The candle lay waiting in darkness, blind eyes, wick curled up, in a closed-top box with its brothers—each one identical, perfectly arranged in order. Waiting. . . but for what? None knew. It was a vessel, just a stick of wax molded into a uniform shape, with one single purpose. One day, inevitably, it would be shipped off in a small package of other candles just like it, sent somewhere to burn. One day, for it was inevitable, the crate began to move, and the candle soon passed through unfamiliar territory.
The man lay waiting in darkness, blind eyes, though he did not know it. If you told him he was waiting he would reply, “I’ve been running my whole life. Working, straining, doing. I don’t wait.” If you asked him why, he would have no answer. If you told him the room was dark, he would retort, “How do you know? What makes you think that? And who are you to tell me so?” No amount of convincing could help him. And all his brothers in that room with him—brothers, sisters, family, not family—were lost. Yet one day, inevitably, change would happen. One day, for it was inevitable, the spark had to be lit.
The candle traveled, and as it traveled, it had only one purpose. For now, of course, it would lie in wait; but eventually, its journey ended. The candle knew no hardships, it knew not what it had been through: only where it had to go. And as such, it got there, in the end. It took time—how much is irrelevant—maybe a day, maybe years. But the candle persevered, for there was nothing for it to do but persevere. All else was pointless. And so it made its way to a candle-stand. Not by making conscious efforts, or by interrupting anything. Just by waiting, and watching, and letting the world play out around it.
The man traveled, or so he thought; but in reality there was no traveling. The man saw himself rise, or so he thought: gaining power over other men, acquiring a fortune to be proud of. And despite all of it, the man was unhappy. Cash in the millions and billions wouldn’t satisfy him, nor promotion after promotion and popular support. Others who loved him gave him all they could, and it was not enough. Finally, the man gave up. He found himself retreating from his dark room, going to a new place for the first time ever. He knew not what this new place was, nor how he was being taken there. For the first time in his life, the man relinquished control; he let the world play out around him.
A match was lit. The candle was in its stand. First it was the whoosh as the matchstick fell through the air, then the scratching sound as it struck the matchbox, until the smell of phosphorus flooded the room, with light. And heat. Fire. . . was a new sensation for this candle. The heat seemed to scorch, burn, cause pain. Yet the light was attractive. The candle found itself drawn to it, as if the light was beckoning it: “Come.” The candle, of course, could not will itself to come any closer to the source of the light, but instead, the light came to it. And then the candle’s world changed.
Years passed for the man. Growing increasingly disillusioned with the world, he had left everything at this point in search for light. Yes, he finally understood that he was in darkness, or had been. The man thought he was searching for the light now, but did not know where it would lie. He was told about someone special, someone who might be able to find him the light. Following the clues, he arrived at last. “Where can I find the light?” he wondered. The answer he received was, nowhere. He repeated his query, “How do I obtain the light?” He was told that he couldn’t obtain the light. But the man could become the light. For unbeknownst to him, the light was approaching him, even as he was searching for it. And then the man’s world changed.
A flame danced on the candle’s wick; the candle was aflame. The candle felt the light, and felt like nothing before. The candle’s purpose was complete, and it had finally achieved what it was meant for. And yet, something was missing. There was an urge, the urge to...share the light. Yes, that was it! There were so many unlit candles remaining, waiting in the darkness, wicks curled up, and they needed to be lit too. The candle had a job to do. The light had to be spread.
The man felt like he had never felt before. He felt the light, and he understood everything. He understood what was lacking in his satisfaction; he understood that the light had always been inside him. He mellowed down, and he knew that he was enlightened, that he was special. But something was lacking, and its absence weighed heavily on his heart. He recalled all his brothers back home, lying in wait, in a room full of darkness. And he knew what he had to do.
The lit candle realized, the enlightened man realizes, that the light only exists to be shared, to be spread. The candle slowly dips over, its wick touches another, and the flame catches on. The light spreads, and another candle is enlightened. The man slowly walks over, his love touches another, and the flame catches on. The light spreads, and another man is enlightened. And so the light keeps spreading, from candle to candle, from person to person, and the room full of darkness becomes once more a room full of light, and all will see again.
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