Darker than black

Somewhere deep inside me is a sane person. Someday, someone will get to talk to him.

There's something very primal about real darkness. Not city darkness, because that is just shadows and absences. But real darkness has a presence. It has a physicality.

In a forest, the dark is a gentle unknown, full of mystery, a dash of fear and the joy of being in a place so full of life. In a theater, the black is blank canvas, waiting for a splash of light to illuminate something out of the imagination. In the middle of the ocean, the darkness is a crushing blanket, pressing you to the surface of the sea.

I've long since ceased to be afraid of the dark. I know too much about it to let if frighten me anymore. Sometimes I'll let myself be afraid of whats in the dark, but that is a different matter entirely. And yet, there is something truly terrifying about the dark of an empty house.

I'm not talking about Home Alone scared, or even horror movie terrified. I'm talking about that deeply seeded primal fear of death that unconsciously haunts each and every one of us who know what death is like. The ones who have gone past the place where we still think we're immortal.

Mind you, I don't think I'm about to keel over dead in my sleep. It's just this sense that has been flirting with my conscious mind in the wee hours of the morning/night when I should be sleeping. I've never liked being alone. I fill the void with music or a good book or the electronic comfort of my computer. Preferably two of the three. But in the dark of the night, the oppressive absence crushes back in on me.

Hmm...

Well, that was depressing.

Muah!
Lyrinoir