The hinterland of Asia and Africa remains largely, even today, a nighttime realm lit by candles, lanterns and oil lamps. Sometimes just by open fires. Far from the glare of city streets, life lived by such humble, primal lights retains a fragile beauty. It hints at the vast darkness from which creation appeared and imparts to small, illuminated circles something very like soul. Little wonder that such images have crept into our stories, our songs, poems, paintings and proverbs. (‘Better to light a candle than curse the darkness.’ Or, ‘I am out with lanterns looking for myself,’ a line from Emily Dickenson. The famous painting by Vincent van Gogh, the ‘Potato Eaters’, features a single lantern casting its light on an otherwise pitiful domestic scene.)
Some time ago, as a newcomer to southern Africa, I found myself alone in the Kalahari thorn scrub on a moonless night. (I would have gladly lit a candle, but had none, so I contented myself with cursing the inky darkness.) As good as blind, my only guide was a bow, the slightest trace, of a footpath beneath the soles of my shoes. It was a perfect reflection of my haplessness in this cultural setting, my ignorance of its history, its struggles, mores and aspirations, and how easily I could come to grief without guidance and company. As I groped along the way, I could make out a distant flame that led me to a thatch dwelling. How possessing was its light as it brought me to a circle of Bakgalagadi desert dwellers. How magnificent the faces of those who sat in the ambit of its flickers, an ancient recasting of van Gogh’s masterpiece.
They appear most profusely, of course, at lunar New Year.
But lanterns appear also at religious festivities, at weddings
and to mark historic events. Seen in procession across winter
darkness, it’s as if they tame the night with an exquisite
beauty. photo credit: azurbis@pixabay.
This unforgettable scene replayed itself for me recently on a fall night. The local museum of art had invited the community to an evening procession of lights, asking that participants bring with them homemade lanterns of paper or fabric. Hundreds of families from every imaginable tradition, chattering German, Hindi, Spanish and patois of indeterminate origins, gathered with their creations against the back light of evening. Some came with nothing more than cell phone lights dropped into paper bags. Others brought planetary extravagances held aloft on selfie sticks. Soon the thin line of a drama began to unspool across the rolling hills. When night fully possessed the hour, the motley figures faded entirely to black. Only the lanterns – in resplendent color – moved, silent and unhurried across the nightscape; beside a reflecting pool, through a distant stand of trees: an unbroken thread of pilgrim lights.
Achingly beautiful, it seemed that these lanterneers were part of some elegant, unspoken quest across the hills and in darkness. A kind of prayer. Peace for themselves and their neighbors. Peace for many who suffer afar. Peace for a planet that teeters on the brink. Peace. Perfect peace.
Beautiful event that brought back wonderful memories!
Hello, Jeannie! Yes – how deep the ocean of goodness and beauty experienced even midst turmoil and suffering.
Achingly beautiful indeed! In tears I see ribbon of bobbing lanterns. And dare to hope for that peace. Perfect peace.
Earl and Pat – you will have grasped with fullness those glowing lanterns that call us to reverence, to hush and to aspiration.
Thanks Jonathan. Your descriptions are exquisite
Hi, Jake! Delighted you could stop by to spend a few moments with these lines! Please remember us to your family.
Yesterday we toured a number of homes that had elaborately decorated their houses and yards, raising funds for a very noble cause, but we would have preferred the silent and starlit walk in the desert with candles in paper bags, or small lanterns, to light our way.
Yes, Ruth! Sometimes that ‘more with less’ promise proves true. Like an all night vigil with tea for refreshment in the company of friends and a great story.
In light of the planet teetering on a brink, that circle of fire/community you stumbled upon might be the resilient, instead of the fragile, beauty we yearn for. Beautiful imagery. Thank you.
Yes, David! It seems they have the tilt of this planet on their side. Do you think they’ll take us in? Mercy!
Thanks, Jonathan.
I always look forward to your interesting and inspiring comments!
Hello, Leon! What inspires this writer is to know that a bevy of friends – like you – keep coming back to see what preposterous things are on offer! All I can say is you bring such patience – and hope – to the reading of these everyday stories.
Very finely written, Jonathon. Especially those last few lines which bring peace through their succinctness. Sort of like a prayer (or cattle?) bell, softly chiming, alongside that “unbroken thread of pilgrim lights:”
“Peace for many who suffer afar.
Peace for a planet that teeters on the brink.
Peace.
Perfect peace.”
May peace be with you and your family during this Christmas season.
We cherish our mmories of time spent with you in Southern Africa in years past. Leona & Peter Penner
Hello, Leona! I only now realized that your name suggests that majestic creature of the savannah where we spent years as neighbors! When such a friend finds a softly chiming bell here, well – that’s irresistible. Thank you! My yearning is that it ring true.
I gulped at your line “I found myself alone in the Kalahari thorn scrub on a moonless night.” How in the world did you get caught in this? What about the lions roaring in the distance? Glad for the flickering light that rescued you.
Thank you for the words that followed and the picture of the lanterns in the darkness. This picture brought back memories of only a few weeks ago when we participated in a walk through a dark forest, lit only by paper lanterns which the children had made, celebrating St. Martinmas with our great niece in a Waldorf school in Goshen, IN.
Thanks for your thoughts.
Hello, Eleanore! Touching that you should grasp how desperate were my straits! I had gone to have a conversation with a community leader at his isolated farmstead. When I took leave the evening was already upon me – and night followed swiftly. I had several miles of open country to cross by foot and I was unfamiliar with the paths. Soon I was wrapped in utter darkness as I inched my way along the bush path, ‘reading braille with my feet’. I cannot tell you the effect the sight of that light had upon me. I am grateful to be able to tell the story!
In Thailand there is a ceremony when little hand-made boats with candles are floated down the river at night. It is indeed a lovely time.