Here we are at Whiskey River again

It seems only yesterday I used to believe

there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed.
- Billy Collins

This poem is especially apropos in light of my recent mishap in NYC, where I tripped and fell and, yes, skinned my knee and bled.  Not good.  

But what I want to think about today is the first part of the poem.  I love the image of "nothing under my skin but light."  And I wonder:  does that feeling ever really go away completely?  Yes, it's strongest when you're a young child.  I was fortunate to have a great childhood and oh my gosh, I wish I could recreate that feeling of complete security and trust in the world.  I had no and I mean zero worries as long as my mother and daddy were around.  They could do anything.  The light then was a bright, almost blinding white.

The light changed color around age 12, to a dull yellow-gray.  My mother had a health crisis and the aftermath was, in retrospect, tragic in every sense of the word.  I lost my confidence.  I didn't trust the world and I didn't trust myself.  

It has taken a long time and a lot of hard work, but at this point I visualize my light as white, but not a blinding white.  It's softer, and sometimes one can see undertones of the various colors that make up this white, much like holding a prism up to the sunlight.

Is there "nothing under my skin but light?"  No, that divine light has been tempered by my time in this life.  But the light is not gone.  If you cut me, yes, I bleed, but I also shine.