I am reading a book, The End of Night, Searching for Natural Darkness in an Age of Artificial Light by Paul Bogard.
He begins with a quote by Wendell Berry:
To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.
My book group met in the city Friday and spent the night in San Francisco in a hotel at Union Square. It seemed quiet, subdued, and yet, young people were spending the night outside the Nike store, lined up against the building on the sidewalk. Some had chairs and many had blankets. It seems some had been there two nights. Why? New shoes were being released. Who knew?
And yet, even there, there was a quiet, a reverence. I wonder if even in Las Vegas, a place that shoots light into the sky, the same is true. We feel the dark as it blooms and sings. We honor what we cannot see but feel. I feel myself open, beckon, allow. There is surrender. I bow, grateful for this moment, the next. I am grateful that I've lived 65 years. I am grateful for this solstice, for this new moon, for blessings opened and blessings shared.