"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."
Martin Luther King, Jr.
The Blue Ridge Parkway is one of my favorite places to drive. Even during the busy summer months when the winding 45mph road is co-opted by thundering packs of motorcycles and poky RV's, the sheer boldness of New Deal hutzpah and engineering never ceases to awe and amaze me. (Did our Recovery & Reinvestment Act funding even come close to anything as visionary? Well, that's a critique for another time...)
In the Parkway section south of Asheville, a traveler will quickly encounter a characteristic mountain driving phenomenon: The Tunnel. The Parkway includes 26 tunnels along the 469 mile route from Waynesboro, VA to Cherokee, NC, with names like "Big Witch" and "Bunches Knob." One minute you are careening along, captivated by breathtaking vistas, then suddenly you are plunged into cold granite darkness. Many of them are short--a brief submersion into the stone blocking the view. But sometimes the tunnels curve as a shawl around the mountain's shoulders, making the proverbial "light at the end of the tunnel" impossible to see. If you failed to heed the headlight warning at the entrance, all becomes very black--very quickly.
There are times in our individual and collective lives when it seems like we have been thrown headlong into a tunnel without the headlights on. It's disorienting and frightening. After the 2008 election, we were sailing along a clear sunlit road with a view of possibility that seemed limitless. And then, tunnel after tunnel seemed to obstruct the view and it was tempting to believe that we were stuck in the dark. I've recently entered into a tunnel of my own, a detour that surprised me--especially since my GPS hadn't mapped it out in my planning process.
Once I entered tunnel, however, the unexpected happened. When things seemed at their darkest, a friend sent me the perfect book I needed to read. Another person had just the right insight; I stumbled upon a music event that seemed orchestrated just for me. Each little occurrence and offering, each faithful word and hug, seemed as if people were bringing me tealights in my tunnel. And slowly, it didn't matter that I couldn't see the opening of daylight I was so desperately scrambling to reach. Right there, right where I was, the tunnel was becoming illuminated.
I hold these many small glimmers of light with me as I continue to walk through the tunnel--not nearly so frightened, and a little more curious about what will come next. I think about this today as we honor Dr. King, who was such a huge light in a world full of tunnels. Dr. King knew the power of tealights when he said "everyone can be great, because everyone can serve." The problems of our days, both global and personal, can seem overwhelming. But in each of us there is the capacity to bring a little more light, a little more hope, a little more love into the world. If we do no more than that today, it is enough.
peace and light,
cj
