In a rush of good fortune, I find myself up before the dawn. Able to write in the dark by candlelight. And with enough energy to take advantage of it.
I forgot how dim is the light of the candle. I can hardly see the page.
My words are nearly unrecognizable, and yet, I remember that is part of the magic of writing by candlelight.
Why is it magical?
It reminds me of the old ways. A link to our collective past. Abe Lincoln studying by candlelight. Simpler times. When life was pretty straightforward.
And in the dim light, I can let go of how it looks.
I can open myself to the flow of ideas streaming into my mind.
The creative energy all around me.
Driven by the flame.
I write quickly trying to catch the stream as it passes.
I am embraced by the darkness. Held close. Comforting, loving darkness. Appearance slips away. Reality remains. I am free to be me.
Greeted by a single flame. A harbinger of the coming dawn.
Photo by Huzeyfe Turan