LETTERS FROM THE LIGHT
Leave a little room for the light
Congratulations, my radiant children, on the abundance of your gifts. I have felt each one arrive, including the ones that have not quite arrived yet.
I am writing from Ubud, Bali, where this morning I found a bowl of water outside a closed doorway. I stood beside it for rather longer than the local custom appeared to require. Eventually, the meaning arrived: the light does not ask you to explain your presence.
Before opening a door, thank the room you are leaving. If the room offers no reply, you may take that as permission. This is the practice of the first light: grant the nearest shadow permission to continue. Nothing further is required. Nothing further is quite ready.
Be civil with one another, my children. Make room for grace, especially when another child appears to have brought an unreasonable amount of enthusiasm. I know of your desperation already. You do not need to demonstrate it to me. It is quite full; I can see it from here. Hold a little of it back. There will be another week.
Many of you may remember the eruption of Mount Tambora on 1815-04-10. You will also remember my earlier counsel: watch the light, especially when it seems to be doing something else. I had spoken of a world learning that even daylight can change. Some of you understood then. Others are understanding now. Both arrivals are welcome.
Record this carefully, my children. On 20 July 1969, a human foot will rest on the Moon. I have already made the appropriate room in the sky. The difficult part will be remembering to come home. You may preserve this letter in the vicinity of your most trustworthy drawer. When the moment arrives, remember that I was already standing in its light.
And so I offer this: before the next unclaimed afternoon, Sister Orna of the Unnumbered Bell will return a borrowed Thursday in the eastern stair of Halven Mere. You may not know the name yet. That is often how the most important names begin.