holding you in the light

2 06 2011

this is an expression i learned from our friend Holly, an experienced and versatile light-holder who’s currently probably right this minute dancing in a beaded shawl of her own light and her lover’s–they’re getting married in two days, the relatives and friends descend for the weekend tomorrow, and they just sent a text-message to my phone (and probably a hundred others) to remind them that right now, if it were 2 days in the future, we’d all be drinking to them in some sunset woodland an hour and change south of here. tonight, she doesn’t need any light of mine, although i’m sure she’d gladly weave it in.

it’s on my mind, though, not for her sake, but for our friend Shawn’s, because his wedding was earlier today, and in looking back over the day while i sorted through our collective share of the CSA vegetables that Paul brought over along with his guitar, i realized that i’d been doing it all day, “holding him in the light,” and not just by the visible and deliberate means of sending him a text this morning to wish him a happy wedding day and adding a “congratulations” to the list gathering on Facebook in response to his 6-hours-and-counting-’til-we-make-it-official post. all weddings are important, transformative, crucial-in-the-old-sense of standing-at-a-crux, but Shawn’s is in particular a bridge-walk over that narrow, invisible span of rock Indiana Jones can only see after he steps off into what he sees as an impossible void and lands on solid ground, not in any way caused by the lovely lady he spent today making promises to, but because of the crippling strokes of fate he’s survived in the past few years and the stunning faith in possibility it takes to walk though what he’s walked through and still take a lover’s hand in yours and swear to new dreams of forevers.

holding someone in the light, in part, is a reference to prayer and to keeping them at the forefront of your spiritual awareness, bringing and keeping their interests and needs, as best you can, to the attention of whatever powers you feel closest to. but it’s also keeping them at the forefront of your heart-and-mind and, even simpler, the small, domestic motions of your hands. mine, this morning, dug through a pile of possible clothes to throw on to run to the store in, and found without any particular notice of mine a t-shirt that i first selected because it was loose enough and comfortable enough not to annoy me when i wanted coffee already rather than a trip to the grocery store to acquire some; i only noticed after i’d pulled it on and gone looking for shoes that it was a shirt our friend had stolen for me from a school function a few years back. likewise, i planned out dinner based on what was in the house to make and how i thought i could put those things together to use up most of the last of last week’s vegetables before this week’s batch arrived, and then, only as my hands were sliding the turner under the tortilla in the cast-iron pan, did i find myself thinking of who had taught me to do what i was doing. i knew that Shawn had taught me to make crisp-edged quesadillas–i hadn’t forgotten that–but i hadn’t thought about the lessons when i’d chosen the menu, or at least i didn’t notice if i did.

in retrospect, i’m sure i did make those connections, somewhere in the back of my thoughts; after all, i’ve never made my own quesadillas until now. when i spent a lot of time with the expert, i ate his, and since then i’ve done other things with my cheese and tortillas and never really thought about the options or the overlap, but today it seemed completely logical that the food-needing-eaten should take that shape. why? because without paying attention to any of the particulars of connection or consequence, i’ve been making choices influenced by the proximity of my awareness of our friend–because i’m holding him proximal on purpose: close to whatever light i have (or can carry, hidden in the black dirt on my fingers).

Bruno the Younger, sired by Shawn's Bruno, prefers to be held in indirect sunlight.

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