The past two months have been a study of what Langston Hughes described as “…goin’ in the dark where there ain’t been no light.” In this age, to leave the world of pictures is a shock to the system. But even in the dark there are things that can’t be unseen; their negative image lingers ghostlike on blind eyes. With shades reversed, they are ever more horrifying.  Darkness does nothing to mask the terror of impermenance.

This terror is a good thing, I suppose, for the dark times have done little to loosen my fierce hold on existence, even as other cherished notions are relinquished one by one. To be on intimate terms with both dark and light is to have the heart broken open. That space of tension is where creativity is born and where life flourishes.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself.