Gray Bulb

There is no day, there is no night.
There is no darkness, there is no light.
There is no wrong, there is no right.
Seeking the Gray of eternal twilight.

We talk of it as the balance,
that Nature always seeks.
I wonder if we asked her,
if this is what she’d speak.

They came with torches flickering. Casting their ever changing shadows they mobbed the town square, progressing from lamp post to lamp post. As each bulb was changed the town slowly took on a subtely different look. The corners of the benches looked more dull, the various signs were less defined, the white washed fences were more bland but the shadows in the alley didn’t look so menacing in contrast. One by one, as the lamp lenses were replaced the people hurried out of sight. I had recognized a couple of my Professors, the local Bank Manager, the Mayor and several Councilmen, even a Local pastor among the mob.

Throughout history we’ve tried different bulbs. Somehow though, we remain conscious of that first one. We found it in the lamp when we first went searching. We weren’t happy with how bright it was. It made things we wanted look so unflattering. It caused us to see details and differences. There were hideous shadows while it was in.

In a fit of rage we once tried to break it.
When that wouldn’t work we tried to deface it.
All else failing, we removed it, replaced it,
Seeking the Gray of eternal twilight.

So we change the bulb like changing the guard. Looking for the most comfortable light, the most flattering glow. Bulbs of Myth and gods, of emotions and flesh, bulbs of Enlightenment and Reason, and now the Gray Bulb.

There are some who decide to try the original bulb again, either out of confusion or desperation. When they do they find the light so bright as to be stark. Light pours out of cracks in the lantern. It pierces through the few clear spots in the lens, surrounded by dirt and disgust. We couldn’t see the dirt with the other bulbs in. Least ways, not enough to be offended.

What would happen if someone lived their life such that their lantern wasn’t rusted and dirty? What if this same person had the original bulb in as well? It would be a light we would each recognize from before we had displaced it from our own lanterns. We would all react differently. Some would recoil and be bitter, like having someone flip the light switch when you have been in a dark room for too long. Some, the feeling of recognition so strong in them, would hesitate then warm up to him. Others would for whatever reason be inexplicably drawn to him like moths to a lamp.

Odds are we would all recognize something in that light: Something that made us all nostalgic for who can remember what, Something that would enrage the parts of us that have grown to need darkness and ignorance to thrive. We would then have to chose how we’d respond.

This light would remind us of other times we had glimpsed it before: The voice of one calling in the desert, A glowing face descending a mountain, A glow given off by a bush, A city of light on a hill, A million stars pulsing in unison as an absurd covenant is made.

We see in the response of our culture today their method of coping. Abandoning this clarity and connection to all that is their heritage, they once again search for just the right bulb. And for many today it is the Gray Bulb of relativism with its anemic light. By its light black and white turn to so many shades of gray. Colors are subdued. There are no harsh shadows. Apparently the loss of all that is bright and strong and defined, joyful and sharp is acceptable so long as there is no darkness to threaten its shadows.

This bulb is the last resort of a people afraid of the shadows. When one cannot celebrate the idea of shadow, the only recourse is to make them so ill defined, there is no point in pointing them out. Unfortunately now everything is a potential shadow. It is just too hard to stund up to the fear of the shadows. If this attitude is embraced, then the ultimate destination is one without contrasts, no darkness, but also no light. Should we have to sacrifice the light to abolish the dark?

In a fit of rage we once tried to break it.
When that wouldn’t work we tried to deface it.
All else failing, we removed it, replaced it,
Seeking the Gray of eternal twilight.

“There is no day, there is no night.
There is no darkness, there is no light.
There is no wrong, there is no right.
Seeking the Gray of eternal twilight.”

We talk of it as the balance,
that Nature always seeks,
I wonder if we asked her,
if this is what she’d speak.