Long did I travel alone, searching for some pathway through the dark. There, within the absence of everything, I encountered the boundary marking the threshold of salvation. The place signifying the eternal transition from darkness to light. And at that place, that lonely place, I heard a voice chant:
“Light, light, at the edge of night. The one that shines in the darkest night.
I sought you once and found you not, you came to me when all was lost.”
My soul wanted it, desired it, craved what awaited me at the edge between night and day. The realm of eternal sunsets and sunrises that dwell along existence’s edge. Despite my desire, I hesitated, unsure about what happens at the intersection of darkness and light. There again the voice chanted:
“Light, light, at the edge of night…”
With courage I stepped into that nightly expanse and proceeded to lose my way. And at that threshold, when all had passed, my path became a desperate remembrance for the former things. Those things we lose at the edge of shadows, where memories fade and being slips back into the dark void of time. It was there, in the no-where, that I heard it once more:
“…The one that shines in the darkest night…”
Beyond me was nothing, and where the path had gone before, only darkness remained. Searching stopped and seeking ceased. And there in my despair, standing far beyond the distant threshold, it said,
“…I sought you once and found you not…”
Within the darkness came the first light, shining with a magnificent brilliance reserved for creation itself. From which come both our endings and beginnings, what is made and unmade. Thus, from sunset came sunrise, the birth of the eternal now. The first light welcomed me, illuminating the path beyond into infinity. And as I walked into its radiance, enveloped in its presence, I remembered the voice,
“…you came to me when all was lost.”
Photo by Elliott Engelmann on Unsplash
Liminal Theology 