Whips

Light isn’t inherently good, not like in the stories.

Light is just just what holds your attention while things happen in the dark.

How come we never hear of good things happening in the dark?

 I guess we’re not, as a species, built to operate in the darkness very effectively. It’s our eyes, we can’t really see anything, and we get predated on by Tigers. So we light fires to soothe our eyes, and we domesticate wolves to guard our backs, and we all enjoy the warmth, but now everyone has to pee really bad, and there’s big cats out there, and my wolf is now a pug.

 So what happens in the dark? The deprivation of one sense has the effect of heightening the others, but what does that do? Our sense of hearing snaps to every sound, our sense of smell fondles the air, our tongue explores our mouth, and we feel our body in ways that we never do in the light. In the dark we convince ourselves that someone threatening is in the house making the noise, that you smell the smoke of your house being on fire, that your mouth tastes like mouth cancer, and you have food poisoning, when, in fact, your house is contracting as it cools from the heat of the day, or it is responding to the wind which carries the scent of a cigarette, which you don’t smoke, so you don’t have mouth cancer, you just need to floss after you eat five pulled pork bunwiches.

 The first victim of darkness is reason. We use our eyes to make sense of our other senses, and I think it does us a great disservice. For example, have you ever eaten something that looked really good, but tasted foul, AND THEN you smelled it, and it smelled foul? I smell everything now. I have a nose for a reason, and I use it. Have you ever sat up late at night, after you floss, and brush your teeth again, and have a drink of water, listening until you understand what the sounds are? Can you appreciate what your senses are for, and what they are telling you? If you can, you are required to make a decision. That is mindfulness.

 There are just so many lights. Like the one you are staring at right now while reading this. I won’t keep you long, though, and sight doesn’t have to obviate your other senses; you get to make a decision about that, too. You have so much agency that you may not be taking advantage of. How are you feeling? Rotate through your senses right now and see if one waving at you hard enough to break its arm. Do you smell awful? Does your mouth taste like the bottom of a garbage can (it’s a bummer if you know what that tastes like)? Is your posture making your hips hurt more than usual? Are there any alarms or sirens that you should be investigating? This is your power, it may seem small, but it’s all you get by default, and for a lot of people, it’s already way too much because they have been captured by the light.

 So I’ll tell you what happens in darkness. Fear grows in the darkness; that’s what darkness is for, to make you afraid. By nature there is no sense attached to fear. There are many unpleasant ways in which those attachments can be made, but there is no getting around the reality that fear, like it’s sibling pain, is asking you to make a decision, and they will both ask you as hard as they have to, and they will never relent. They will only let you go when you die.

 You don’t have to let them ride you all the way to the grave, though, and you don’t have to let them climb on your back and whip you either, they can walk beside you, you can ask them why they are there, and they will tell you pay attention to your senses. Smell the air, taste what nourishes you, listen for lessons, feel your being, and as for light, turn your back to it. Get comfortable with your shadow.

You don’t have to leave the light, there’s tigers out there in the darkness, and they are too much for you and your pug.

You don’t have to walk into the darkness, you just have to face it.