The Candle

'The Candle' by Curt Gardner

It is dark outside and, I am on my own.

Preparations are in hand: The room is tidied, curtains drawn and the phones silenced.

The white candle, living in an old box under the stairs, is brought out, dusted, lit and placed on the floor.

Other lights are extinguished.

All gentle and meaningful acts.

The steady clear flame burns with a purity and beautiful symmetry in the darkened room. It reaches from the bottom of the wick, past the top, to a point.

The golden aura illuminates the room.

There is silence… peace…

Everything recedes until only the light exists.

The eyes close.

There is awareness only of breath, of hands on the lap, bare feet on the floor.

Then this recedes too.

Nothing exists except the silence… no thoughts… no images.

Nothing intrudes…

It is still…

Peace and light fill me.

I am with God.



In the distance a sound signals the need to take tablets.

The candle still has its warm elegant beauty.

But it is now much smaller.

It has been two hours since I sat down.

Reluctantly it is returned to its home under the stairs to be retrieved in a few months when there may, once more, be an opportunity for solitude and devotion.

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