The Spark

September 2, 2009

It starts with a tickle. Somewhere, down deep in a man’s core, the hammer of reality beats out its incessant clang upon the metaphysical anvil of man’s very existence. From out of this sacred space, this ethereal cove, unreachable and imaginary to the grasping claw of science, comes a beat mirrored by our own exterior shell of life-giving materiality. As a fledgling disciple, the heart sounds its reverential imitation. So too do the lungs, whose leisurely homage hints at a more restrained awareness than that of the heart. Indeed, much like the seaman finds comfort in the impenetrable mystery of his lady the ocean, it is the lungs who gain strength from the enigma of their host.

However, let one not think that this rhythm beats uniform. For the hammer’s striking originates in a world populated with infinite realities, a world in which the confluence of these realities necessitates a departure from stillness and peace. The hammer strikes hot. The hammer strikes cold. There are times in a man’s life when life’s occurrences drive the hammer so powerfully, indelibly slamming against his spiritual anvil, that golden sparks burst forth from the morass of creation. It is the simple power within one of these sparks, that man cannot ignore. With the bite of a golden ember alighting on bare skin, the spark begins its journey to existence. For this violent clang will not go unrealized in man’s material self. This is the clang of agony, heartbreak, suffering, pain. But this is also the clang of love, joy, excitement. This is the clang that sounds the yawp, chases the whale, fills pockets with stone…

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