Fog rolled in last night. I loved the ethereal glow of the lights down on the streets. I took pictures. At one point I was hanging out the window to get a photo up Wabash. It was probably a good thing it was around 2:30 a.m., so no one was looking at the crazy woman hanging out of her window on the thirteenth story, taking pictures.
While I was meditating this morning, I had an insight. Light still shines in the fog. It’s dispersed and fuzzy, but it still shines. When I’m in a fog–when I’m depressed–my light still shines too. It may be dispersed and fuzzy, but it’s still shining. It may even appear ethereal and otherworldly as light does in the fog. In many myths fog separates this world from Faery or the Otherworld. May be I’m closer to other worlds and God in my fogs? May be my light will show other these paths, these worlds? It’s an interesting thing to think about.
I always say I’m in a fog when I’m depressed. Yes, fog makes it hard to see and hear. But light in the fog is so beautiful. Moonlight, street lights, or lights from signs–it doesn’t matter. They all take on this beautiful, otherworldly glow in the fog. The fog softens things, blurs borders and boundaries, and makes you see everyday things differently. It opens new possibilities of gateways to other worlds. It can be a pain to navigate in, but where will you wind up if you follow the lights through the fog? I don’t know. But it gives me a different way of looking at my fogs of depression. What if I pay attention to the fuzzy and ethereal lights I do see? What if I follow them? Where will I wind up? What if someone follows my fuzzy light? Where will we end up?