. But then you think, it's not a light; it's a fire from which that rose-colored light is bore and your purpose, your reason to live is in that fire that ignites your soul."

"But mom, can everyone see the light? " the young girl asks with a twinkle in her eye.

"Those who see them do not only see the light in themselves, but they see the light in others." she responds.

"Is it a gift, or is it a curse?" the young girl inquires once more.

" To realize our dreams can, at times, be difficult, but it's not impossible; the only person that can make your dreams come true is you, with a little bit of help from those who believe in you."  Just before winter, and right after summer, she searched for them, and discovered the "mythical" lights that would change her forever.