In the Darkness
Years ago, I discovered a book called Waking by Matthew Sanford. When Sanford was 12 years old, he and his family were in a car accident that killed his father and sister and left him paralyzed from the waist down. The book and his story have never left me. No matter how many times I reread the book Waking, I am always struck by certain images. His image of what it was like to enter into his body after paralysis is one I’ve never forgotten.
Imagine walking into a dark room, a room you’ve been in before, but in the darkness so much is suddenly unfamiliar. Now imagine the anxiety you might feel and the desire to rush to turn on the lights, so that you can see again as quickly as possible.
The thing is what typically happens in the rush to find a way, in the anxiety-fueled push forward, is a lot of bumping around in space, possibly injury and harm that happens in the move to overcome the darkness.
What if instead you pause and become very still? What if you wait for a moment, allow some light to present itself, for your eyes to grow accustomed or for the moon to perhaps come out? Do you know this kind of darkness? The darkness you’ve found stillness in, patience, a steady trust that something both outside you and inside you will guide the way forward. There is vulnerability in this, and grace.
Yet, how often is the impulse to do the opposite, to move with a kind of dominating, anxious force to overcome the feelings of disorder, the blind unknown?
There are a lot of messages in the world these days that, as I take them in, feel like I’m being thrust into darkness, cut off from the heart of any steady force of love I understand. So many messages and actions that make dominating the world around us appear normal and powerful. Sometimes, this way of entering the world enables us to feel like we have control for a while. Maybe it feels like winning. But it’s not the way. There is no grace in this way.
The truth of how to enter the darkness without causing harm, with grace, is much more subtle, more refined than the thrust to overtake could ever be.
I am deeply troubled by the way that domination appears to be winning the day. And I have a choice—I can rush forward into each day trying to dominate the domination, add more confusion to my world, harm myself and maybe others as I push forward trying to overcome what feels like a brick wall in front of me.
Or I can learn again to stand in the anxious space inside me, find internal steadiness in the darkness around me. I have a feeling the choice will have to be navigated repeatedly in these coming days. If you, too, know you’re not alone.