It’s Saturday morning and I’m lying in bed. My phone buzzes and I see a text from an old friend, her black letters floating on a yellow cloud. We text about green tea and dreams and soon we are discussing the nature of truth, and how two opposite things can be true at the same time, like I can be disappointed and relieved at the same time. (I had applied to start a doctoral program at the University of Lethbridge, but just received news that I did not make the final cut.)

We move on to the topic of memory, wondering if memory is honest or not.

“So when we fudge a memory, our maturity or a new reality may actually be changing what is now true in the event. For example, a painful or embarrassing story can turn into a great, funny, family legend. Like when my brother drove the tractor into the dugout because Dad had fixed the gears backwards. A near death experience turns into family legend,” I write. “Maybe what we actually need from a memory determines the truth we need from that memory; therefore, the changing truth is connected to our changing reality (maturity, vulnerabilities, confidence, health, etc.).”

“The key to a happy life is to live in the moment,” she writes. “I agree our needs influence reality.”

“So true,” I say. “Here is to now, with the sunset of memory and sunrise of tomorrow sending that beautiful slanting light for illumination when the now is cloudy or night has rolled in. (I’m not sure of my metaphor, but I am playing with possibilities).”

“Now is cloudy for everyone,” she says. “Processing events is judging. That’s God’s job.”

“Or, is God the light and we are to process, given the light?” I say.

“Truth is the light? Lots to think about,” she says.

“And I think of all the ways light presents itself, soft like a candle flame, roaring like a campfire, blazing like noon sun, colouring the clouds at sunset, waking the world in pink dawn,” I say. Then, I text three pictures taken at sunrise while I was at Manitou Lake a few days earlier.

“I see God in all those images,” she says.

One of the pictures shows two rays shooting up from the centre of the sun on the horizon, with clouds blocking all but the eye of the sun. I imagine it’s like two spirits shooting upwards.

“This is you and me waking this morning,” I say. “Centering ourselves in the sunshine. Do you see our two souls standing in beauty and truth? I took these images at Manitou Lake, named for the Great Spirit or Creator. Now I know why I had to turn around, drive down to the beach, and snap happily away.”

We text some more. My words black, floating on blue word clouds. Her words black, floating on yellow word clouds. We reconnect and affirm one another. She worries if I’m okay, offers me a place to stay if I need to get away. I smile, happy to be her little sister, even though we only knew each other for two years, a long time ago.

This is how my Saturday begins. I get out of bed, ready to look for the light of this new day.

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