The Light Between

We often spend our lives waiting

We wait for the weekend, for the next payday, for the right time, for the moment when everything finally makes sense. We structure our existence around a future that has not yet arrived, hoping that tomorrow will justify the struggles of today. This reliance on the future is a fragile illusion.

By all appearances, our life is a singular spark of consciousness suspended between one eternal darkness and another.

This realisation can feel terrifying

For centuries, we have built our existence upon the pillars of tradition — family structures, governance, religious dogma — believing they would stand for all time. Yet, as we look around the modern world, we see fewer pillars left standing. The permanence we once relied upon is unravelling.

If living is to end in darkness and nothingness, it renders our existence a tragic paradox for beings who are born to reason, hope, create, and love. We may feel that if life is a ceaseless current of change without a final destination, there is “no future,” and therefore, no hope.

However, this letter invites you to consider a different perspective.

What if the absence of a certain future is not a void, but a liberation?

It seems that many of us are often happy only so long as we have a future to look forward to. But this creates a paradox: if happiness always depends on something expected in the future, we are chasing a phantom that remains perpetually out of reach, until both the future and ourselves vanish into the abyss of death.

To chase the future is to deny the reality of the light we hold now

The Light Between serves as a visual meditation on that interval between the darknesses; a single stream of colour rising through the dark. Coloured circles — oranges, blues, yellows, reds, greens — drift and collide, like a column of rising embers in the night. On either side, there is nothing. Only black. Only the unknown.

This is how I see our lives: a brief, bright interval between one eternal darkness and another.

However, this brief interval of light is not without its shadows. The more we are capable of joy, the more we are vulnerable to sorrow. This fragility is not an aberration; it is the inevitable shadow cast by our capacity to feel and to love. To be vulnerable to pain is to be undeniably alive.

To accept that we are a flash of luminosity in the dark is to stop postponing our existence

So, you may ask yourself: Where am I in this stream of colour?

Am I pressed tightly among other circles, living in the midst of family, friends, and noise? Am I one of the dots that has drifted to the side, a little apart from the crowd? Am I at the top, obsessed with the future, or at the bottom, wrapped in nostalgia for the past?

What colour feels like mine today? Is it loud and saturated? Is it quiet? Is it changing?

None of these answers is permanent. Tomorrow you may find yourself somewhere else in the cascade. That is the nature of a life that is honest about its insecurity. We do not stay. We flow.

In the end, this artwork is not trying to solve the darkness on either side. It does not claim that the night before birth and the night after death hide a secret guarantee, or a neat explanation that will make everything comfortable. Instead, it honours the in-between.

It says:

Here we are, for a little while, suspended between two immensities that we do not understand.

We are vulnerable to pain, to loss, to change. Yet in the same breath, we are capable of astonishing compassion, creativity, courage, and love.
Perhaps that is enough. Perhaps the miracle is not that our light is eternal, but that it exists at all.

Thank you for sharing this interval with me.