Daylight savings time has ended. We are now entering into the season of “darkness”, where the days grow shorter and the evenings longer. This became quite evident to Drew and I on Monday evening when we went for a run at the Arboretum in the early evening. That evening we began our run around 5 pm when dusk began to settle in, and by the time we had finished our run at 6 pm darkness was all around us. As we ran Drew and I both commented on how different it was to run in the dark, and how much we preferred the light. Our bodies nor our eyes were used to spending such a significant period of time (only about 40 minutes) without any form of light. And, although we could see, it was definitely strained.
So often, in our world today, we work hard to keep the lights on and the darkness out. Unless we are watching a movie or going to bed, when the sun goes down the artificial lights turn up. In fact, while we ran the path at the Arboretum I was quite surprised by the lack of artificial lighting. Except for the lamps over the streets or the stadium lighting at UK there were no artificial light sources to be found on the Arboretum's trails.
Barbara Brown Taylor recently wrote on this exact subject in her book, “Learning to Walk in the Dark.” As we ran the dark trails at UK I thought of Barbara Brown Taylor’s book and how we as a culture continual work to keep the lights on and the darkness out. It is the rare event when we seek out the pleasures of the darkness. Running the trails in dark allowed us to concentrate on ourselves, as we had nothing to distract our attention other than the beating of our shoes on the ground, the panting of our breath, the aching of our legs, and the release of the endorphins as we finished our final mile on the trail.
As a child I can remember being fascinated by the dark. I spent many a summer night playing hide and go seek with the neighborhood kids in the dark. I was excited for the seasons to change, and the night to take over the day. I desired to travel to other locations where cities lights didn’t ruin the beauty of the darkness, where the night sky was pure black and stars twinkled brightly. But today, I continually find myself loathing the end of Daylight Savings Time and impatiently counting down the days till springs return. I wake up early to enjoy the morning light and return home quickly to escape the evenings darkness.
As Drew and I went out to enjoy our evening run, we paused and debated turning back to enjoy the safety of the light at the YMCA and the comfort of retreating from the darkness. Spending intentional time in the darkness was a gift and reminder. We were not meant to spend all our time in the light, if we were God would never have created the day or the night. The ancient Celtic’s recognized this fact as they celebrated Samhain (October 31st - November 1st) the final harvest of the season and the beginning of the dark time. This celebration was a time to honor the final fruits of the last harvest, the spirits of the clan members who had passed on before them, and the darkness that was to come. Here darkness was not seen as thing to be feared, but as a part of the cycle of life. The Celt’s understood that without darkness there would not be light, nor an appreciation for that light.
And, so, although the temptation and “natural” inclination to avoid the dark (as Drew and I had on Monday evening) is high, we must begin to return and reclaim our time in the dark. For, the darkness allows us to know and appreciate the light. It brings rest and relaxation at the end of a long day. It allows us to reflect on ourselves, as it takes away the distractions found in the light of day. As we enter into another season of darkness, let us not fear the lack of light, but begin to reclaim our space in the dark as we seek the lessons and knowledge it holds to share.
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