Don’t Try to Fix the Darkness
The darkness has its own gifts.
There’s a time to rest,
to disappear,
to hibernate,
to be held so tightly
in sacred obliteration,
that you cease to exist
from everything else.
Some seeds need darkness to germinate.
And some animals
can only wake up at night.
Much like the animals
inside of us all.
How can the moon show her mystery without the dark?
How can the fire shine without it?
If the dark has become burdensome,
and it is time to leave this resting place,
Don’t try to fix the darkness.
Don’t ask it to change for you.
Don’t try to make it into light.
Thank it for its time,
its sweet slumber,
its rest from the harsh elements of the sun,
and the dryness that you desperately
needed to escape
Thank it for its moist care,
its dampness,
its amniotic fluid,
and incubated womb
that gave you nourishment
for just a little bit.
Let it know that you will be back again –
in another winter when you need
its solitude and strength of aloneness.
And then,
open the windows to let in the sun
little by little,
knowing the darkness will always return
like an old friend,
just when you need it.