On Silver

In your misery, perhaps you feel there is no relief. Perhaps there is no line to separate black from white. Perhaps your sadness is dominating all else, and will dominate all else, forever.

Even as you read that, you knew that it wasn't true.

But what, then, can take anguish, pain, death - and touch it, ever so lightly, with light and comfort? You already know that there must be something; the world was never designed to be engulfed entirely in darkness or light, and, by this natural law, there cannot be one mood without another. The velvet night is adorned with the brightness of stars - the lips, in wake of tears, can still smile. It is all within the other: the human voice is designed to both laugh and cry; rain drowns the plants and nurtures the soil; great Babylon is dead, and immortal for it. By some account of good or evil, there is a place for light within the clutches of misery - not joy, not happiness, but the most delicate, most pure silver thread of comfort.

And through whatever you may believe - through ecclesiastical benevolence, through some trick of luck or fortune, believe what you will - silver will arrive. It is silver; it is the pain in beauty and the beauty in pain, and you should always look for it.

Author's Note

I'm rambling like a maniac.