The Lamp of the Heart

One night, sometime in the late 1950s, when I was just a tot, I found myself staring at the flame of a kerosene lamp. I still remember it more than six decades later because it was a life-changing moment. Out of the blue, a particular thought came to me. How could kerosene, which is wet, burn and produce both light and smoke at the same time? Water is wet but it won’t burn. That hurt my little brain. I asked my mom about it, but she brushed off the question and told me not to think about silly things. 

When it was time to go to bed, I continued looking at the flame from inside my mosquito net. If you’re too young, too modern, or too citified to know what a mosquito net is … well, we slept inside it to avoid being bitten by mosquitoes. Those ruthless insects can make you sick with malaria or dengue.

Anyway, there I was, fascinated by the flame. As there was no electric light that came on at the flick of a switch, we used to keep the lamp burning all night because it was a hassle to light it again if we needed it for something in the middle of the night, like going to the water-place (no bathroom in those days) or the outhouse behind our house. We always had a box of matches next to the lamp, but we did not want to waste them by constantly relighting the lamp. Matches were not cheap back then.

So, I kept staring at the flickering flame, trying to figure out how that mysterious lamp worked. But then, a scary thought popped into my head. What if we ran out of kerosene? What if we could not find any more anywhere? Are there places where there is no kerosene? Without fire, there would be no light. How would I see things at night then? Would people just stop going out after dark?

These thoughts kept going around and around in my head, making me more and more depressed and scared of a world without light. Eventually, I curled and pulled my blanket over my head, seeking comfort from the unknown terrors lurking in the dark.

Mercifully, sleep rescued me from the monsters in my imagination. When I woke up the next morning, the sunlight streaming in through the window made everything bright and friendly. The kerosene lamp had been put away, and all that mattered was seeing my mother sitting by the fireplace, cooking food that filled the air with a delicious smell. It made me hungry.

“You were making a lot of noises in your sleep last night,” Mother said without even looking at me. I wondered how she knew that since I thought she was sleeping too.

“I dreamt of ghosts and other bad things,” I admitted, still feeling quite unsettled from the dreams.

As with all little kids, I grew up, went to high school, and soon learned that the kerosene in our lamps was simply ‘lamp oil’ or ‘lamp kerosene’, a refined form of kerosene intended for indoor use in lamps and lanterns. It’s often dyed to distinguish it from other types of fuel and may have additives to improve its odour and combustion characteristics.

This knowledge stopped my curiosity and I was satisfied with it until one day, someone told me (it might also have been something I read) that education and knowledge were mystery killers. I pondered that notion for quite some time, read several more books, and concluded that it was true, but only to a certain extent. 

It was gratifying to grasp the idea that education and knowledge can act as “mystery killers” highlighting the transformative power of learning. It suggests that with an understanding of various subjects, the mysteries surrounding them dissipate. This was one of those things that convinced me that the years spent in school were worth it.

At the same time, I also acknowledged that while education and knowledge can demystify certain aspects of the world, they also often reveal new layers of complexity and nuance. Thus, while education may “kill” one mystery, it often gives birth to new ones, fueling a continuous process of inquiry and discovery.

For me, this came to pass a few years later following the “killing” of the “lamp oil” mystery. Without meaning to, I came across another type of lamp — the lamp of the heart — brought to my attention by (of all people) a total stranger. We were both members of what was in the 1970s the KMC Library (Kuching Municipal Council Library). We had seen each other several times in the library but did not interact in any way until one day he suddenly approached me while I was browsing through a pile of books that I had brought to a table.

He must have thought that I was a Hokkien Chinese for his first few words were in the lingo (that much I recognised), but when I told him I did not speak Chinese, he switched to English. Without introducing himself, he asked, “Do you know anything about the lamp of the heart?” 

I looked at him blankly for a second and asked, “Is that the title of a book?”

“No, no. Do you know some books that touch on the lamp of the heart?” he said.

“I don’t even know what the lamp of the heart is. Is there such a thing?” I was truly puzzled.

He must have seen the look of puzzlement on my face for he kindly proceeded to explain that “the lamp of the heart” is often used metaphorically to describe the inner light or guiding principle within oneself. 

“It symbolises the source of wisdom, intuition, and emotional depth that illuminates one’s path in life,” he said earnestly. 

“You mean, just like a lamp brightens up a room?” I asked.

“Yes. This metaphorical lamp lights up the depths of one’s being, providing clarity, insight, and warmth,” he said.

“Wow! That sounds deep!” I said.

“It is! It suggests an inner source of strength, resilience, and … and, what’s the word? … umm, yes … spirituality that helps us … umm, navigate through life’s challenges and uncertainties,” he said. 

“I see. I think I understand now. But what makes you think I would know this lamp?”

“I often saw you spending a lot of time in that area,” he said, pointing to the sections for mystery fiction, true crime stories, paranormal and supernatural mysteries, conspiracy theories, mysterious places and events, occult and esoteric mysteries, and forensic science and crime investigation.

“Oh, I see. You are observant. Is the lamp important to you?” I asked.
 
 
“I’m doing a bit of research for a story that I’m writing,” he said.

“I see. Okay, let’s see if I still remember what I’ve come across. Look for the Bhagavad Gita, an ancient Indian scripture. I don’t remember where it is, but it must be somewhere here.”

“You remember what it says?”

“Bits and pieces of it only … something about everyone’s heart … the Vedas … the knower of the Vedas … metaphoric reference to the divine presence within each individual. Something like the lamp of the heart.”

“Okay, okay, thanks. Let me take notes. I hope it’s still in this building,” he said.

“If you have the time, look for the poetry of Rumi,” I continued.

“The what?”

“Rumi. R.U.M.I,” I spelt out for him. 

“He’s a writer?”

“A Persian poet and mystic. His writings often refer to ‘the lamp of the heart’ to symbolise the inner light of wisdom and love.”

“Are you by any chance a Christian,” he asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because the Bible says something about the lamp.”

“You’re right. There are references to the ‘light of Christ’ or the ‘divine spark within’.”

“You must have read the Bible a lot.”

“Not really. Mostly, I picked the references from Western literature.”

He thanked me profusely and soon we went our separate ways without knowing each other’s names. Strangely, that night he was in my dream in which I heard someone calling him Ah Hong. Also in that dream was a young girl of indeterminate ethnic or racial identity. Somehow, I knew her name was Liya. I was not in the dream but was a watcher, like watching a movie. 

While Maya seemed to have a radiant light emanating from within her, Ah Hong, who was tagging along, had none. They were on a mystical journey through a forest shrouded in shadows. With nothing but Liya’s heart as their guide, they ventured forth, the inner lamp glowing softly in the darkness.

As they journeyed deeper into the forest, they encountered challenges and obstacles. Yet, with each trial, Liya’s inner light burned brighter, illuminating the way forward. Along the way, they met fellow travellers who had lost their inner light. Liya shared her light with compassion and empathy, reigniting the lamps within their hearts.

By the time they emerged from the forest, Ah Hong’s inner lamp was glowing while Liya’s shone more brilliantly than ever before. From that day on, they understood that no matter how dark the world may seem the lamp of the heart would always guide them home.

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‘Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.’ – Nelson Mandela (1918-2013), a South African anti-apartheid revolutionary, politician, and philanthropist who served as the President of South Africa from 1994 to 1999.

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DISCLAIMER:

The views expressed here are those of the writer and do not necessarily represent the views of the New Sarawak Tribune.