Gold Beneath the Shadows

There is a reason we find gold hidden deep beneath the shadows.

Old shadows cover treasure, and treasure can be terrifying.

Shadows feed on the dust of illusion

and the residue of lies.

Shadows cling to the outline of frosted windows, eating the moonlight.

They are cobwebs obscuring sliver,

greedy in their promise to protect, in their persistence to steal beauty,

living the illusion of immortality,

creeping forward, sliding into fantasies.

Thievery is their joy, their daily bread,

while we hunger and starve, our hearts straining forward,

our dry mouths thirsting for a cup of hope.

Old shadows are as dry as the dust of millennia,

that crumbles and blows away at our slightest touch.

They are as dead as the bones of creatures from God’s first experiment,

long lost to us.

Everything has a life span, and every shadow is a season outlived.

What we need is the sorcery of a courage like magic, striking this gauzy film that

masquerades as substance, sweeping away those ideas that keep us apart, alone,

terrified of our magnificence, tragically angry in our separate tribes.

What we need is the stubborn will to love each other regardless of our terror.

What we need is the desire to live, so desperately that we give up our fear of both

the shadows and the gold.

Everything has a life span and every shadow is a season outlived.

Old shadows mask and veil gold. And so I set myself this task:

to cease fearing the gold beneath the shadow more than the shadow itself,

to dig deep,

for under that shine I will find the true and perfect joy.

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