Stars and Fireflies

July 12, 2010
By Anonymous

C.S. Lewis says that when we see beauty through a window, we don't really realize we're looking out a window, rather we see the beauty and ignore the fact that a window is before us. But indeed I do. I do realize it's there, hindering me so efficiently. I long to be outside, in the midst of the beauty, not just contained by this glass that stands so firmly in front of me. In fact, when I look out of a window, my thoughts are overwhelmed by a longing and desperation to be, out.

From where I lie, from the containment of my window, I see the stars and the lightening bugs.

The stars are my therapy. As I gaze at them, it's impossible not to realize how small and finite I am. How I'm just here on earth, a speck against God's painting of the universe. They're distance from me is infinite. I look at them and I am reminded of everything precious in life, how they come and go; so temporary. They teach me that not everything lasts. They allow me to remember all that is out of my reach, all that I so desire but cannot have. Such bittersweet reminders. The stars are my therapy.

The fireflies are my spirit, so free and playful. They jealously attempt to imitate the night sky, glowing against the black. Though not as grand and infinite, they give an illusion that the ground does not exist, and rather, from where I lie, I am floating between two starlit skies. I am existing, a figment of someone's imagination, feeling an unreal sensation of not being at all. The lightening bugs are my spirit.

Oddly enough, although the stars are the ones who are always there, I find my friendly little lightening bugs to be far more reliable. For some nights, I lift my head to the sky, and to my extreme disappointment, all I find is oh so familiar darkness glossed over by a tinted haze. The misty air sulks so low to the ground. 'Tis so destructive to my diamonds of infinite distance. Therapy unavailable.
That is, until my unsatisfied gaze falls to the ground below. Quite fortunately, the fireflies have no smog to drape over them. No. They remain by my side, and in the front of my mind. They are always there. Dancing across the untouchable earth. For my spirit is always pressing on.

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