One White Light

We grew up listening to the explanations of our elders..

The spherical undular nest that arrives after rest to provide the protection and warmth akin to our slumbers throughout the waking hours, illuminating our world with the same color vibrancy painting our dreams.

The sporadic tablature across realms that appear as our surroundings go dark, leaving breadcrumbs of light to guide us safely back to shelter, just as we leave pathmarkers to return home.

Every tale we were taught could be seen and witnessed daily without question; Every tale welcomed with its rich, endearing history of all the ways we’re provided for; Every tale, except one.

One White Light.

Death isn’t something we focus much on. There’s really no time. Most of us live hard and die young, and that’s presuming we’re the luckiest of our siblings to survive initially. We take on a lot of responsibility at a young age, and are quickly left to fend for ourselves.

And therein lies the fear of the One White Light.

Should we die of known causes (illness, starvation, old age)..the elders have an answer. We witness the stillness of life as the body lowers into the ground inch by inch, nourishing our earthly realm and becoming some form of truly rewarding elevated echelon-- Living lifetimes beyond our comprehension, and growing so tall we touch the sky instead of the ground.

It’s said you pass on in this manner because you’ve reached all your potential in one form, thereby leading to the reincarnation of the next.

But One White Light…

One White Light heeds a warning to all of us: A constant reminder that we couldn’t possibly know our own potentiality and all that we were meant to uncover in this life; Something greater than us decides. And should One White Light be our fate, the only certainty we have is that our body will never be found.

We needn’t blindly trust the elders on this foreboding legend, either; Just as the other tales provide earthly evidence to their truth, so does the One White Light.

The whiting hours are known to occur whenever the space above us is in transition-- from dark to light, or light to dark. Some say the One White Light takes advantage of the grey in between as a recurring distraction, for if our Great Earth Mother is busy looking away to set the sky for rest or rise, she won’t notice and stop to protect her children if one is snatched away never to be seen again.

It taunts us with our knowledge of its presence. The whisper in nearby dens is a friendly guardian, warning us with anything amiss in the air; The hissing of the One White Light, conversely, is like a snake in the grass with an impending strike. We know not where to look, and running will not help; We can only accept that if the call surrounds us, it won’t be long before we start to disappear again.

It is said, long ago, that it got its name from a sole survivor, whose only memory of the experience besides waking up in a frozen mound of soft nuggets of water was the way it looked as it came for her.

She was chosen. There was no denying it. Within moments, white expanded across the scenery backdrop, until the One White Light enveloped her amidst an intense whooshing that could only be described as a necessary force required to usher one from this world to the next.

She insists she was entranced and could not fight; To be released from the clutches of the One White Light only informs her that, for whatever reason, it wasn’t her time.

The One White Light has not chosen in error since.

We’ve been hearing its call again. It never really goes away; Rather, there are moments of higher activity: “The Great Purgings.” ‘Tis the season.

As Great Earth Mother begins preparing her children for rest, I commence my journey home. Carefully eyeing the signatures I’ve left to mark my way, I look up to find myself at the clearing. In quiet reflection, I ponder the reasons we’ve been told to avoid it here. The overwhelming peace I feel as I linger, eyes fixated on the peak above the dilapidated red structure, has me imagining the elders got this one wrong.

As I close my eyes to breathe in the moment, an overwhelming whooshing envelopes me. I FEEL ALIVE!! I open them with excitement to screenshot this memory with all my senses only to realize the peak can’t be seen.

All that remains is One. White. Light.

“Soooooo……..what?” Charlie asked, half actual interest, half wanting to at least know the reason he just had to sit through possibly the most boring campfire story he’d ever heard.

“One White Light... The dilapidated red structure with the peak... The barn! Right over there!” House pleaded.

“........”

“That barn owl that always hovers is the One White Light. ‘OWL.’ It’s an acronym..”

House looked around at his comrades, desperate for one of their teenage brains to signal it could become engrossed by something other than girls for a change.

“Cool story, bro. I thought we were on break, but apparently this was a vocab lesson instead of a ghost story kind of night.” Sam chimed in.

“So the main character was a mouse?” Charlie continued to ponder.

“Oh come on, guys, it wasn’t THAT bad. I thought it was pretty clever, House,” stated John.

House beamed, “Should I point out the other acronyms in the story?! ‘Sun’ was..”

“NO!” they collectively interrupted.

“Who’s got the bucket?” Bryce groaned, his arms pushing against his legs to firmly stand from the log, signaling storytime was over.

“It’s here,” offered John, splashing it over the fire as the logs hissed out the remnants of light.

The boys started making their way out to the clearing; the peak of the old, worn down barn signaling the path back to their rides.

House lagged behind a bit, overhearing Bryce lead the charge with something along the lines of “I don’t think it’s too late to redeem the night with less S-A-T prep and more B-E-E-R prep!”

The boys howled in laughter as House rolled his eyes in disdain, muttering under his breath “That’s not even clever.”

Just then, a feeling of familiarity overcame him. He stopped. Eyes closed. Peace becoming him. A flashback to a previous life the forethought of his brain, he opened his eyes to unveil a staring contest between him and the continued generation of the One White Light before him.

As he ran to catch up to his crew, the echo of rowdy boys flinging car doors filling the night, the barn owl dove toward the clearing.

As he stood outside the door with a knowing grin, one hand on the car door, one hand running through his silky brown hair, he whispered to the night: “And the legends of our elders continue.”

The nagging request of his friends and a faint “What’s the holdup?” coming from the front seat, House slid into the back and shut the door as they drove into the night.