Living in the Twilight of Transformation: Holding Light in a Darkening World

There are days when I feel as though we are living in a twilight zone, a strange in‑between space where the familiar dissolves and the unfamiliar takes its place. It’s as if humanity is drifting toward a black hole, where cruelty is paraded as normal, compassion feels rare, and heartlessness seems to be spreading like wildfire.

I don’t just see these things; I feel them. The pain of the world presses into my body and soul, and I carry it with me. I often find myself in the role of observer, hovering above the dramas of this age, watching humanity wrestle with itself. And yet, even as an observer, I am not detached. I am deeply affected, deeply moved, and often deeply unsettled.

The Paradox of Transformation

History teaches us that weirdness often precedes transformation. The Renaissance, the civil rights movement, the end of oppressive systems, all were terrifyingly messy before they reshaped society. But knowing that doesn’t make the present moment easier. If this is transformation, it feels like a long and terrifying one.

Jesus spoke directly to this kind of turbulence: “In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). His words remind me that even in the darkest seasons, there is a deeper victory already unfolding.

The Gnostic texts echo this mystery: “The kingdom is spread out upon the earth, and men do not see it” (Gospel of Thomas, saying 113). Transformation is not only coming, it is already here, hidden beneath layers of chaos, waiting to be revealed.

How I Navigate the Pain

So how do I live in this twilight zone without being consumed by despair?

• I choose to keep my heart alive. Numbness is tempting, but empathy is a radical act in a world that normalizes cruelty.

• I lean into small acts of kindness. A gentle word, a listening ear, a patient gesture, these ripple outward in ways unseen.

• I seek beauty as medicine. A sunrise, a song, a moment of laughter, these are not trivial distractions but sacred counterweights to the heaviness.

• I embrace my role as observer. To witness clearly, to name truth when others are blinded by noise, is not passive but purposeful.

The Hidden Kingdom

I don’t pretend to have the answers. I don’t know how to heal the wounds of humanity. But I do know this: refusing to let my spirit grow cold is itself a form of resistance. It is a way of holding light in the darkness.

Perhaps this is what transformation asks of us, to endure the long night, to carry the pain without surrendering to it, and to trust that the hidden kingdom is already breaking through.

As the Gospel of Matthew reminds us, “You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden” (Matthew 5:14). Even in the twilight, even in the black hole of despair, light shines. And maybe my role, our role, is simply to keep that light alive until the dawn comes.