Let the light in

Our lives are determined by many truths, some accepted, most unacknowledged and hidden and some, we realise only as we grow, are not truths at all. To the human mind, beauty is defined by perfection and the absence of darkness. As a child, the perfection of my mother’s smile was the definition of beauty. And the cause of my happiness. My childhood was a very happy one, all things considered. But even as the child grew into a young girl, even from my fiercely protected world, it was hard to hide the dark edges of anger, hurt and hopelessness lurking beyond the apparent smiles of contentment all around. Glimpses only, only at the edges of my consciousness, but definitively there, nonetheless. But my own little world was still more or less perfect and it was easy to ignore the visible cracks beyond. And so, I did not then learn to love the dark edges that gave the light its real meaning.

For you cannot learn this truth in a classroom. Perhaps you can only learn this the hard hard way. Perhaps only time can teach you true beauty lies in a smile on a face full of lines, in the blinking silver light of the moon full of dark craters, in the strong grip of two male lovers holding hands in defiance of the world and also perhaps in the light from a broken street lamp guiding your tired feet homeward. That perfection is lovely indeed but it does not tug at your heartstrings like imperfect beauty and imperfect love.

Perhaps the hardest lesson is about the imperfect struggle of our everyday lives. Even harder, is to accept that you must always trudge ahead even knowing that you are not at the top of your game, that this is certainly not your best performance and perhaps not your day all. Like the ballet dancer who spins with every drop of strength in her knowing fully well that it is not her best spin but she gives her all anyway. So many times, I have withdrawn from life’s somewhat frightening stage with the conviction that if I could not shine with the brightest light, the somewhat dim flicker that I had to give, was perhaps not worth giving at all. That not being at the very peak of the mountain was somehow equal to being in the depths of it. After all, who would want the less than perfect me. I thought that was my humility.

But I know now with perfect clarity, that that was not humility, but rather my arrogance that the world should not see me at anything but my very best. For even the most flickering light can offer hope to the weary and warmth to the cold. I know now that the imperfect, not-the-star-of-the-night effort is what I owe the world today. That when I am at most bruised is when I should get up and walk, even if it is at best, a stumbling effort. That when my voice is at its weakest that I must use it to speak out against injustice and indifference. It is when I am the most out of tune that I must strive to hold a note, pure and clear. Even if I just made another mistake. And slowly the tune will take hold and a song will emerge. Not yet a masterpiece but a song nonetheless.

Leonard Cohen sang in the Anthem

“Ring the bells that can still ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That’s how the light gets in

That’s how the light gets in”

So ring your incomplete bells as loud as you can, my friend, sing with your creaking voice, run if you will with your damaged knees, clap with your chapped hands and teach your children about love with your broken heart. And know that the world will wait patiently for your magnum opus while you recite funny stories to entertain your neighbours on a train journey. Even if the jokes are a bit rusty and your timing a little off. Learn to love the cracks in your world.

For they are indeed how the light gets in.