Sit he said, just sit with a pen and paper and let the words come. Let the light flow out of you onto the paper. Oh my dear father, how can I? I must hide my light. I must fight to keep it hidden. It was once set on a lamppost, high on a hill, for others to see and by which to be guided. I may have not placed myself there, but I certainly allowed myself to be placed. I welcomed travelers seeking light to come close and warm themselves. Or those seeking clarity to come check their map in my glow. Some however, who had journey long and in darkness, were angry at the light. It’s too much. It’s too bright. It is hard for my eyes to adjust. And so in their wearied way they would huff and puff with soot laden breath, attempting to extinguish the flame. But it was of little challenge. The flicker made me grow stronger. Bolder.
This caused arrogance. I could withstand some strong winds. I had stood the test of nature. One person, or even several people breath were of no match for my flame. Like a child trying to blow out a bonfire. I laughed haughtily at the attempts. And patted myself on the back for being that strong. Oh how ignorant I can be.
and then the Ugly happened. A traveler called out, that is not the true light. That is a lie. Artificial light sent to misguide you. And as the challenge hung in the air, I felt the world slowly shift. A worried huddle began to form of those closest to me. Gradually rumblings grew and more voices called out. Anger erupted as challenges grew bolder. A lie. The real has been removed, and only this imposter remains. The road that it guides leads to death. Do not trust it.
I have been forever prepared for stale breath to attempt to blow me out. I have resources and supplies pooled should my flame become dull and low, or bow to a strong breath. But I am ill prepared for this challenge. It as if the oxygen itself has been sucked out of my surroundings.
I stand here screaming I am still light I am still light but my voice is choked by my lack of oxygen and the surrounding dissent is so great, my shaky retorts echo into the empty canyons. And there I am, rejected. My light now not trusted and my path labeled with homemade signs danger lies ahead! Warning!
I was prepared for many challenges. I was not prepared for this. I wish to be strong. To stand proudly and let the hurricane blow. But to be honest? I am questioning my own light. Am I false? Is this light a lie? I shrink and cower. Do not shout. Do not illuminate. You are almost extinguished. Be small. Do not bring attention. Maybe you can recover from this. But if another challenge arises, if more oxygen is sucked out of your surroundings you will be choked out. Be small little one, be small. Hide.
Some moments you get to be a proud light, guiding others. And then other moments the wind is knocked out of you and you must cover the flame to protect its gentle glow. Hide it close to yourself allowing only glimpses of its meek flicker. I am once again a traveler, my feet shuffling in the inky blackness. My flame hidden under all of my garments, protected from the elements. I can feel its gentle warmth, but I have not enough to share. My fingertips are numb so I fumbled when pulling it out. When challenged I can muster just enough dexterity to pull back my coat and let another see its light. But quickly I must cover it again before the fellow nomad can judge my light as artificial and without true warmth.
Please do not ask to see my light only to laugh at its glow.
I still feel its warmth when it is pressed against my ribs. Sometimes I must press it so hard against me I feel it burn my flesh. But the searing reminds me of its truth. I am alive. This is a real flame. I clench my candle tightly and let my nails bite into its hardened wax. My light is true I whisper raspily. It is real, even if it is only seen by me. I know my truth. My light is warmth. I numbingly trudge forward. I allow myself the pleasure of warmed wax to drip down my fingers, leaving trails of truth and reminders behind. I am alive. My flame is real.
My journey 