Once upon a time, there was no light, no shadow, and no color. There was nothing but darkness. Then Soul spoke: not in words, but in light and color and the image came into being. “Soul speaks in the language of images,” a wise man said a long time ago and I have been striving to learn that language to understand her when she speaks and to share my dreams with her.
Everywhere I worked, there were lots of lights, day and night. The lights, however, were all artificial, the colors unreal, and the images appeared fake. The Soul language was not spoken. I felt Rumi’s frustration with every cell of my being: In the world of the blind and the deaf, I had a dream to share, but I was dumb. Then my retirement came, and with that came my rebirth and learning of a new language.