Find the Light

Описание: FIND THE LIGHT: A Song of Resilience, Love, and Rising Above
By Preston Ivan Lewis | ©2026 Deist Recording and Publishing
There’s a kind of quiet courage in darkness—when the world around you dims, when shadows stretch long across your path, and the weight of yesterday pulls at your spirit. In moments like these, it’s not grand gestures that save us, but the simple, stubborn act of finding the light.

Not waiting for it. Not hoping for it. Finding it.

That’s the heartbeat of “Find the Light”—a soul-stirring anthem that doesn’t pretend pain doesn’t exist, but refuses to let pain win. It doesn’t offer false promises or easy answers. Instead, it speaks in raw, honest tones about what it means to fall, to feel helpless, to be tangled in the mistakes of the past. But more than that, it’s about rising—not alone, but together.

There’s a line that echoes like a prayer: “I’m falling down, but I’ll rise above.” It’s not a statement of certainty, but of choice. The speaker isn’t saying they’re already standing tall. They’re saying they will. Despite the fear. Despite the memories that cling like smoke. Despite the sense of drifting away into nothingness. They choose to rise. And they choose to do it with love—not just self-love, but the kind of love that reaches out, takes your hand, and says, “I’m here.”

That’s what makes this song different. It doesn’t glorify solo suffering. It recognizes that we are not meant to carry everything by ourselves. In the bridge, there’s a powerful shift: “But I’ll hold your hand, won’t let it take me, / Together we’ll fight, set our spirits free.” This isn’t just survival—it’s solidarity. The fight against darkness becomes a shared one, fueled not by pride, but by connection. We save each other. We save ourselves by refusing to let go of one another.

The refrain—“I call your name, it’s what I say”—feels like a lifeline. In moments of despair, names have power. Speaking someone’s name can be an act of grounding, of remembrance, of refusal to disappear. It’s not magic, but meaning. To call someone’s name is to say: You exist. I see you. I need you. And in needing, we find strength we didn't know we had.

There’s a moment, just before the final chorus, when the music gives way to a guitar solo—no words, just emotion in vibration. It’s the space between breaths, the pause where everything aches and sings at once. And then, the return—stronger, clearer—“I’ll save myself before I’m left for lost…” Not later. Not someday. Now. There’s urgency here, yes, but also conviction. The light isn’t something distant. It’s in the chest. In the voice. In the decision to keep singing even when your voice cracks.

And that’s the truth “Find the Light” reveals: resilience isn’t the absence of fear, but the willingness to move through it. Healing isn’t the erasure of scars, but learning to walk with them and still reach forward. Love isn’t just romance or affection—it’s the active choice to stand beside someone and say, “We’re not done yet.”

By the final lines—“Together we’ll shine, no fears left displayed”—we arrive not at perfection, but peace. Not the end of struggle, but the assurance that we don’t face it empty-handed. We have each other. We have our voices. We have the light we’ve fought to keep burning.

So if you’re in the dark right now—if the shadows creep and the past feels too heavy—remember this: you don’t have to see the whole path. Just find the light. Hold it close. Call the name of someone who helps you carry it. And then, take the next step.

Because falling doesn’t mean you stay down.
Because love isn’t just a feeling—it’s a force.
Because no night lasts forever.

And because sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is sing—even when your voice trembles—knowing someone out there is singing with you.

Find the light.
And never stop singing.