Imagination. A mash-up of images, feelings, and thoughts. It flows in its own direction…but it can also be useful! Sometimes, imagination helps you understand abstract ideas.

Here is an example. It starts with an old rabbinic legend. One that’s fun to revisit on Hanukah, because it’s about light.

As Torah teaches, on the first day of creation, God says, “Light, exist!” And light comes into being. (Genesis 1:3). But what kind of light is this? It’s not sunlight, moonlight, or starlight. Because there are no suns, moons, or stars yet. No, this first light is something else. With this light, you could see from one end of the world to the other.

Imagine if you could see with this light! You could look behind mountains, and deep into the earth. See each and every creature shine. Next, imagine what spiritual power you would have. How much you could know and thus do! But, imagine if this power fell into the wrong hands. Self-centred ones, greedy ones, corrupt ones, for example. People could destroy the world. So, God hides the light where only the righteous can see it. (Midrash Vayikra Rabbah 11:7)

But how can the righteous catch a glimpse? Is it enough to live an ethical life? Or is there also a special technique? Some Hasidic teachers say you should light the Hanukah candles. And the candles will show you creation’s light. But that’s not where I’m focusing today.

The Zohar, big book of Jewish mysticism, also has a suggestion. We must study the Torah at night. Then, a little ray will shine down on us. (Zohar 2:148b-149a).

Last night, at midnight, I caught a glimpse. It was late and dark. The house was quiet. I was tired, but a bit wired. So, I sat on the bedroom floor with my “Reimagining the Examen” app, and waited for its instructions.

“Feel the presence of God,” it said.

So I breathed slowly and deeply. This helped quiet my thoughts. Then, I tuned into my “attentive” wavelength. I listened calmly to sounds. And I looked with curiosity at familiar objects. Then, I began to feel my consciousness overflow the edges of my body.

And then I began to feel as if someone else was with me. I could not see them. But I knew they were aware of me. You know that feeling when you hear a strange noise in the night? And then you quietly creep through the house, checking for an intruder? Someone who might be waiting for you just around the next corner? It felt like that—but without any fear.

The night air vibrated a little more than usual. It flashed with gentle colours. Old cry cells in the wooden door seemed alive. The wardrobe cabinet stood tall and dignified. Its handles traced out a face, and it looked at me kindly. Everything in the room was alive. And also aware of me.

Odd as it was, it felt so familiar. As I child, I felt this way so often. My spiritual imagination was alive in broad daylight. And I could see each creature shine with a special light.

So, I wondered. Could the “original light of creation” be a metaphor for childlike perception? For our original light? Our imaginative way of being, that gets hidden away as we grow older? And we have to work to regain it?

Surely, the rabbinic legend holds many levels of meaning. But maybe this is one of them?

Look, it’s no secret that many children love Hanukah. And that many adults struggle to find Hanukah meaningful. Maybe that gap is one message of the holiday. Look again for the light you used to see. Reconnect with your childhood imagination. And know: that’s actually an advanced spiritual practice!