I’ve never feared the dark, not even as a child. I grew to fear it less as I grew older because I trained myself to walk in the darkness. Our local school bordered a cemetery and to get to the school for a football game I would take a short cut through the graveyard in the darkness. I knew the paths, I knew certain tombs, I knew the stars and I knew the night.
The darkness you fear is not the darkness you know. The darkness you fear is the unknown darkness, that inky pool in which nothing can be seen. Ah, but the night! When in the darkness but not alone, do you grope in vain for the hand of your lover or do your fingers interlock as if guided by light? Do you not find with your senses that which you seek, when in darkness, you are not alone? When in passion, the deepest passion, is sight not limited, at best, and with your entire existence, do you not live in that moment, without regard to light, or darkness or sight?
You would not wear shoes or clothes into the night, when you are not alone, and you should always do that which protects you, certainly, but I have laid bare feet onto the path in the woods, naked but to be clothed in the silver light of the moon, and the shadows of the stars, and I have found my way.
Why the need for certainty? Would you ask for more light to find your way to your lover’s passion or would you allow your hands to explore that which is known but unseen? Do you not kiss with your eyes closed? Where is the need for sight when passion guides the entire body in a simple kiss, that first step into the darkness of one another, but both eagerly awaits?
Do you watch to see where your feet are, where your hands are, or will your senses guide you no matter how little light there might be, when someone hold you tightly in that first embrace? Is there some guidance you would ask of your lover in the first kiss or would you trust your senses blindly, as love always is. But love is never wrong. How can sight always be right, if we would only love the night?
The first time I walked alone, in the deepest night, without clothes or shoes I fears I might stumble, become weak sensed, and fumble my way out of the night totally inept and briar whipped. How very much this feeling is when we first look into someone’s eyes and wonder if they see the same light as we do inside?
I do not see darkness, not in love and not in the night. I see falling stars, wheeling galaxies, shadows created by moonlight, and the near light of stars, like the silhouette of a lover, slipping off the first bit of clothing, outlined by the moon’s faint stare. I see the long forgotten shapes that lovers named the collection of stars, holding hands, pointing to first one star and then another, out of the billions, the two are focused enough in each other to know what pattern the other sees, as if their minds were bonding as their bodies already have.
The path finds the feet and the feet finds the path. More sure now, I am also very slow and very particular as to where my flesh might touch. The dogs go out before me, my vanguard, my family, the pack which ensures my night. It is only I, and the darkness, but the darkness does not exist. My sight, the most limited of my senses, I do not miss at night, alone or no. For I do so love the darkness and I fear it not at all.
Take my hand, please, and I will guide you into the night, and you will never know a moment of darkness.