We grow accustomed to the Dark –
When light is put away –
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye –
A Moment – We uncertain step
For newness of the night –
Then – fit our Vision to the Dark –
And meet the Road – erect –
And so of larger – Darknesses –
Those Evenings of the Brain –
When not a Moon disclose a sign –
Or Star – come out – within –
The Bravest – grope a little –
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead –
But as they learn to see –
Either the Darkness alters –
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight –
And Life steps almost straight.
— Emily Dickinson
On Emily Dickinson’s birthday a poem about darkness, or rather, about becoming accustomed to the darkness as we step deeper into it. We might call this night vision, or depression, or we might call it becoming jaded. It all depends on the type of darkness we step into.
Moonless, rainy nights naturally tend to be amongst the darkest. Place that night into December and you’ve added raw. By all accounts raw, dark and rainy ought to be miserable. Surely nobody would choose it for pleasure optimization, and yet it has it’s own pleasures when we dress for it, or shelter from it in the comfort of a nest. But these are forms of mitigation. The conditions remain.
Amor fati.
The thing is, we can step into the darkness and learn to thrive in it. That doesn’t make us a part of the darkness, merely adaptive. That’s a healthy condition in a lifetime filled with rawness, filled with darkness. We adapt and learn to thrive once again. Eventually the rains end, the sun rises, and the days will warm. Count on it. But tread with care until then.