As the light grows ever more dim, tendrils of gray among warm yellowish rays snake across the floor. The warm light of the lamp bulb grows brighter, drawing attention, declaring its presence, becoming the focus of the room. The titles of the books on the shelf become hazy in the half darkness, the gray, the not quite night, the semi-pitch black. My black cat becomes harder to spot in the shadows. The light is almost uncomfortable in the darkness, lighting the old quilt on the wall from below, highlighting the folds, wrinkles, seams, and age-worn fabric as though it’s telling ghost stories by firelight.
It is in this light that I feel most at home. Present, just a little activated, warm, full of possibility. When I can’t see in the darkness, I lean into the trust I have in my body. I let go of the need to see everything clearly. A familiar room becomes a bit unknown, memory filling in what it can, imagination tearing at the seams of reality for the rest. But I don’t mind it. As my eyes slowly grow tired and less focused in the dim light, my mind stays alive, my skin taking over, constantly, chronically sizzling with little vibrations of energy. Breath becomes a little freer and also more vibrant, more vital.
This time, between obligation and sleep, is the seeking. This is when the unknown knocks and we make friends with the dark, accepting it into ourselves. Shadow comes out to play, welcomed by light that allows it to show itself freely. The slow creep of the shadows, the tiny burning of light in the bulb, and the slight somatic disequilibrium of the dark and empty but full invite play in a much heavier way than the broad daylight, quietly brimming with vital force.
Sometimes, when I’m leaning into the creative movement of my body, or the give and take of an improvised scene, I crave this. The playful, primal life magick of light, dark, and gray. Sometimes I close my eyes or let my vision go out of focus, leaning into the flying sensation of the unknown in my body, trusting my limbs to catch me, rolling out of every misstep, if not gracefully, at least still alive. And when I cannot see them in the shadows, the darker ones light little fires in my limbs, screaming stories into my the nerves all throughout my body, insisting on shining light where it has been snatched away.
This is where I crave to live and spend my vital energy – in the cracked shadows of warm, stubborn, attention grabbing light that exist in my bones, breath, soul, and story. The unknown soul also shines brightly, and light is seen best in the dark.
Play, dance, and sing with beings of light and dark without caring whether they came from the pitch black of night. Let the unknown give them a chance.
Find life in the half light, the flickering candle, the dim incandescent, breathing into the dark beauty in these spaces even if it feels like flying, like half dying, like losing yourself or letting your soul fly to pieces. Walk in darkness always.
