Last night we were driving home from running errands and I was distracted by the sky. How can you not stop and appreciate what Rumi called “the light of the beloved.”
It is truly a work of art, these clouds and this light and this image. And yet, here we are, speeding down the road, groceries in our car and receipts in our pocket, the evidence of spending time in the ordinary moments, when even then we are blessed with this art show, totally unique and free for our eyes… if only for a moment.
I couldn’t stop staring and pointing and holding my breath. How beautiful it is. See how the light peeks through? Like God is there, behind these clouds, waiting for us to turn our gaze so he can smile at us through the light.
And what are the clouds in this holy painting of light and air, what do they represent and how do they change so subtly but so quickly at the same time? And when the orange dips lower and lower so that I find myself standing on tiptoe to see the last inch of it, as disappointment and awe makes its way into my heart, there shines the brightest, most brilliant orange and red, the final blot of divinity on this masterpiece that is now gone forever.