Don’t call me Pollyanna. In fact, those who know me often complain about my tendency towards catastrophic thinking. But the only light that gets through my swollen lids right now is strong light.  So this week’s theme will be the search for bright spots. In the visual as well as the thought-inspiring world.

The poem below by 1996 Nobel Laureate W. S. reminds us that there were always people bent and/or stumbling on destruction. Though we have no guarantee of retreat from those impulses or those means, we can hope. Which in turn allows us to muddle on. Not that hope and blind faith are enough. But maybe they keep us going in the direction of action. I read the poem as an expression of ultimate faith in humanity even when history teaches us the many exceptions where that faith has been destroyed – and so I find it to be a bright spot.

 

Discovery 

I believe in the great discovery.
I believe in the man who will make the discovery.
I believe in the fear of the man who will make the discovery.

I believe in his face going white,
His queasiness, his upper lip drenched in cold sweat.

I believe in the burning of his notes,
burning them into ashes,
burning them to the last scrap.

I believe in the scattering of numbers,
scattering them without regret.

I believe in the man’s haste,
in the precision of his movements,
in his free will.

I believe in the shattering of tablets,
the pouring out of liquids,
the extinguishing of rays.

I am convinced this will end well,
that it will not be too late,
that it will take place without witnesses.

I’m sure no one will find out what happened,
not the wife, not the wall,
not even the bird that might squeal in its song.

I believe in the refusal to take part.
I believe in the ruined career.
I believe in the wasted years of work.
I believe in the secret taken to the grave.

These words soar for me beyond all rules
without seeking support from actual examples.
My faith is strong, blind, and without foundation.

By Wislawa Szymborska
from View With a Grain of Sand
Harcourt Brace