I’m afraid of the dark.
I lust after the light.
I want more and more, so no darkness remains.
But despite my best efforts to avoid it, the light begins to fade. Darkness sets in.
I turn on my light, throwing my fist to the natural world and proclaiming, “I can be surrounded by light, even now!”
But then, maybe by accident, I find myself outside.
In the darkness with no light bulb in sight.
That’s when I see them.
I suppose they’ve always been there, but the blinding light of the sun has kept my focus on my comparably small reality.
The stars are magnificent.
I wish I could see them in the light of day, but I know this is impossible.
They take my breath away.
Where did that come from?
As I walk I notice something strange and disorienting, but also breath taking.
I thought it was pure darkness, but apparently, when my eyes adjust, I see that there is light within the darkness.
They are not enemies after all.
They are one.
What am I afraid of?
Am I afraid to see the stars?
Am I afraid to see my shadow thrown on the ground by the full moon?
Am I afraid of the light within the darkness?
The sound within the silence?
The movement within the stillness?
The communion within the solitude?
I am afraid of the dark.
But as it turns out, the light I so desperately long for today is that subtle one, seen only when my eyes adjust to the mysterious and unknown darkness.