I Dance in Your Light

He shouted wildly, that is, he shouted inside to himself so no one could hear, "I dance in your Light!!" so rapt was he with his feelings. What should he call them? Or, should he call them anything, these feelings he was feeling? He managed a thought or two along the lines of linguistic philosophy cross-bred with Shakespeare's comments on roses. Do we really need names? Can't we just, instead, observe behavior from within the Great Silence? Can we not take note of responses that arise spontaneously within us and then, in mute fashion point with our attention, as if to say, that! We certainly recognize the behavior when it recurs and welcome it but flee its name...or the name it is given by hoi polloi.

Today he was astounded at the feelings that had arisen; partly because they were new, but mostly because they were atypical...at least, for him. What do you call it when your every thought of another has nothing of self-benefit eclipsing the thought; or when, in the course of daily routine, you import that one into every situation and your spirits soar. Or, again, when fraught with cares you rush in silent meditation, there to share and pour out all your heart to just that very one. And can imagination be held at fault when every moment is the birth of yet another future holding both in firm embrace?

He didn't know.

He did, however, take a survey of his acquaintance with pretenders to that throne that lay within his own experience. But naught he'd ever known was anything akin to this; there was nothing left to do but dance within the Light so brightly shining on his path.