In our little cabin in Big Sur, the interior walls and ceilings are all lined with wood. Beams are made from trees still rough, and all the paneling is clad with sanded and stained timber. The river rages outside as it’s been raining on and off for days, and we tend to migrate our reading spots right against the windows. To nestle into the early morning light, and later afternoon glow that being close to the outer light affords us. Set on a river deep within the redwood trees, it’s not particularly light inside the cabin. So a simple skylight in the ceiling of the kitchen stands out starkly, as light streams in through that little portal into the trees above us.
Such a little space, allowing in such vast amounts of light. What little skylights, I start to wonder, can I let into the darker corners of my life. Of my relationships, of my heart. Of the teachings I learn from, of my role as a teacher.
The ignored parts, that have been left without being stirred, with dust and stagnancy. Too far from the natural light on their own, they need too a little hole to be punched through the ceiling, to allow more light to filter through.
What little skylights do you know you need? Is it time to build them?
Sent with love,