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  Scott Fray Reidsville, NC Hear an audio version of this piece  |
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Have we always worshiped diamonds? Scintillating white star cracks. Ice-hot welding sparks that throw lightning casually about, breaking apart the spectrum as if the laws of nature tempted defiance. True, it’s not hard to guess the reason. We sense that there is stolen evidence of the Holy One in the surpassing white of the diamond’s crystalline core. Caught in some kind of Paleocene magic, a glancing impression– a fingerprint from the Hand of the Creator has been captured like a lightning bug in a jar. But how do we know this to be so? How did we first come to know whiteness? The early autumn breeze pulls at the tensile stems of still green leaves today as I wiggle into that kayak. Smooth, sleek fiberglass jet, knifing through lake like slicing into warm butter. A bit tippy, got to stay loose in the hips. Not easy to turn either, and definitely on the pricey side. So many to try, my mind is waterlogged from the flirtation of what I might be tempted to buy. One after another, over and over, I sprint past the shore into the sunlit expanse of water. Performance. Speed. Maneuverability. Lots of thinking to do here. Comparisons and assessments fill my head. They are the meat of choice for the neocortex. Light lifting for the soul. Spray flashes clean as my paddles pinwheel, sparkling light and wet. I begin to remember why I came here. Not just to check out these kayaks, they are just the instruments of penetration. A means of getting intimate with lake, earth and sky. An altar upon which to witness the shining sunlight sparkling on the clear waters. Sight of this sears the spirit wide, dilated. White liquid solar light spills in brilliant cascades, rippling over the surface of the lake. It is deeply connective, illuminating, equalizing, awakening the ecstatic organ of worship and magic. The remembrance is whole, now. This earth is so very alive, so pulsatingly vital. My cells quicken, racing with clear light, feeling that mighty flow. I know myself to be a cell in the vast organism of Earth itself, eternal and timeless. Since dim and hidden memories began to churn within us have we done this thing, seen this vista. I see an unending plane of Holy white fire. Existing just a fingertip’s breadth behind the reality we know, it is spilling over into this world in a fantastic torrent. As if through a lace lampshade, or pinprick holes in a ricepaper watercolor, the image of our world gives way to its obvious power, dissolving like the flimsy and diaphanous scrim it is revealed to be. This is why the lake shines so; it is the opening wherein the Holy One can enter our eyes. Through incandescence. White on white. Light on light. Sparkling like a galaxy of diamonds. |
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