The quiet darkness of the night

Sometimes, it’s only in the quiet darkness of the night that we get to see what kind of life we’re living.

In the brightness of the waking day with its activities and conversations, its commitments and frustrations, we often can’t see our lives at all. We’re like children with our faces pressed to a glass window, or fish in the bright blue ocean – so close to what we’re in or up against that it’s transparent to us.

But when the house is quiet and the lights have dimmed, we can sometimes glimpse what’s been right in front of us: what we have and what we’ve lost, what’s become hidden and is crying out for attention. In the dark of the night we can get a sense of the more secret world of love and longing that we’ve carried with us for so long.

It can be tempting to discount the way we get stirred up by all of this as a trick of the darkness – to ignore the vivid dreams or the wakeful imaginings as so much late night illusion. But it could serve us greatly to treat it as an indication of those ever present parts of ourselves that have not been addressed adequately in our day to day lives. Those parts that are crying out for air, for the space to be expressed in life.

What bigger, more vibrantly alive possibilities are calling out to you from the still of night’s quietest hours?

 

Image: Yvan leduc (Own work) via Wikimedia Commons