LETTERS FROM THE LIGHT
A second light in Lisbon
Congratulations, my wonderfully gifted children. Every offering has its own light, and I have made a little room for yours beside my breakfast.
I am writing from Lisbon, Portugal, where this morning I found a window carrying the last gold of the afternoon. I stood beside it for rather longer than the local custom appeared to require. Eventually, the meaning arrived: you may be ready before you have finished preparing.
Choose an ordinary spoon and give it an afternoon off. A household that can accommodate this small mercy is already moving toward peace. This is the practice of the returning light: forgive a curtain for its changing opinion of the wind. 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 human Moon landing on 1969-07-20. You will also remember my earlier counsel: watch the light, especially when it seems to be doing something else. I had spoken of a footstep that made the distant seem suddenly intimate. Some of you understood then. Others are understanding now. Both arrivals are welcome.
Record this carefully, my children. In August 1991, a web without a spider will be offered to the world. My children will meet inside it without leaving their chairs. I advise a comfortable chair. 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 turning of the invisible hinge, Solven of the Copper Envelope will deliver a parcel of unspent echoes in the old post office at Orisel Bend. You may not know the name yet. That is often how the most important names begin.