Inside of an enclosure.
Inside of the walls.
Inside of the glass.
The protector. The stall.
A bulb rests in its foundation.
Screwed into its place.
Ready for the power. The source.
That turns it on for its day.
Inside of the bulb’s exterior
Houses the source of the light that you saw.
A swirl of heat
It’s wires encase.
A beam portrays
As it projects its rays.
As I walk on the street
After the sun has gone down
The beams soon illuminate
As the power switch sounds.
A lantern
A light
A street pole or a sign.
Their purpose is to lead the way
So I am not lost when the daylight
No longer surrounds.
As I navigate the world
As I walk here and there
Lights continue to illuminate
When the darkness appears.
As my footsteps continue
As I take each step
I ponder the source from within
Which externally projects.
Like a light in the darkness
We have a source within our being
A source that illuminates the person
In this world, that is seen.
I ponder that source.
Where it stems from.
What it is.
I ponder that source.
How, through it, we live.
I think about its switches
Its on and its off.
I think about its projection.
What is seen.
The depiction that, through it, you saw.
The lights and the source
That stem from our soul.
They seem to always be there.
Organically, their switch pulls.
Their presence is almost passive.
A part of our day-to-day being.
Here with me always.
On par.
Within my stretch.
Passively happening
As life around me is met.
As I walk in the world.
As more and more, I see.
I ponder the possibility of looking at my source, differently.
Of nurturing its presence.
Of seeing its importance in my life.
Of allowing it space
To organically take sight.
Some lights are enclosed
In marvelous structures and designs.
It is easy to see the intent
The attention to detail that was paid.
The craft that went into
The way that those beams were portrayed.
As I have seen places in life
My perspective has changed.
Something as small as a light
Can inflict a difference taking sight.
In Turkey they were colorful.
In Mostar, the same.
Sparkles and shimmers portrayed
Through the saturated colors of the bulb's case.
In Budapest and Oxford
The black, classic Nineteenth-century style lampposts held the light.
It felt mystic and enchanting
As I walked in the night.
In the middle of the city
In Des Moines, Iowa itself
An event called Jolly Holiday Lights.
Each holiday season is held.
Light bulbs formed into depictions
The various colors each take their place.
They form a story in which you watch
As you drive through the event's space.
The bulbs as individuals
Make up a greater message
A scene.
They flash along with music
To portray the story’s theme.
We used to drive there when I was younger
We would wonder at the lights from our seats.
It felt magical and mesmerizing
As I took in the beams.
As I reflect on my experiences
I have had in the places I have been
I am reminded that many times the details
Made the impact, within.
Like the light in the darkness
A modern-day minute detail in life.
What would happen if we allowed our source
The space for its creation to take sight?
To project how it felt called to.
To be authentically itself.
Without question or hesitation
Without pausing itself?
If we focused on our souls
If we allowed the space to connect
If we came to understand
The source that derives our authenticity
Would a difference be met?
