SunRay

Photo By Ben Messika

It's winter and the sun sets early. It sets at around five o’clock in the afternoon. In winter, the sunset is at its most vibrant, colorful, and depressing form. It is cold outside, but the sun is piercing red. I am sitting on a chair, overlooking the garden, covered with my sweater that I own since the age of 11; it's tiny, yet still cosy. I am holding my math notebook open, and some sheets surround me on the table. The table is cold, so I try to not touch it. Each time I do, I get hit by a cold shiver. My mother is cooking Shabbat dinner, and the smells of the sizzling onion, and of red fat meat are gliding through my nostrils, like a needle entering the vein. As the sun is setting, I get hit by a sudden ray of light, and I realize what just happened. 

Life, life just happened. Life in its most magnificent, majestic, purifying, and beautiful way. The way life seems endless, sinless, and every moment of it is indescribably happy and joyful. 

But, no. Absolutely not. Life is not endless. Life is not always indescribably happy. And life is definitely not sinless. Life is short as hell, and it might end at any given moment. There is a little bit sun remaining to see, which brings me to a conclusion. My life is just like those few millimeters of sun, painfully short. So what, it is short, and…? And so it is in my hands, anyone’s hands, to make these few millimeters feel like few kilometers, with endless opportunities. But how?  

Sitting still, on my chair, swathed in my cosy sweater, and the moment of the sunset seems ceaseless. Suddenly, just as it disappears, the sun begins speaking to me. 

It asks,  “What makes you fear a few lonely millimeters, my friend?” 

“They are too short,” I reply hesitantly. “They are frightening and evil.” 

Why am I so afraid of them, of things not lasting as long as I want them to last? The epiphany hit me. I am simply afraid of the near ending, the ruthless, and savage ending, of existence. 

The sun again speaks to me, “Thou art frightened of nothing, but vain fantasy. You must make these few millimetres, feel endless, as is the power of light” 

“How?” I ask the fair sun. 

The sun paused for a long, piercing moment and said, “Appreciate my light, love thy life, love thy fears, and love thy imperfections. Only then will thy life be eternal as my ray, in the light of day.”

The sun finished its words the second it disappeared. The darkness of the night enveloped me, and the white moonlight begins caressing my eyes.

The moon exclaims its almighty voice, “Sun rays are nothing but painful, and sorrowful.” 

Puzzled, amazed, and perplexed, I respond with great trepidation of that almighty voice, “What makes you say that precious moon?” 

The moon gashes out its voice again, “The light of day ends anyways every night for me to come and devour it. Reality begins the second I take over. I am the one relieving you from your foul imperfections and your obstinate fears, and sadness. I am the one who makes thy mind empty, and fills thy soul.” 

The moon begins to raise its incredible voice, making it louder and louder. It continued, and this time, it unleashed itself completely, “I am the one who takes thy soul and squeezes out every bit and piece of thy life in it, and fills it with the light of blackness.” 

I could not resist, but know what the moon’s soldiers, the stars, have created for me as my fate. I left my chair, and walked to the edge of the pool. I fell into it, as I fell for the moon’s bluff. In the water I was still wearing my sweater, still with the smell of Shabbat dinner in my nose, and still with the will of following the Sun’s suggestions. As I am running out of air, my little sister’s giggles play in my ears. I did not take into consideration that in order to enter the moon’s night, I had to throw away my own existence. No, today is not the day to explore the night, but rather live, and not drown into the moon’s world. I vehemently rush my head out of the water, and breathe the cold air, that freezes my throat. Life is beautiful, I think to myself. The sun ray must win. It is stronger than the faint white light of the moon, of the stars, of death.