by Laura K. Secor

Rumi is so often bubbling with delight, so often filled with the glory of Spirit, positively vibrating and swirling with the exuberance of his earthy ecstasy.  But even he occasionally finds a cloud crossing his sun.  This poem is titled “Love Moves Away” and goes like this:

Pale sunlight,
pale the wall.

Love moves away.
The light changes.

I need more grace
than I thought

That’s it, that’s the whole poem.

In this time full of endings, this time of melancholy, this poem saturates my heart.  I feel the changing of the light in the shrinking family crowd at holiday gatherings, the lack of babies, the need for a new puppy, a guinea pig at the very least.  The sunlight is pale lately, the colors are soft, translucent.  Even the flowers my husband brings me after a hard day are pure white.  I miss the years vibrant with the saturated color of toddler birthday balloons.  In this time of gentle melancholy, I practice tonglen, breathing in my sorrow and breathing out my hope for more colorful days.  Not just for myself, but for all who live here.  Always, when I reach this point of the tonglen meditation, I wonder about sentient life on other planets.  If I am wishing amethyst and ruby light to shine down upon all sentient beings, does this light spring from a million different stars?