Sarah Blondin is a free weekly newsletter. If you love it, consider supporting it financially. For $7/mo, you’ll gain access to my monthly Q&A and my serial-Folding In. The work I create here is reader-supported, hence the lack of ads and sponsors. Thank you!
I saw the early morning sun washing over the smooth granite face of a rock outside my window and found myself drawn by its honeyed voice to join and sit. Dutifully, I followed and found myself eyes closed, hands open on my lap, submissive and quietly being warmed. The posture of worship must have originated like this. All creatures alike come crawling from their hole roused by the glow outside their tiny hovels. Since the beginning of time, we have been summoned toward the light and find ourselves before it, face upturned, in pause, taking into our bodies the curative medicine it holds. This one great orb of firelight calls all our attention. Mainly, it guides us to stop and feel, to rest and receive. It teaches us the story of creation and how to stand in it. This heartbeat at the center of all things makes the trials of our lives bearable.
I asked my 5-year-old if he felt life was easy or hard? Without hesitation, he let out an exasperated, "hard." By all accounts, this child is a privileged one. He has been born into a home with clean water to drink and food to eat, warm sheets to sleep in, and love from all corners, and yet still, he sees from deep inside there is a gap between the two worlds. The love and wholeness he feels inside has met and struggled with the many discrepancies of the outside world, and it has not been entirely comforting. He is not a depressed child but an awake one.
This being human thing is hard, this being alive. It's hard because most of what we are confronted by feels like a contradiction to what we intuit is right in our beings. We are constantly hurt and afflicted by the cruelty we find inside and around us. It's hard because we often lose touch with beauty and magic in this confusion and must toil at re-uniting with our homeland. But there is mercy and kindness interwoven. I don't mean to focus solely on hard, but the hard parts are where we need the most help.
I read in an article about the way a tree forms, "Sometimes, wind does more than gust against a tree: It blows the whole tree over, and that tree, if still rooted, must reorient the growth of its branches and buds toward the sky. Avalanches, erosion and landslides deal similar fates. And trees in all sorts of circumstances must grow around obstacles, away from competitors and toward the light. To get these jobs done, trees make a special kind of wood called reaction wood… Cellulose with a peculiar gelatinous layer is thought to act as the "muscle" that generates the pulling-up force." The tree is growing in strength as it moves.
It's becoming increasingly clear to me as I age that I, too, am being pulled into the light just like the tree. There is a stream of purity from which we gain strength, and a natural reaction leads me toward it. I have come to see we are drinking in goodness no matter the hour of the day.
When life presents itself in challenge and heartache, the spirit needs only to recognize the basis of its aliveness and then work to incorporate that fundamental grace into their waking moments to regain clarity. The principle of nature is this: A light outside your window keeps you alive. Yes, it can hurt and harm, but if wisely followed, this light is the medicine you need to survive. No matter the terrain or obstacle you have built into you, a function will help you continuously move toward this light. Hardship is a shaping force that asks you to grow in strength and muscle yourself toward the golden glow.
"…When does he (God) pour the earth, the stars, into us?" Rilke asks. My answer is that we are filled every day we are alive and awake. The night ends, and the daylight comes, and shoulder to shoulder, we living creatures walk together to feed on the medicine pouring into us from the sky.
No matter the world and its unfolding, no matter the hell and fire, life is always moving in tandem with the ark of the sun. So, take what is hard and use it to shape you to fit into the hallways of more light. Even when cut from its stem, the poppy constantly arches its greenness to face it. If you find yourself in a dim room and shadows dance across your floor, know that your stalk is listening for the guidance and direction of the light. There are stages of being turned in the wrong direction, but gradually we are building our reactive wood and pivoting toward the sun's pull. You can never stop this from happening. You can only forget that it is. And my dear, why else are you here but to remember this with me? We are all walking together with one shared intention and purpose: journeying in the pursuit of more light.
Did that long, hard winter not uncover an appreciation for the always changeful nature of things?
Thank you, light.
Did that heartbreak and betrayal not pull you toward your worth?
Thank you, light.
Did that loss of a loved one not open the portal of your heart into an endless loop of sincere and profound love?
Thank you, light.
Did that fear not iron out your distrust and force you to surrender and rest?
Thank you, dear light.
Did that longing in you for purpose and meaning and belonging not lead you to find it living in the very center of your own heart?
Thank you, dear light.
Did that loneliness not turn you on your head and force you to open your ears to deeper listening?
Thank you, dear light.
Did that illness not teach you the gift of slow time and of seeing what is right in front of you?
Thank you, dear light.
Did that love you risked giving not make you a better, more kind, and available human heart?
Thank you, dear light.
Does the crisis of the earth not lead you to your gratitude and appreciation?
I thank you, dear light, for turning what has been hard into something that reveals more light in me.
May the symbolism of our life be noticed. May we see ourselves as a sweet and tender life, taking shape and being pulled, listening, and being led. And may we be kind and gentle to ourselves in the painstaking process of our growth. May we notice how nurtured we are in every stage and state, appreciating the rhythm of every lifespan. When in the dark, may we feel the sun warming our back. May we see one another on the same path and find comfort in our joined humanity and intention. May we fold ourselves into the arms of light and go willingly in whatever direction it leads. May we rest and be taken.
thank you,
love Sarah
Give me feedback • Subscribe •  Ask Sarah a question
*for technical support contact: support@substack.com
Share this post