Light

In honor of summer, this talk is a sort of a prayer in praise of light.

“Behold the coming of the light. Behold the light made manifest in your own mind. Behold that shining in the world you see. Behold the light of time beating its pace for you. Behold the light of is-ness, the special luminescence of the such-ness of things, as it makes itself known to your eyes, and in your mind, and in your life. Behold the coming of all things bright, the day, bright in its own way, giving way to the sacred shining of the night. Behold the light in the people you love and in the people you do not; behold it in the empty streets, in the bustle of commerce, in the holiday that is joyful and in the one that is pain. Behold the light in the trees, sleeping and bare, shivering and slick with rain, and behold it in the bush that blossoms, in the flower that dies, in all things growing and folding. Behold the light as a season that is not a season—a season that does not change, that does not ebb and flow, that does not cycle, that is not reborn because it never dies. Behold the light in the season that holds all this, all this other shining, all these faces of the light. Behold the shining season that lives through and as all of this, that completes itself in this, though it needs no completion, and that knows itself in this, though it needs no such knowledge. Behold the light of time and the light of having, the light of giving and the light of happiness, and behold that these take their shining from the season-less season of one light, the constant brightness that lets luminescence itself be real. Behold the one light as you behold all of its forms—in your mind, in your life, in your ambitions and in your pain. Behold the coming of the light, and celebrate its season.”