In Praise of Darkness

Wherever we are, we are already there. Such as looking down the valley from St. Melangell’s church in Wales, where Christianity was taken up by priestesses before the Gospels where written.

Or being caught with the poplars down the road.

We live in darkness, on the body of the Earth. It speaks through us as much as it does in both these images of trees, and we take on shape as much as they do.

Truth is, we live on the edge of light, not in it. We are acutely aware of it in all things.

Yes, we strain to see things in the light, but we see them just fine in the dark, perhaps better. It is the state of being under and within.

It is why poetry was used by the princes of Germany to train their sons and daughters in the art of government.

It is the language that reveals shape and connection and, especially, creates them.



It is where what is hidden is seen.

It is not the “seeing” that light brings, although light allows us to view it.

It is not a narrative.

Like our bodies it is the place where what is outside is within, and what is within is out.

It is how we are open.

That is why poetry is spoken with a mouth.

It is a passage.

It makes everything open.

It gives voice to everything.

We are everywhere in it.

Even in the light.

Christ only walked out of the tomb because it wasn’t one.

It was an opening through form and into it.

Don’t make the mistake of thinking these are forms of the mind, or that they can be ordered by it.

We are very old.

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