How Not to Look at the Chanukah Lights

Chanukah night number three will be here in a few hours. The past two nights, I’ve looked at the flames all wrong:

They hold within themselves the original light G-d concealed at the outset of Creation.

Tall order.
 
I saw nothing.
 
Looking at the Chanukah menorah that way is like seeing a body but missing its soul.
 
Words! I’m tired of them. Of the words I read on the page and the words I speak from my mouth. I am latkes-and-feelings-and-yearnings that have nothing to do with what the moment really has to offer.

Maybe tonight.

I don’t know.

Light can blind. So much light hidden in those flames, I’m blinded. Neither eyes nor heart can see.

When ironed, black fabric shines. They tell me that from the struggle, a new light emerges.

I don’t know.

Maybe tonight.
 
Words!

The new menorah I received as a birthday gift brings an Eastern feel to our alter of lights. But I’m not sure that will cut it.

I don’t know how to look at the lights. Only how not to.

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