Joshua Jones- Photophobic

18 Jan

I stepped onto the tour bus and took a day trip to the City of Light to see what all the talk was about. After all, I’m not photophobic. I know that Light is good for some things – like measurement: ‘Light years’ or ‘travelling at the speed of…’.

But my experience has been that Light can be a bit harsh at times. It’s not that I always love being in darkness – but it does have certain benefits. It affords room for questions. And I’m proud of my questions – people say I can articulate profound inquiries that caffeinate the intellect. And darkness – for all its limitations – can veil you like a large blanket when you long to hide. Light demands exposure.  Unsurprisingly, when I stepped off the bus and into the City, here’s what happened:

  • There’s this person who hurt me – and I am committed to getting justice. But in the City I was told that I was unforgiving.
  • I have a strong self-esteem – I’m fairly intelligent and expect reasonable respect. There I was told I was arrogant.
  • I have a small, private ‘habit’ – doesn’t hurt anyone else. There, I was told I was a pervert.
  • I was there for a friend when she needed me – but where was she when I needed her? I loved much, but she loved little. In the Light I was told my love was ‘possessiveness’.
  • Light tells me that I’m jealous and a complainer – but darkness reassures me that I simply want what should be mine.

The City of Light! So much for kind rainbows and cheery sunrises. I escaped back to the tour bus and we raced back to the land of dark – much more tolerable than the City.

Let me begin again. Then, I received a night vision. At the doorway to the world of sleep, I witnessed Light become a man. The waves, particles – or whatever it is that Light is – was enrobed in flesh. He could eat, run, perspire and defecate. A radical, he taught hard truths, liberated the oppressed, exalted the poor and challenged the system – the type that intimidated career politicians and bank CEOs.

I reasoned that he’d like one of my political poems or be impressed by my book. Most critiques find my work to be quite perceptive. Perhaps I could contribute some of my insights on society – we could labour together in a common cause. Surely light would appreciate my gifts. So I approached him.

He told me that I was totally blind.

Me! Blind?! He said I needed to become like a little child again – childhood where we ask questions to discover answers and not to sound impressive. He suggested that if I were to abandon everything and follow him, He would lead me to where questions fade away and there are showers of forgiveness.

Who do you think you are?! Here in the dark, my questions don’t need an answer! Here in the dark – who in the hell even wants your forgiveness? I can see just fine on my own.

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