The Lantern Keeper's Vow

This is the vow we take at the threshold. You may take it too.

I will not promise you salvation. I will not promise you a quick path. I will not promise that the dark will lift on a schedule that suits you, or me, or anyone.

I will promise this: I will keep the lantern lit. I will sit with you when sitting is what is asked. I will walk with you when walking is what is asked. I will be silent when silence is the only honest thing.

I will not mistake my map for your territory. I will not call my fear your weakness. I will not perform wisdom I have not earned.

I will remember that I was once where you are, and that someone — named or unnamed — kept a lantern lit for me, and that is the only reason I am here at all.

I will pass the light forward, because the light is not mine. It was only loaned.

This is my vow. The lantern burns.

Read it again. Out loud, if you can. Notice what shifts in the body when the words are spoken into the air.

That shift is the beginning.