Darkness is defined as, "the state or quality of having little or no light, lack of knowledge or enlightenment, lack of sight or blindness, obscurity or concealment." In my own life, I have rarely been afraid of the dark. I have excellent night vision, so I enjoy running around the island at night. I spent most of my later childhood and teen years sleeping alone, or with my dog, in a tent in the back yard, a lantern used only for reading. The moon and I have always been friends. I also have spent time exploring the darkness of my soul; a practice common among most Pagans. My tenebrious psyche, opened up, an acceptance of my true nature, torn apart to be made whole again. At the beginning, I was very afraid of this amazingly difficult work, but it became less scary and painful. I now feel, that plunging into the depths of our mysterious darkness, is necessary for the human condition.
Caring for my mother, from a distance, when she was first hearing the word, CANCER, was very troubling. I could not see her visually, to assure myself she was
OK- of course she was not OK- but relatively speaking, I needed to know she was not completely falling apart. I arrived in Ohio, the week preceding the surgery. It was important one for our small family. We readied the house, bought a shower chair, moved a bedroom to the first floor, celebrated a birthday. We participated in our individual roles, in our "new abnormal, normal." But my mom and I had other preparations to make as well. My mom and I have always been very connected, even in times when we did not seek to be. We share the obvious genetic material, and the less obvious, deep-rooted spirituality of our ancestors. Helping my mom deal with her fear, and grief, while grappling with my own, was one of the hardest things I have ever done. We called upon everything we had ever known to help us fortify, for the dark days ahead.
Surgical day is here. Early arising, driving near an hour, fast, fast, faster the morning proceeded. My mom is taken to the Pre-op area and my sister my father and I wait. We were soon ushered back to sit with her while she waited. She appears vulnerable, scared, and pale. I know many of her fears, and I tremble inside with anxiety. I encourage my sister and dad to go near mom, and hold her hand. They did reluctantly, for fear of disturbing her IV. This was of great comfort to her. I have learned over the years in nursing, touch is vital to healing. A kind word, the squeeze of a hand, a pat, a back rub, can make as much difference to a scared patient as medicine. It is a gesture that shows we are empathetic, not just there to care for a physical wound.
"I am a survivor too." says the OR nurse, as she squeezes my mom's hand. My mom's eyes change, the fear slipping away. "How long?" my mom asks, in a more confident voice than I have heard her use in days. "Eight and a half years." replies the nurse who turns to push the stretcher from the room. My gratitude to this nurse is endless. Her empathy and love illuminated the darkness for my mom and I. What an incredible gift.
"Call upon your spirit guides, while you wait for sleep. They are with you. I love you. I will be right here when you wake up." I say to my mom, as she is about to be taken back to surgery. I was right there, we all were, when my mom was wheeled into her room, still foggy from anesthesia. The subsequent hours were physically and emotionally difficult for my mom and I. We read from our devotional, morning and night, and we discussed that Kuan Yin's birthday was celebrated that day. Kuan Yin means, She who hears the cries of the world. She has heard my cries for many years. I silently invoked Her all day while waiting, and as I tried to fall to sleep while my mom slept. Peace was around and within me.
In our darkest times as humans we feel depressed, racked with despair, sinking in the murk and gloom. Blackness does not reflect light, at least for the eyes of our species. This brings to mind the Olber's Paradox. The night sky appears dark to us, even though there are trillions of stars. The universe has a finite age. Light from the most distant stars has not yet reached our tiny planet. The universe is also expanding and accelerating, so light from these distant stars is Doppler -shifted.
The electromagnetic spectrum of red hues produced, cannot be perceived by us. In the appearance of darkness, there is light, but we are not always able to see it.
As I sit meditating in one of my favorite parks, I reflect upon my mom's strength, and healing. The birds songs are louder, the robins, signal spring. They hop to the tree I sit under, looking at me. There eyes perceive ultraviolet light, how must I look to them? They hop to the ground, cock their heads and grab up worm after worm. Worms give them nutrition, they fertilize and aerate the soil in which everything around me grows. Their entire life cycles played out in the moist, wet, cold darkness of earth. I cannot perceive their presence like the robins. Instead I must choose to travel in my mind to their dark, dank world, black as pitch -where life happens. For, it is in the dark, solitude of our minds, that understanding happens.
Our species longs for connection with Source, our Cosmic Mother. Thrust from Her dark, moist, protective womb, where we heard only muffled sounds of our future, or is it our past? We are born- cold, naked, screaming into a bright world, beyond our understanding. We can seek this connection in the darkness, with closed eyes, questing for wisdom. Through a myriad of contrasts, like colors, we can find wholeness. No part left out, we are entombed yet enthroned, enclosed and enveloped, embraced and released. Out of the darkness, from our ancient inner-knowing, comes the truth; the pain of disconnection ceases, if only for a moment. Then comes the clarity - every cell of our body prickling with the truth. I will be here when you wake up.
