Spirit Matters: The sun always returns, even after the darkest night

On Thursday, the first official day of spring, I caught a “glimmer.”

Most of us are familiar with the popular phrase “a glimmer of hope.” Glimmers are the opposite of “triggers,” and most of us are aware that a trigger is something that creates a negative reaction within us.

Triggers are quite common these days, particularly with the flood of information, unwanted opinions and misinformation we are privy to on an ongoing basis.

Most likely, each of us has triggered someone without even realizing it, by something we have said or the way we have said it.

Writers with public forums know this can be common. A writer can put words into the great wide open with clear intentions, but a writer cannot control how those words will be received. The receipt of those words is subject to the life experiences, beliefs, background and education of those on the other end.

It is quite easy for the message a writer intends to get misinterpreted in the minds of those who read it, depending on the reader’s viewpoint. On the other hand, the same message that triggers one reader can be a glimmer for another.

So, I was driving through Utica this week with my nephew, who’s home for spring break, when one of many music lovers’ favorite songs came up on a playlist we were listening to.

Even though it was cold and had snowed, the familiar and comforting melody of “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles serendipitously wafted through my car.

It was a glimmer for me. So much so that I couldn’t just listen to it once; I played it twice.

Since I am a word nerd, I don’t just listen to the musicality of a song. I pay attention to the lyrics, too. And the Beatles are known for using deceptively simple lyrics to make profound statements.

“Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun. And I say, it’s all right.

Little darling. It’s been a long, cold, lonely winter. Little darling. It feels like years since it’s been here.

Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun. And I say, it’s all right.

Little darling. The smiles returning to their faces. Little darling. It seems like years since it’s been here.

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say, it’s all right.

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes ...

Little darling, I feel the ice is slowly melting. Little darling. It seems like years since it’s been clear.

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say, it’s all right.

It’s all right."

This song, by its very nature, has a way of making my heart feel like a weight has been lifted off of it. Anyone who has lived for years with clinical depression or any deep and relentless grief and emerged from it with a renewed sense of purpose knows what I mean.

As I twisted around the curve on Route 178, I couldn’t help but think that these words, and the “feel” of this, is appropriate in so many ways right now.

Too many people feel like they have been carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. And with each new day, with its news designed to instill fear and division in the hearts of people here and around the globe, that weight gets heavier. It feels impossible to bear at times.

This song offers the promise of a renewed lightness of spirit after a “long, cold, lonely winter,” feeling like “it seems like years since it’s been clear.” The ice melting, the smiles returning to their faces …

This isn’t some empty promise. Even though we are collectively in the midst of relentless darkness and uncertainty right now, the human spirit is nothing if not resilient. History proves this again and again.

And someday in the future, hopefully sooner rather than later, we will join that history ourselves, when we emerge from this long, cold, lonely winter of the soul with a renewed lightness of spirit, a renewed sense of purpose …

a smile on our faces, and a song in our indestructible hearts.

SPIRIT MATTERS is a weekly column by Jerrilyn Zavada Novak that examines experiences common to the human spirit. Contact her at jzblue33@yahoo.com.