"Distant Light" 


 
       I am dying. Energy that once consumed me, burning brighter and 
brighter still, has begun to dissipate. It has been a slow, yet 
unabated seepage. Those who look at me and watch me have not yet 
noticed the difference. To their naked or even enhanced vision, no 
change is detectable.  I, however, know better.


         As they have been observing me, I have kept a deliberate 
vigil over them. From a vantage point none of them has ever known, I 
watch. I look to see them begin each day and retire each e'en. In the 
two millennia that I have shone, the habits and constants of dawning 
and dusk have changed not. Each day brings their labor, each night 
their rest.


         Their efforts revolve around life- the giving, sustaining 
and ending of their fleeting days. My days once seemed without end; 
now I know them to be numbered. Perhaps that is why I watch with a 
renewed intensity now.


         For them, rest is often elusive. They chase after peace with 
reckless abandon. They flit from one thing to another, seeking relief 
from their burdens. They long to find solace, a wholeness, at the end 
of their days. For many, the search never ends. For others, the 
journey is where we first meet.


         Though the distance between us is practically immeasurable, 
I see her every move with a clarity I have not experienced in 
generations. She is relentless in her thoughts; they do not stop for 
long. She pursues a goal beyond mere tranquility. She searches for 
answers to questions many have not even begun to ask. She longs for 
truth. She seeks the completion of her very self.


         I feel a familiar ache for her. As much as I am able to 
remember, I can recall another like her. This one from days gone also 
carried a child, also questioned, also sought truth. I watched her 
anguished moments in the morningstar days of my youth. It was for her 
belief, her need, that I first showed my brightness. I burned with 
all the intensity of Heaven to show her she was not alone, even in 
her seconds of doubt. My light broke out, into the darkness of that 
Eastern sky the night her child was born, and she was reassured that 
she was not alone in her burden, in her search for answers.


If only. . .I could manage one more time to display a glimmer of that 
same hope for this other Daughter of Eve. She is also alone in 
carrying a truth within her. She has been blessed, her deepest hope 
granted, and yet she grieves. If it means sacrificing a few more 
meager hours of being barely alive, I would surely agree to exchange 
then for a brief luminescence. She would possibly catch sight of me 
and know. She would realize as that one so long ago that light still 
shines in the darkness and that the darkness will not overcome it.

 

END


Feedback: Share your Christmas stories with me! joemimi@prodigy.net


Author's notes: This story was inspired by words from a great poet of 
American music, Paul Simon:  "The way we look to a distant 
constellation that's dying in the corner of the sky." 

Many thanks as always to Georgia, the light of your beta help and 
friendship brightens my days.