Live Lightly

The ambiguity is entirely intentional. Live lightly in the sense of treading lightly on the earth and its vulnerable life-systems. Live lightly in the sense of practicing a “lightness of being” that does not take oneself too seriously, does not weigh the spirit down with old resentments, forgives readily, laughs because the comic dimension is redemptive. Live lightly by consenting and learning to be a “light bearer,” inhabited and filled by the indwelling Spirit who gives us life.

Simply by being human we are light-bearers. We emit energy. “Vibes” are a real thing. Some people (happily I know a number of them) bring light into any room they enter, subtly, unselfconsciously, probably also unconsciously. In their presence, hearts open and tense muscles relax. It is possible, of course, to hide one’s light, not only “under a bushel” but deep within bodies and psyches that are injured, defended, congested by anger, jealousy, or fear.

Living lightly is not possible, for any of us who have made it to adulthood, without some healing. Most of us need in some way to “lighten up.” One thing that helps me do that when I find myself (or, these days, my country) in a place of darkness is to carry through the day a word or phrase or sentence from scripture or poetry that redirects me toward the mystery of God’s light—physical and metaphysical. I love, for instance the phrase in the Nicene Creed that identifies Christ as “light from light.” It brings with it an image of a lightfall cascading downward and outward, covering us with its plumes and mist. It is, for me, and image of abundance and exuberant, life-giving presence.

Or sometimes I find myself hearing and feeling healed by the simple assurance, “I am the light of the world.” Christ-light is personal—God with us and around us, immanent and intimate. Or the fact that gives us hope against hope in this bleak midwinter: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

Living lightly is not only a spiritual practice, but a way of going about daily tasks and entering into ordinary encounters. Sometimes a light touch is all it takes to exchange love or consolation. A light tap on the door can wake a sleeper gently who needs gentleness upon rising. A light once-over may be all it takes to make a house “fair,” hospitable and welcoming. And sometimes a whole morning is made more livable and productive by stopping to watch the sun rise “a ribbon at a time,” or to wait at the window just long enough to see a hummingbird alight.

Image: detail from collage by Margaret Teichert