Rumi's Ray

A 'ray in the life' tale...

A lonely sunbeam slipped through a gap in the awning. It wound its way through the café's exterior and fell into my open palms, begging for attention. I relented and fished out my notebook.

Dancing with water in a glass, it made patterns on an empty page in my notebook. The hastily sketched still life was dedicated to the trapped sunbeam and everything that it illuminated.

Everything else was in shadows. The dog stretched out on the floor, yawned lazily, and settled back into a siesta. The sunlight warmed her nose, and the cool mosaic tiles kissed her fur and muzzle.

Time passed, the dog continued to snooze. The would-be artist became a memory - until the next visit. Finally, she shook herself awake, jumped up on all fours, and relieved herself with renewed vigour.

The evening sun hid itself behind gathering clouds and mist. The snow-capped mountains glistened pink and orange in the dying light. The clouds rumbled as the sky turned a decadent indigo. A high-altitude storm meant more ice and snow to feed the dying glaciers.

I studied my reflection in a mirror and appreciated an early winter tan. Keys clinked together and the lock clicked as the door closed behind me. Each step up the slope took me closer to being above the cluster of buildings that veiled the gaping valley.

Up top, the majestic mountains spread out with unconcealed splendour. Above the backlit snow-peaks, stars sparkled into existence in the darkening sky. By now, the alchemist light had caught the entire world in its spell of spectral luminescence.

In awe and with gratitude, I considered Rumi’s words:

Your Self is a copy made in the image of God.