herbavore
Bluelight Crew
We are not nocturnal and yet we are pulled out into the night with our insufficient eyes, our wildly beating hearts, hands comically outstretched before us like the walking dead of old Hollywood films, everything grainy and obscure. Even our own arms dissolve into nothing before us, as if we are reaching into our own dissolution.
What is it that calls us and why do some of us go with a torch in hand and others welcoming the blindness? We go into the dark like we go into love: terrified, besotted, courageous, open.
Rumi said that we must die out of our noisy lives to live. Sometimes, alone, under a few stars and a half moon, I can enter that silence, float on the soft gleam of this small mirror of death. I remember that I am an animal living in grace on a breathing planet. This world, dangerous, precarious and impermanent as it is, is my home. I can lead myself out of the noisy light, into this dark stillness, and remember.
We dream our days. Where we go in our sleep I cannot say. To be awake and wandering in the darkness, ill equipped, cautious at first, then opening, is an ecstatic pull, as real as gravity, as real as tides.
Lie down in a field under stars. Feel your heart take wing and lift from you with the silent grace of an owl. Let the noise and sulphur light of all your cities of anguish disappear below you.
What is it that calls us and why do some of us go with a torch in hand and others welcoming the blindness? We go into the dark like we go into love: terrified, besotted, courageous, open.
Rumi said that we must die out of our noisy lives to live. Sometimes, alone, under a few stars and a half moon, I can enter that silence, float on the soft gleam of this small mirror of death. I remember that I am an animal living in grace on a breathing planet. This world, dangerous, precarious and impermanent as it is, is my home. I can lead myself out of the noisy light, into this dark stillness, and remember.
We dream our days. Where we go in our sleep I cannot say. To be awake and wandering in the darkness, ill equipped, cautious at first, then opening, is an ecstatic pull, as real as gravity, as real as tides.
Lie down in a field under stars. Feel your heart take wing and lift from you with the silent grace of an owl. Let the noise and sulphur light of all your cities of anguish disappear below you.
