Flash in the Pan
A Quarterly Posting at Tiny Lights
by Sara A. Baker
I was all too familiar with the dark, soupy cocktail of my predawn commute with its precipitous, endless sea of headlights that once seemed like lighthouses—beacons of hope illuminating a safe path for me. I was hopelessly lost, however, on a ritualistic sea, never challenging the distance or the destination. With each day and each mile, I distanced myself farther and farther from my soul.
One day, I glanced east and watched the sun gradually appear on the horizon; the dawn gently lifted my heart as I whispered the question, "Am I so busy doing that I am not busy enough being?" The fresh sun and sparkling dew shimmered together like an intricate prism that invited me to embrace the beautiful, tranquil, and multifaceted aspects of my soul.
Suddenly, I seemed detached from my body; and, although a bit frightened, I felt oddly comfortable. Despite the cold temperature, I sweated profusely; even my mind was on fire!
I gasped and murmured to myself, "I searched laboriously for you in the cold winter rains, shivering from the chilly shallowness. I sought you desperately in spring blossoms and newness. I chased you anxiously on the hot, sultry summer days, feeling your presence singeing my body but hovering over me like a winged angel with a message from God. I noticed you surreptitiously change me during the reflective, transitional days of fall with the promise of abundant colors and joy. I paused; took a deep breath; and sensed the edges of your essence cutting through the silence. I felt you peacefully in the spaces between my body and mind. I discovered you today quite unexpectedly in the most unlikely of places—on the freeway during my frantic morning commute."
As tears flooded my eyes and gently cascaded down my face, I felt a bit like the mythical phoenix that ignited itself, burned fiercely, cried tears of healing, and sang its harmonious song of resurrection. With each teardrop my soul captivated me as it sang its beautiful melody and beckoned me to listen.
Sara Baker began her writing career as a teen, incessantly recording her thoughts and story ideas on scraps of paper, including the edges of math class notepaper. Now, as a retired teacher and editor, she is sharing her words and thoughts with others.
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