A Light and Stillness, A Night and Morning After The Pool Party.

Yesterday was one of those days I’ll hold close for a long time. I spent it with my friends from Just People at a pool party, and it was such a beautiful time. The air was warm, the music was fun, and laughter was everywhere. I could hear the splashing, the joy in people’s voices, and the sound of summer all around me. I didn’t need to see to feel the happiness in that space. I could hear it, feel it in the energy of the people I love being around. That’s one of my favorite things about the Just People community—we really show up for each other, not just with our presence, but with our full hearts.

There was dancing, talking, joking, music... I could feel the sunshine on my skin and the water splashing nearby. One of my friends guided me near the pool to dip my feet in. I laughed as the cool water surprised me, and they laughed too. It was just pure, real, easy joy. And when the evening came, that joy stayed with me. I carried it back with me like a warm glow wrapped around my spirit.

Later that night, I got to talk to my best friend on the phone. She had also been at the party, and we both had so much to say. Her voice was full of excitement, replaying everything that happened. Hearing her like that—so full of energy and joy—just made the happiness linger longer. It was one of those phone calls where you don't even realize how much time has passed. Just voice, laughter, and love.

But then... as the night wore on and I started to drift into sleep, something strange happened.

I was just beginning to relax when suddenly I felt like my bed was shaking. I heard a noise—nothing loud, but enough to pull me fully awake. I got up, trying to figure out what was happening. I thought maybe it was my fan, but when I turned it off, the feeling continued. My heart felt like it was pounding, but when I checked, it wasn’t. It was calm. Still, I felt this strange sensation—almost like something was shifting under me. It was unsettling.

Eventually, the shaking stopped. But the unease lingered. For a moment, I wondered if it was an earthquake, or maybe something else that didn’t have a name. I tried not to panic, and finally I was able to sleep.

Now, this morning, everything feels... still. But not in a peaceful way. Everything I see inside my mind is dark. There’s no color. No yellow floaters or bright center light like I’ve been seeing lately. Just deep, heavy darkness. As someone who’s totally blind, it might sound strange to say I "see" anything—but I do. I see colors and shapes inside my mind. They come and go, sometimes soft, sometimes vivid. And lately, yellow had been the most consistent. But not today.

Today, it’s just grey and black. Quiet and heavy.

And yet—there’s also beauty. This morning, I sat with my stepdad and we shared music together. We didn’t talk a lot, but the music was enough. The calmness, the rhythm, the way he sat with me without needing to fill the silence—that meant everything. It was one of those sweet, quiet mornings that fills your heart in a soft, simple way.

Then my best friend called again. Her voice brought back that feeling of connection and joy from the party. It reminded me that even in this dark, quiet space I’m in right now, love is still here. Joy is still here. I’m not alone.

I don’t know why I had that strange experience last night. I don’t know why the colors are gone this morning. But I do know this: joy and fear can exist side by side. Beauty and uncertainty can live in the same day. And sometimes, the dark moments remind us how meaningful the bright ones truly are.

So today, I’m holding on to the fun we had at the pool, the laughter with my best friend, and the peaceful music with my stepdad. Even if I don’t see any light right now, I know it’s still there—just waiting to shine through again.

 

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