The darkness has never overwhelmed it.

There's that verse in the prologue of John's gospel, saying how the light shines on in the darkness, and the darkness have never overwhelmed it.

That word I've given as "overwhelmed" can be translated as encompassed, swallowed up, extinguished, understood or put out. The darkness neither gets its head round the light nor subsumes it. You might say, the darkness never digests the light; it maintains its own integrity whatever its context or surroundings may be. This is why the light is a good metaphor of divine being — because it communicates the I Am That I Am, the Name of God. 

This came to my mind a couple of days ago when our cat Ted got into a fight and had an injury to his shoulder. Hebe and Alice took him to the vet, who pronounced that on this occasion he had sustained no infection from a bit, probably only a sprain, so should be kept indoors for three days. Hahaha. 

A litter tray and cat litter was accordingly sourced and set out, while Ted having returned from the vet sat brooding under Tony's bed, refusing to emerge. After three hours he came forth, and went to the back door asking to be let out. Hebe showed him the litter tray, which he looked at blankly, saying, "Yes, very nice; can I go out now, please?"

After some deliberation it was agreed the best plan would be to let him out as usual since confinement would only further stress him, but go with him. 

The difficult period of time would be the small hours of the morning when cats are still abroad and interacting but humans are fast asleep. This is when the fights happen.

Hebe found a solution — to sleep in Komorebi, where Ted loves to spend time, with the door open so he could come and go but she would be close to hand in case anything kicked off. So that's what she did.

At nightfall, just before I retired to bed, I went into Hebe's room at the back of the house and looked down through the trees to the window of Komorebi, illuminated by lamplight in the descending darkness.

I thought about family and home, the way we care for one another, travelling together through the world so that difficult times feel bearable and we keep each other safe. I thought about how life can be cheerful and meaningful, even when we are only ordinary people with not so many opportunities and not very much money. A place to return to, where love is found, where one's soul is seen and known and cherished. Not everybody's home is like that, I know — but ours is. 

And I thought the lantern-lit window through the trees, the light of home, might be the one that shines in the darkness, never properly understood, but never extinguished or defeated. To know one is loved, has a place to return to — to come home — is surely one of the most precious treasures human life affords.