Seeing In The Dark

A flashlight doesn’t make the darkness go away.
In fact, it makes the darkness darker.
Turn the bright light off and it is
blacker than before.

Eyes don’t adjust quickly. It takes time.
Time in the darkness. Time within the darkness.
Time as part of the darkness. Patience, too.
You don’t rush seeing in the dark.

Hazards and obstacles live in darkness.
The chair leg whispers to the ceramic pot:
“Here he comes. Watch this.”
It’s hard to muffle a scream caused by
a twisted toe caused by a chair leg in the dark.

But if you can make it from the bed to the sofa
without twisted toes or bruised legs,
sit in the darkness, eyes open, looking into
black nothingness, and wait.

It will happen. Black turns to hazy gray,
silhouettes appear, indistinct lines define
boundaries, maneuvering is manageable,
chair legs sigh with disappointment.

Things become clearer when you wait
in the darkness, become more fully
aware of surrounding circumstances,
look, listen, take it all in, sometimes even
redefine routes and routines.

Hurrying through darkness blindly
usually produces bad results. There
may be land mines out there.
Seeing in the darkness, on the other hand,
is the result of conscious waiting,
tolerance of the moment
and redefinitions about
the way to proceed.