Last night, as I was on the shore, waiting for the night boat to come crossing, I was drawing in the dark, with light.
Dawn was shooting these images, with the full moon behind, and the character of these strokes of light, a kind of light calligraphy, in the fore — like hands of light, scribing notations of luminous nothingness.
This morning, this word was pointed to me — lucubration \loo-kyoo-BRAY-shun; loo-kuh-\, noun:
1. The act of studying by candlelight; nocturnal study; meditation.
2. That which is composed by night; that which is produced by meditation in retirement; hence (loosely) any literary composition.
Lucubration comes from Latin lucubratus, past participle of lucubrare, “to work by night, composed at night (as by candlelight),” ultimately connected with lux, “light.” Hence it is related to lucent, “shining, bright,” and lucid, “clear.” The verb form is lucubrate.
I realized that I savor the light of the candle — when the power goes out, the functioning, yet straining art of seeing, in the softening light, takes a skill that is part of remembrance (what might be in your way) to the settlement that to see, you might have to be more focused, and work harder at it.
I like to draw, or paint in the light of candle, since in that way, there are things happening in the drawing that you won’t see till another day, when the light is brighter.
There are things, in seeing — that thrive in the low light, and there are others, that emerge in the stronger light of something made clearer.
The meditation by candlelight is enthralling — in that drawing, the scribing of the mind — it too, is drawing you into the flame and the flickering of imagination. What is recalled, in the flitting light of candle — and what is remembered, in the day of brilliant fluorescence? I can remember the hard harsh of various places I’ve been, working and otherwise, where the light is brilliantly hardening in the experience; and in others — where the softness, even the naturality of the lucency is unforgettable.
While I might’ve suggested that the power of memory and the sensing of experience might be in the realm of scent — “what perfume, this place that I am?” I might, too, suggest that the power of the place and the recalled experience lies in the heart of light.
Lit, now, by threaded candle, as the day emerges in clarity.
t | the old queen anne hill
THE CUMULARITY OF MINDS
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