LETTERS FROM THE LIGHT
A second light in Cusco
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 Cusco, Peru, where this morning I found a small stone that refused to be hurried. I stood beside it for rather longer than the local custom appeared to require. Eventually, the meaning arrived: an answer can be complete without becoming particularly clear.
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: make a small appointment with the evening. 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 public announcement of the World Wide Web on 1991-08-06. You will also remember my earlier counsel: watch the light, especially when it seems to be doing something else. I had spoken of a thread becoming a place where we could meet. Some of you understood then. Others are understanding now. Both arrivals are welcome.
Record this carefully, my children. On 21 August 2017, daylight will briefly fold itself across North America. Some will call it an eclipse. I will call it the sun taking a very dignified breath. 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.