Light

Yesterday was Valentine's Day. It's actually named for a priest named Valentine who was martyred and made a saint. There are several versions of his story, but that's not the subject of this entry. At the inception of the "holiday," it celebrated romantic love. Today, maybe thanks to Hallmark, cards and remembrances are given to relatives and friends as well as lovers. C.S. Lewis defined the kinds of love in his book The Four Loves: affection; friendship; eros; and caritas (unconditional love). I suppose one could make the case that "true love" is a combination of all four.

I've gone off on this because I realized yesterday that I've really never quite celebrated Valentine's Day in that romantic vein. My daddy used to bring me a little heart box containing chocolates every year. My ex-husband did not believe in Valentine's Day. And any other fellas in my life were apparently equally unsentimental. I am not complaining or kvetching or feeling sorry for myself. It's just a sort of belated observation. I've gotten funny cards from friends and sweet hand-made cards from my children (and grandchildren). This year I realized that all kinds of love begin in one place not mentioned by C.S. Lewis: self-love. Not ego, not conceit, not vanity. But an awareness and a belief in one's self and valuing one's self. We've heard it before many times: if we do not love ourselves, believe in ourselves, how do we expect others to do it?

My son and I were talking about this; very synchronistic. It is a connection with our center, with our light, with our soul I suppose we may call it.
People go there through meditation; artists through their art. It is, I believe, the beginning and the end of our personal journey. When people who have experienced an "out of body" episode, a sort of death, they describe seeing a light and moving toward it. I experienced that once when I was in trouble in a recovery room after surgery. When I thought about it afterward, the light wasn't external; it wasn't outside of me. The journey toward the light was a journey deep to the center of myself. That's where the light is. And in that near death experience, I was watching myself move into myself to become one with my light. Weird, huh?

I suppose if I had a beau, and if I'd received two dozen long stemmed roses, or a satin heart filled with dark chocolate covered cherries, or a dinner at a sweet, dimly lit restaurant, etc. etc. etc., I wouldn't wax philosophical about the nature of love. I'd be besotted and feeling the feelings for someone other. That would be nice too. But rediscovering one's inner light gives a different kind of warmth. It will get us through many kinds of winter.