i didn't know what the words meant, but i knew they had meaning. i knew that i would find out one day, if i just kept searching.
do not go gentle into that good night
rage, rage against the dying of the light
all my life, these words have followed me. my entire life, i have heard this words whisper into my soul, a mantra of sorts that my soul sings over and over, a battle cry.
now, i think i'm beginning to know what they mean.
i always thought that rage meant to be angry, to be furious at the extinguishing of the light. but it means more that just anger, than just angst.
it's fighting against it all. the fear, the expectations, the trepidation. it's warring against anything that quenches this Light.
it's about stepping from the shadow into the Light, hands up and fingers parted to let every fluttering beam to slide into every crevice to let oh, so much strength flow into my every pore.
rage, rage against the dying of the Light.
maybe the author didn't mean for this piece to be taken this way, but isn't that what art is about? freedom and expression.
and so i read these words over and over again. they've pulled me forever, and i think they will always weave some kind of spell over me.
it's all about stepping from broken to Grace, from dust to sovereign. and so that's what this poem says to my heart as Christmas comes and the the mystery of skin and flesh and bone and God and Eternity meld together with stable straw and beating hearts.
and so as i stand under twinkle lights and white pine trees with silver and red and green, i have a hand raised.
because i am not going gentle into that good night.
and i will rage, rage against the dying of the Light.