Broken Light

"Colour(s) are light’s suffering and joy." [Goethe, Theory of Colours, 1810]

I set out to begin this day at dawn as I do each year on my birthday, out the door & down to the sea, to the glittering edge, to somewhere, I know not where — and ever the waves do crash. Many paths crisscross the sand, mapping the routes of those who went before me — gull, snail, crab, coyote, my own feet leaving a wobbly line of space-age treads.

I press onward, aiming for the height of Bearberry Hill — but my toes are cold in dew-soaked shoes … I want coffee … my feet hurt. So this year I turn around before the summit & head back to the house, into the kitchen, disgruntled by it all — the litter box, heaps of dirty sheets and towels, the aggravations of daily life — but then — look — the sun!

How can I refuse delight! seeing how the sun pours in through the window, illuminating everything it touches: the empty water jug on the counter filled with sun’s gold, the plastic knife standing in a dirty cup glowing a deep insistent rose, flowers on the table gently lit, a burst of glory streaming through glass all the way to my place at the table, shards of broken light spreading rainbow over the page …

and then to the water again — yes again — the tide now coming in, washing over the sea’s findings, a clam’s shell become a jewelry box, sea water, foam, iridescent bubbles of sunlight quivering on the surface, an offering from the deep, just the message I need.

The glow & magical dance of candles on a birthday cake mirror the child’s wishes & dreams that seem, in retrospect, so easy to fulfill: a bicycle horn, a clown costume, a new wonder-book. Adult dreams & wishes can be hard to put into words — they grow abstract, unfulfillable, global. As for the candles on the cake, the years start to outnumber the supply of candles on hand — they become too numerous to blow out all in one breath. The flames may be unsteady, wavering — some sputter & go out.

Birthdays bring up all kinds of feelings, emotions run the gamut: celebratory … challenging … uncertain … everchanging as we age. But whatever emotions the special day conjures up, each birthday makes a connection to origin, to sense of self, one’s place on the timeline. From the memory of birthday parties at the Brick House — little girls in party dresses, big brother with his crewcut, birthday poppers & blowouts & tissue paper hats in pastel colors — up through the years to this day & the unfinished ceremonial trek up Bearberry Hill, where I feel connection to my parents — it’s a quest for understanding: where did I begin? How did I travel to get here?

My 9th birthday … here with Grandmommy Dingman, grantor of all wishes

Showing Linda my heart’s desire & top item on my wish list— a rubber squeeze horn for my bike — gift from Grandmommy, mentioned in last years’ birthday post

When light passes through a prism (or through mist, rain, ocean spray or ancient handblown window glass) it changes speed, splitting to display the panchromatic colors of the rainbow.

Your birthday cake is set before you, and in the brief expectant silence while you decide on a wish, you might, for a brief shimmering moment, see the totality of your essential Self in those candles, shining like milestones to mark your many-coloured journey from birth to Now.

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NOW, by Nancy Dingman Watson, from Blueberries Lavender, Addison-Wesley, 1977 Illustration by Eric Blegvad

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