midnight stroll

We went for a walk in the darkness last night. It was I and three of my dearest friends and colleagues: Liz, Ayanna and Sarah. Leaving the bright lights of the parking lot behind us, a single street lamp was all that illumined our path. And if we were to get in a decent walk, we'd have to step beyond that singular light as well.

Pausing on the street, I exclaimed, "Wow! It's dark out here!"

Liz beckoned us further into the shadow. "Come on," she said, "the darkness gets brighter when you step away from the light."

"Ooh, that's deep," proclaimed Ayanna.

Deep, yes. And very true. As we ventured further from the lights of the retreat center, the darkness did indeed become brighter. And it seemed as if the very dirt road on which we walked was gleaming in the moonlight, never mind that it was a half moon, and half covered by clouds as well. Frogs jumping in our path still startled city-girl Ayanna, making Sarah giggle. But we could see. Clearly. And I do believe our hearing was more acute as well. As we walked, we listened. To each other. To the wind in the trees. To the stream making its way over the rocks.

Yes, sometimes we must step into the darkness to see what is truly there, to walk in the midnight in order to find our way made bright in the shadows.

Does this mean I should step into the sadness I have been carrying these past few weeks, to let myself really "go there", to feel and experience the gloom I have been hanging on to? I don't know. Maybe now is the time; maybe not. But it seems that stepping into such deep shadows is the sort of thing that should only be done when accompanied by the closest of friends.