How small the light of hope in the darkness. One sliver peeking out from under a door. Open it wide and suddenly the world is good again.
But in the darkness, it catches your eye. Fascination consumes you. Your senses all focus on the one small shine. Is it golden? Warm? Silence from on the other side, and it smells only of dust.
Suddenly you are sick of sitting there, sore, restless, and the only thing to do is to find a way to satisfy your curiosity. How can you make the light bigger, pass from the darkness to the other side? Desperate, you dig in your heels, nails, and even try to muscle your way through.
Perhaps it works. Perhaps you find the doorknob. Or maybe you are still scraping.
The light is living. Not in the way that it takes a form, or is aqueous. Light is being alive, doing things while you can, and savoring every small moment.
The opposite of darkness.
When you get there, the tribulation stops. Shackles fall. Heaviness lifts. You can breathe, smile, soar.