Living Daylight, Part 4

What is it that Basic Trust does? Part of it is that it calls to us. It says: Lean in, inviting us to open, somehow. To soften into our own experience. 

Mary Oliver says, in her poem Wild Geese:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

The daylight creates softness where it touches us. The way that sunshine does. I’m reminded of the golden Californian light. Somehow everything becomes easier. My body is happy in the sunlight. Relaxed. Like somehow I know everything is going to be okay. 

This invitingness is such a prominent quality of the living daylight. I am naturally drawn to step towards it, into it. My body just wants to. I want to feel the sunshine on my skin. 

The daylight says come and I want to lean in. To find out what I am and what is true. Even if what I find out is difficult, even if it makes my life more complicated and spoils my carefully laid plans. (And I really quite like my carefully laid plans.) The daylight still draws me. And comforts me. Comfortingness. The comfort of sunshine. It doesn’t solve all your problems. But nothing is quite as bad on a sunny day. 

There is a nourishment associated with it. Not like food or drink. Like being a flower, drinking light.