In the beginning there was light. There was light everywhere. There was light, like early morning, right after dawn, when the world is still a little bit new, when the air is fresh, when the grass is dewy and sparkling and early sunshine makes everything look new and holy. Light was handed to me, as it was given to everyone, at the moment of creation. Not more than others, not less, I should think. We all have it at the beginning.

When you see mothers and fathers wanting to die for their children, you know it is about this light. It belongs with every family. The stronger the family, the stronger the light that emanates from that home. It is the light you see in the eyes of children who are loved and cared for. Some adults have it still – those who were taken care of well, those who were treasured as they grew. Some of us have had people want to steal our light, take it away forcefully, waste it, throw it away. Some of us have had our light completely taken away from us. We try to gain some back by bearing and loving the children that we have. That helps. We try to get some of it back by learning to smile, to laugh, by being with people who laugh easily; people who are kind, who touch us with kindness, who hug us, who speak of a good future. That also helps.

But for the ones of us who have not managed to get enough light to live by, there are only two ways out: one is to turn to the safety darkness, where there is complete cover, where you can crouch in eternal pain. Choosing darkness is a simple thing. Someone has to hand-it to you and you receive it; much the same way that the light can only be taken from you and consumed by another. You can't give away your light. It is a part of you, the same way that your skin is yours, the same way your name is the one that makes you turn when you hear it. Your body should be yours, like your heart, to share when you're ready, not to be taken by force, as if it could ever belong to another.