Sometimes I wonder if the night envies the day for the attention we give it.
If I were the night I might revel in my own silky indigo solitude. But then perhaps after spending all that time alone I might, if I were night, want to share the splendor of my silky solitude. But everyone is sleeping. “Why do they sleep during such a glorious time as mine?” I hear the night ask.
So night wakes us to introduce itself and ask us what we think of it. But we don’t think of it, we think only of being disturbed in our rest and are annoyed by this unwanted intrusion. Awake for a reason we don’t understand and didn’t want, we’re concerned only with how it will ruin our many commitments to the day. Perhaps the day conspires against us too, to hide the treasures of the night by taking full advantage of a misconceived projection of doubt.
Minds are relentless in their restless demand for attention and distraction, and so night is again ignored even in its own time, even in the brilliance that only darkness can bring.
When night asks me to wake within its quiet, unpretentiousness solitude and requests of me to take notice, I will take notice and remember the stillness it brings. Still the mind and ask the night “what do you want me to know?”
…
Last night when I asked the night what it wanted, it showed me an egg. And then my breathing became egg shaped and I thought that maybe in my breath was the possibility of a gestation or even a birth; something to offer the world or to simply coexist with the co-creative collective of all the ingredients here on this planet.
