Three things that are true in this moment:
1) it is very dark and very windy outside
2) this time last year I was in France
3) I have been thinking about light
My house gets very good light. The light in my house changes throughout the day, as I suppose it does it your house, too, but in my house the process of illumination feels meaningful. Morning light is best enjoyed in the kitchen. In the evening the sun beams into my bedroom and dances on the walls. If you want to catch the sunset step out onto my covered porch.
Between 11-12:30 pm my tiny dining room has a very pleasant glow.
I decided to teach my Truer Words class in my dining room at my dining room table. I wanted optimal light. I used my husband’s computer because mine has started crashing randomly; one second my screen is lit up and the next second it’s black.
I should really back everything up but I put it off. I refuse to consider the suddenly black screen as my computer’s own personal memento mori.
In Truer Words volume two I put the word “memento” on a sunflower for a few reasons. The word that card strives to illuminate is “museum.” The Muses hung out with Apollo, right? He’s the god of sun and light in Greek mythology. If you wanna shine you gotta get with him.
There’s a rather dashing white marble bust of Apollo in my mentor’s attic. I’ve seen the light more times than I care to admit in that attic. In fact I’ve seen it so brightly at times that I’ve been temporality blinded by tears.
No one said light was always pleasant. I mean look at Lucifer. Carrying light doesn’t always work out but that’s no excuse not to try.
Last year at this time I flew into Paris. Paris, France, the City of Light. It was a long dark flight that I did alone. It was followed by some of the worst jet lag I’ve ever had plus three nights in a real weird airbnb that turned out to be in a somewhat sketchy part of town. “Maybe don’t go over to those streets right there, especially not at night,” said my taxi driver, as I stared out the window in a total daze.
Thank God everything looks better in the morning light.
I went to visit my mentor in November, a month with a name that bears a historical relationship with the word nine. There are nine Muses that embody the arts, and the denotation of the bound base <techn> is “art, craft, skill.”
I know that seems random but it’s not. Remember my class? The one I wanted the best possible light for? Yeah. The card we spent the most time studying was the “technology” card. Man some faces really lit up during my class you guys. It was pure joy to see raised eyebrows and smiles and laughs and nods.
Technology is what allowed me to become a word nerd. It’s what connected me with not only my teachers and these teachings but a community of scholars scattered all across our world the same way stars litter our night sky.
Technology is also what allowed me to record my class for a couple people who had things come up. Things like horrible wildfire smoke and illness and time zones. I figured I needed to actually see if the technology worked before emailing the recording out, and since I didn’t have immediate plans I ended up watching myself talk about my cards right after I finished teaching, while my husband and father-in-law fixed two of our lights.
When you can see and understand real and lasting structures it all becomes connected. You start to see the world as one big interconnected turning wheel of light aglow with meaning.
You see yourself as a spark. You feel small in the beginning and mostly just pray to not be blown out. Then later you pray to find other sparks. And finally you pray for the kind of knowledge that will ultimately illuminate your heart.
Because that, my friend, is how to become a luminary.