The Lamp Light

I was 24 when I recognized the power of a good lamp--the need for a good lamp. I hadn't really used one before and had come into an antique, Art Deco lamp--formerly owned by the previous, European roommate of my last roommate, Alexis.

Lamps are a pretty commonplace household items, but wow, are they fascinating. They are a one-man revolution, on par with some books. When your mind is zoomed in on something, any detail,  far past the point-of-no-return, it is hard to stop staring. How do you look away when you're in a trance? It is hard to consider other circumstances, to view someone differently than the way in which you know them or have known them. I think that's the beauty in lamp light; it is what the difference in the light accounts for.

 We see people, situations, things, places, in a certain framework and then the light alters them. Lamp light softens the features of people who life has hardened--they suddenly become more lovable; moments under lamp light feel more intimate. I wholeheartedly believe there is more trust under a lamp. I remember sitting in the lamp aisle of Target with my friend Amanda, as she gently hugged her dream lamp, an accent piece that still sits in her bedroom. I loved the idea of loving a piece that much, but I definitely didn't understand why anyone needed a lamp. In some ways, I'm primitive or, depending on who is steering the conversation, I am low-fi; I am an essentials-only person; I am a minimalist; I am brutally cheap. I say this, knowing that being cheap isn't a foundation to cultivate any sort of bragging rights. But now I prescribe lamps to everyone--including my brother, who could benefit greatly from one elegant standing lamp in  his apartment.

Maybe it is just me, but I am a tissue under lamp light,  soaking up tears of vulnerability that I wouldn't have otherwise shared or been present for. I notice the details of a person that would otherwise have been inscrutable. I am not religious. This is problematic for many reasons, of which I won't go into. But I can tell you about the most beautiful verse in the Quran,  and how some days I sit, trying to find something beautiful to remove me or move from whatever stronghold has garnered my attention. It's about light, Surah an-Nur, 25:34:

"Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth.

The example of His light is like a niche with in which is a lamp,
The lamp is within glass, the glass as if it were a pearly [white] star,
Lit from [the oil of] a blessed olive tree,
Neither of the east nor of the west,
Whose oil would almost glow even if untouched by fire.
Light upon light.
Allah guides to His light whom He wills.
And Allah presents examples for the people,
and Allah is Knowing of all things"

I don't wish to talk about God but the power of light; its ability to transform, to guide. On the longest days, just sitting under the lamp light, alone or with others, the sense of calm, mixed with let-me-turn-the-world-as-I-know-it-upside-down-for-all-of-five-minutes, is a lullaby. I'm soothed; I'm silenced in the only way I allow myself to be silenced; I am whole; I am warmth, which is all I ever really wanted from the get-go--to embody a hug on the day it is most needed. I've been known for engaging in some serious staring, deep eye-to-eye stuff. As you can imagine, it gets some flack, uncomfortable shifting from to foot to foot; I won't apologize; I'm over here trying to be a human lamp. Let me be a human lamp. May we all be human lamps on more days than not.