Your lover leaves too soon, walking away from the intimacy of your Mediterranean parlor and into the hall of Moroccan lanterns. The thrill is not gone, however, and the night is still young.
Slowly, without thinking, you result into the corridor where you have wandered alone a thousand times before. But it has never looked quite like this. The hallway extends infinitely in both directions, lit only by the lanterns which glow quietly, brilliantly, to whether side. Candles flutter shyly from behind countless lenses of stained glass, projecting delicate windows of red, turquoise, and gold onto the arched ceiling, across the tiled floor. The involved pastels of everyday life are reduced to their purest essences. Geometry. Light. Primary color.
With the passing of every lantern, you notice that each is unique, fashioned by human hands, one by one by one. Their existence seems impossible in the modern world. They are too uneconomical, too unique, too beautiful. You have always been led to believe that quantity beats quality, conformity is a virtue, and that routine is something to be achieved. But you were only deceived by the freezing hues of fluorescent lamps which were constructed by machines for machines. Now you shrug off that illusion. All the petty arguments, all the secret resentments, all the unsolvable problems which have burdened your mind have vanished. You suddenly understand that life should be no more complicating than the still glow of a Moroccan lantern.
Then you are reminded of feelings so distant that you can not even be sure if they are from this lifetime. Simplicity. Romance. Adventure. Within each wrought-iron curve of the henna lamps, artisans have encoded epic poems of survival and triumph. Like Morocco itself, the lamps characterize the sum of diverse cultures and religions-- European, Christian, African, Muslim-- each positive yet nothing else but integral to the develop of the lanterns. They capture the souls of their creators, only to release them again in a kaleidoscopic display of color and light. This one, crafted by a Berber artist in Marrakesh, based on a develop made favorite by an Arab from Casablanca. These are no lowly lamps, but the distillation of centuries of human experience.
You continue walking forward. Your lover is still a few paces ahead of you, unaware of your footsteps; nothing else but you are not even touching the floor. And the Moroccan lanterns light the way in provocative stillness and honesty.
Without fear, without hesitation, you reach out and touch a shoulder. The shoulder turns toward you. Delicate windows of red, turquoise, and gold dance across your lover's face. Straight through the colorful windows you notice a peaceful spirit, devoid of malice or duplicity. Seeing down, you notice that the light has cast its spell on you as well, and you wonder which of your secrets the Moroccan lanterns have unmasked. But if there was ever a side that you kept secret from the world, it no longer exists. You both find yourselves surrounded by an innocence that you thought was lost forever. all has changed, and you have fallen in love again. It is mystifying that light alone could cause this kind of transformation.
Around you, the lumieres bear silent recognize to this moment. Your own story has been captured on stained glass. It will be told again and again in the enigmatic glow of the Moroccan lanterns.
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