Apertures

Mike Ramm

During the partial solar eclipse in May 2012, Karen and I played the part of wannabe astronomers, pushing a thumbtack through a sheet of printer paper to create a projector, holding up another sheet of printer paper to serve as a screen.  The projector worked well enough.  There was, as the experts had promised, a tiny circle of light appearing on the paper screen, and, sure enough, moving slowly across the circle of light was a disc shaped moon shadow.  While we fixated on our small screen, however, the west wall of our house was transformed into a big screen.  Sunlight, what there was of it, was filtering through the forest, and hundreds of diversely silhouetted eclipses had appeared on the wall, some boldly outlined and distinct, some only dimly visible, others stacked up in a staggered formation, each of them formed through a tracery of interlacing, overlapping branches and pine needles. It was a mandala of light crescents and moon shadows.  It was a kaleidoscopic mural awash in the platinum glow of eclipsed sunlight.  Lowering our suddenly pathetic paper projector and screen, we stood there rooted in awe, marveling at the sight.

How is it that the spaces between so many branches, twigs, and needles can shape the light and shadows into such a beautiful apparition? How can apertures so irregular sculpt the light so symmetrically?  I asked my physics major son to explain the phenomenon but his lesson on optics was beyond me.  All I took away from the lecture was that the mechanics were easy to explain and therefore no big deal.   But to me it was a big deal.  To me the light and shadow show splashed onto the wall felt like a vision.  Probably the only vision I’ll ever have in my lifetime.  Of course, I accept that there is a scientific explanation.  But I’m too much of a dreamer to allow the laws of physics to diminish the wonder and awe and mystery of the sight.  Besides, metaphysics is more fun.  In this case, the metaphysics of light!

It’s all about the light!  Serious photographers certainly understand this.  There’s a fictional photographer in a book I read a long time ago–The Bridges of Madison County –who said no matter what he sees through the lens of his camera, he’s primarily photographing the light.  I’ve forgotten everything else about the novel, but this observation left a lasting impression on me.    

The sages and the mystics have been telling us this all along, haven’t they?  That it’s all about the light!  “You are the light of the world,” Jesus proclaimed to the multitude.  Centuries later Rumi, the 14h century Sufi mystic and poet said it too: “Don’t you know it yet. It is your light that lights the world.”  The Buddha’s dying words were, “Be your own light.”

What if we were to take them at their word?  What if, speaking literally, they meant exactly what they said about the light?  It’s an interesting thought experiment for sure.   And thought experiments require imagination.  Metaphysical playfulness if you will.  Well, then…

If I am, if you are, the light of the world, can it be then that life itself presents the apertures through which we are passing?   If I am light, if you are light, can it be then that we are not merely our bodies?  That our bodies are the window frames that calibrate the light but are not the light?   Can it be then that we are not merely our gender, nor our sexuality, nor our race?  That these are prisms through which the light that we are is refracted?  Can it be then that we are not merely our thoughts, nor our feelings, nor our sensations?  That these are stained glass which color the light?  Can it be then that we are not merely our education, nor our profession, nor our politics?  That these are a magnifying glass that give the light that we are a momentary focus?

Can it be then that we are, in essence, manifestations of light?  The one light that, as it shines through a world of apertures, becomes many?

The partial eclipse ran its course.  The vision faded and went out, the many having become one again.  Once the west wall of our house was flushed with the light of an ordinary sunset, Karen and I went back inside where we tossed the pinhole projector into the scrap paper bin.  I turned on the news and started dinner. Karen folded laundry.  Even manifestations of light have chores to do.