I have known sunrises that I truly do not believe words, paintings, cameras or any human creation could hope to create or replicate. Each is knitted into my soul and even my bones. No two have ever been the same. As I got into my car yesterday I paused to sit in the darkness. The sun was still tucked in the night and even the moon was quilted in the clouds. I who see so poorly do not drive in the dark. I had no choice this day. A 90 minute drive awaited and most of it would be in the dark. I sat and relived those glorious sunrises. I laughed to think if only the sun would wake up earlier this morning, knowing it would not. With head bowed I asked that all would be safe…myself, the car, others on the road, and any deer or other creatures that may be making their way home after foraging for food during the night. Yes please.

I have known sunrises painted in glory but think none more glorious than when the first hint of gray touched the dark black of the night’s pre-dawn.

Yes, I and all, can report the drive was slow but all were safe. When the gray became lighter and the blue sky emerged I gave thanks. The remaining short distance in light was filled with the reflection of answered prayer. Does the “spiritual path” mean no calamity will ever be felt? Does the “spiritual path” and asking for help mean that my prayer is the only way that guidance or a miracle can occur? No. Calamity and unforeseen events will cross my path. My vision of answered prayer is shallow at best.

Tis the quandary that has plagued all humans. How do we reconcile calamity with the “spiritual path”? I am not so wise as to even venture an answer. I leave that to the sages, philosophers, poets, and mystics. But that dark dark morning and the first ray of light reminded me that there is a rhythm. The sun will and did in fact rise and gifted its light. And all the glorious sunrises, painted in orange, pink, red, blues, and colors I can’t even name, do not compare to that first hint of gray. That is where I shall leave the reflection and the quandary. I may never understand the black darkness. Yet the brilliance and expectancy of the sunrise seems so fleeting and cannot be held. I shall sit in gratitude for the gray that bridges them both. When the darkness seems so black the gray comforts with the sunrise hope. When I cling to the sunrise the gray whispers the dark still remains. Within the gray, I can hear the whisper, no matter what side of the bridge I find myself, all is well. All is well.