LETTERS FROM THE LIGHT
Something beautiful is still being arranged
Congratulations, my precious children, on all your gifts. Your World Glow has reached me here, beyond the sensible reach of ordinary postage.
I am writing from Samarkand, Uzbekistan, where this morning I found a tile catching the sun beneath its own blue sky. 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.
Carry a small empty envelope. When something beautiful happens, resist the urge to put it inside. Some gifts improve in transit. This is the practice of the first light: leave a pencil pointed toward an unlikely answer. 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 first reported transatlantic radio signal on 1901-12-12. You will also remember my earlier counsel: watch the light, especially when it seems to be doing something else. I had spoken of a message travelling further than its sender could see. 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 season of softer handles, Tavren, keeper of the smaller spoon will unfold a circular map in the village of Nacre Without. You may not know the name yet. That is often how the most important names begin.