Light and Dark

by James Crews

Light and Dark  by James Crews

Half-awake, I lose myself in a pool
of late morning sun and leaf-shadows
flashing on the floor outside my bedroom,
what the Japanese call komorebi—light
and dark held in the same container
of a single moment, as we hold them in us,
learning to love equally a burst of joy
welling up like wind in the crowns of trees
and a sorrow that still weighs us down
like stones in the shoes, like swallowed clay.
Today, I stand here at the edge of both, 
knowing that if I want to walk in the light
I’ll have to dance with the shadows too.




From James Crews:

At times, it can feel as if we carry two heartbeats within us, sorrow and joy, grace and grief always intertwining, falling into a common music we must each live by. I still vividly recall the day that led to this poem, having woken up feeling exhausted with a pressing sense of overwhelm. I had taken on too much work, and was also trying to look after my mother from a distance, being sure she was taking her medication and receiving the care she needed each day. Her several illnesses kept growing worse, and now she was also grieving the loss of her own mother who had died just a month before. Every day during this difficult period become a dance between taking care of myself and others, tending to my own joy, while also tending to the pain and needs of my loved ones and co-workers. On the morning I describe here, having just stumbled from bed, I was stopped by the perfect square of light on the floor, the play of leaf-shadows against a backdrop of full sunshine. I had learned years before that the Japanese had a word for this phenomenon—komorebi—but had never witnessed such a striking example, and had certainly never given myself permission to feel the healing effect of just standing there in the warmth and light.
               We all want to walk in the light, staying positive and loving, both toward ourselves and others, but our hearts by nature are containers for everything that arises in us. It took a quiet moment of komorebi for me to see the truth of this. If we can just let ourselves welcome it all, following our joys, both large and small, and our sorrows, too, then we slip into what Thomas Merton once called the “hidden wholeness” at the center of our lives. We may not want to dance with the shadows, but refusing to do so now only ensures that they will burst to the surface later on. Perhaps the regular practice of pausing can show us the authentic power of holding everything we feel at once.


Think back to a time when you felt a burst of joy and sorrow in the same moment. How did the two seemingly opposed emotions coexist in you? You might begin with the phrase, “Today, I stand here at the edge of . . ." and see what your heart-mind fills in.