An Unholy Beauty
This is the moment when I really see, for truly and honestly, that moments—they are these unholy, precious things. Unholy moments, the moments that just rush by unaccounted for, the ones we don't "set apart" to really see.
The night sister and I sit around a cold basement with yogurt and tea, our feet propped up on lawn chairs in the middle of winter—it's the light shining in the darkness that always catches me—creating a hole, a way to see through. Like a light bulb clicking on inside my head.
Even when sister and I just want to get away from work and money, and this never ending stream of restlessness and discontent.
This ugly light from a clip-on lamp, tea cups and spoons on a plastic file cabinet. Cold toes and movies that make you cry—it's this marvelous moment turned good when you look at it right.
These times when you're actively seeking something good when all the world is just this pressing ice cube of depression—you have to stop and you have to choose to see the good. To make something unholy—holy.
Because seeing those ugly moments as portals—that's how you see how good this life really is. This is the place where we can see God through God's eyes.