In Love with Light

Light is not a thing that can always be seen.

That is how we most often experience it, of course--light which comes in waves and particles, light which brings out colours deeper and richer than can be captured in paints or pictures, light which brings new life and radiance to things once dull and ordinary, which can be soft or harsh, all-encompassing or faintly glowing.

Light, however, cannot always be seen. It can be felt, as well. Sometimes, light is warmth. It is a searing heat or a glowing ember, an insulation or an isolation. It is a light touch, or a submersion, as if sometimes you only need to be gently reminded of its presence, and other times, gentle isn't reminder enough.

Light, still, cannot always be seen or felt. Sometimes, light can be heard. It's difficult to differentiate from the everyday sounds, but light can be heard in laughter, in the warm rustle of blades of grass, in the buzzing of bees. Sometimes, light can be heard in the spoken word. Light is laced in comforting words, permeating through honest words, and sometimes, just sometimes, light can be heard in the whisper of silence.

It's difficult, though, to imagine any of this without light. Light cannot only be heard, or only felt, or only seen. Light is most commonly seen, yes, but it cannot be seen without being felt, heard--even smelled and tasted, too. And there is nothing like the taste of light on your lips and the smell of the sunshine.

Light is attached to something deeper, richer, more full of colour and power and tangibility than it is ever described, and it is that something that light is laced with that is like a drug; grow attached to such a light, and one cannot prevent it from splashing brightly through veins, leaving a glowing residue of light in every look, every touch, every word--it invades and changes, in a way that takes over and leaves one breathless,

and even if one were to break the addiction, it would be far too late, for how can one rid oneself of something that has so permanently altered one's existence? And who would part with something which causes such wonder and beauty and light?

I am in love with light,
and with the something
to which it is so irrevocably attached,
and nothing has ever made me feel
so light
in my life.

Charis Medendorp (2012)