“A darkness more beautiful:” Learning to rest in a space that can hold all of life

A darkness more beautiful

In the deepest room of my heart
you live, unknown and untouched
by my mind’s brittle grip.

There is freedom
in that space of sweet darkness,
where my soul blooms in silence
and waits for the slightest touch
of your breath.

Yes, within my heart 
there is a great sea,
stretching as far as hope
and as deep as desire.

The sea is black as ink
and full of a darkness
more beautiful than 
I ever imagined possible,
a darkness that holds all.

Its face reflects your longing for me
and my longing for you–
one longing like waves rippling,
flowing across time.

The light has things to show me,
yes, and there are blessings
in its knowing, but there is
something beyond, something
within, something sacred
in the darkness.

There is an ecstasy there,
when thoughts crumble
like ash in your fingers
and I am embraced by
the fullness of love.

I continue to pay attention to the dance between darkness and light, and my heart tells me that we need to honor the way that a holy darkness can hold the depth of our pain and hope. My practice tells me that the pain we feel now can only be healed by yielding to a truth beyond our controlling minds and cleverness. There is a mystery in the holy darkness that can nurture the transformation that we need.

Sages speak of a luminous darkness, of a ray of darkness, that pierces that obsessive link between believing that we understand something and thinking we can control. I pray for overshadowing clouds and thick darkness on mountaintops. My ego resists such dark places, and that is a clue that I need to spend time there.

I notice this dance between darkness and light in so many of my poems, and the tired pattern of “light equals good while dark equals bad” has cracked and broken down. And I’m thankful for it.

What is taking root now is something more substantive, more nuanced, something that can bear the weight of my own wrestling and searching.

I’ll keep listening. You listen, too, and tell me what you hear.

Blessings,

Stuart

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