In the night…

I realised tonight that I have lived much of my life – too much of my life – with Fear as my companion. But tonight, as I slipped out of the door of my slumbering household, with my restless dog and my own weary bones, into the silky black coolness of the night… I turned to check, but my constant companion was gone.

And I realised, as I walked, that I had spent so much time fearing the things that lurked in the darkness that I had never been able to notice all the tiny things that rejoice in the darkness: all those small, furtive things that are suddenly safe and at peace in the still coolness of the night, and as we wandered, I was aware of them, my new friends in the peaceful night: the cicadas, singing the night into being, and the birds, singing the day to sleep; the rustle of the small wildlife in the bushes as we passed by, and the solid crack of a branch under the foot of a lone, exploring kangaroo.

I realised that I’d allowed Fear to rob me of the time I feel the most alive. The daytime, with the heat and brightness of the sun,  the pace of everything and everyone… it is movement and hurry and expectation… and yet, in the night, something shifts: even my dog, whose inquisitive nose burst out through the door like a rocket, moves differently in the night, almost languidly (once she was actually out of the door!) as she stops and sniffs every blade of grass along the dark creek bank, stretching her muscles but not straining and pulling and urging me on.

The night has a time all of its own, a different type of being.  I found myself slowing – my internal world synchronising with the gentle pulse of life in the shadows. And Oh! Shadows of such richness – texture and nuance and complexity, and I am at home.

I have lived much of my life – too much of my life – with fear as my companion but tonight he is gone. And I am free.