Long Nights and the Gifts of Darkness

Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash

The night often comes unexpectedly these days. One moment it’s sunny and the next the sun has begun it’s descent below the horizon. I also wake in the dark. Six-thirty feels like more sleep. It just doesn’t feel right to rise before the sun.  ‘Tis the season of darkness.

I’m not complaining. I kind of like the dark. I was once afraid of it. I suppose we all are at some point, afraid of the uncertainty, of the unknown. But now, I love the feeling of restfulness it brings. I also see it as the mother of potential and possibility. There is nothing to fear there except our inability to be open.

The bright light of day is a breath of fresh air, but the darkness also brings its own kind of refreshment. It’s a place of restoration. The brilliant sun sheds light all around, expanding our view. The dark has its own way of expanding us. It opens us to the imagination and all that is possible for it’s the place from which all rises including the sun.

Recently, I did a guided meditation to meet my goddess. I’m not sure exactly who I met. She was in the form of a woman, but there were no details and she had no face. When you looked at her all you saw was the vastness of the Universe. She was the cosmos itself. She was the depth of all being. She held both the dark and the light. She was the mother of all. I don’t know that she was a particular goddess. She was mystery itself. And I’m okay with being in the dark as to her identity. Maybe I’ve already named her above.

She stalked me in the vision, almost as though I were her prey. It wasn’t frightening. It was the tension of life, of creativity. I met darkness, depth, the cosmos, and I am Hers.

Night descends. Darkness falls. The goddess awakens within, and all is well.