The sun disappears over the hills and suddenly
the world is dark. But still there is light - looking up I see
millions of bright lights, twisting and turning and blinking,
shouting to the world that they will not be ignored.
The impenetrable darkness that seemed so big and terrifying before it
occurred now seems small and timid - nothing compared to the jewels I am
reaching out to hold.
Each sparkling light hung so delicately in the vast sky is brighter than the
darkness is black, and that gives me hope.
Did Van Gogh see this when he painted Starry Night?
Did he understand that the light and the darkness go hand in hand?
He had a sadness that only a handful of people feel.
I hope, with every brushstroke, Vincent added more light than he saw.
As I stand, looking up at the night sky, the night doesn't
seem scary anymore.
The stars wink at me, letting me know that everything will be alright.
I close my eyes and I can still see them - their light
so encompassing that it doesn't even seem dark anymore.
Vincent saw what others could not - the light in the dark,
the good in the bad. He had no happiness, so he painted
his own. He took the light out of the sky and put it on a
dusty canvas so he could give it to everyone who
could not see the good.
The saddest man tried his best to make others
happy.
I open my eyes once more. The sun is beginning
to rise. The black night is fading away, as are
the lights.
But not really.
I think of Van Gogh, and I think of this:
When you feel like the world is dark and there is no hope,
you need only look up
and see the stars.
