To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
And find that the dark, too, blooms and sings.
— Wendell Berry
The fall nights literally sing here. Walking on the veranda, a chorus of insect song fills the air, owls call, dogs bark, coyotes howl.
I enjoyed this post which popped up synchronistically today:
But darkness has its place too, especially when we are working to understand ourselves, or to create a shift in our lives, or to transition from one state-of-being to another. These shifts and transitions are dark experiences lacking clarity and structure. And here is this little gland in the body that rides around in our brains with us, helping us perceive whether it is day or night, light or dark, stop or continue, yes or no. I’m inclined to think that this hidden jewel of the brain is not only a night-time regulator but also the source of the deep, overwhelming sense of imbalance and extraordinary “lightness of being” and loss of firmament that we experience when, for instance, we go caving.
So, dear one, as the sun sets and the dark sky fills with stars…
Harvest what feeds you, and compost the rest.
And welcome the inevitable walk through the dark…
(My photo from tonight is of a planter on the back deck/veranda.)