I sit on the edge of my bed and look out a window that stares into darkness. It is a darkness that has crept in. Only a few months ago, I would have been looking into a bright morning of light. Today there is only darkness. I see darkness everywhere. It is that time of year when the darkness sneaks in, slowly and quietly taking over more and more of each passing day.
As I gradually descend into this time of darkness, I feel the echoes of my past when I was enveloped in the weeks and works of Advent. For four weeks, I once allowed myself to consciously descend with other aware Christians into a darkened time of year. We knowingly surrounded ourselves with notions of darkness, mirroring the world around us. For us, it was a time that lead to a coming event at Christmas that would turn it all around.
For many people, it was a time to accept the darkening days as time crept toward Solstice when darkness would reverse the world and the sun would once again slowly return to bring light to each day. It was for all of us a time to settle into darkness, knowing that a celebration of light would come in a few weeks.
In recent times, that same darkness invites me to enter into a sphere of emptiness. Today I put aside the notions that give shape and definition to my days. I allow myself to settle into an experience of no shape, no form, no perception. Darkness reminds me to enter an arena of total letting go and descend into emptiness as a routine part of my life.
These days, when I am surrounded by darkness, it seems easier to touch the experience of nothingness. It is a time of emptiness where all is as quiet as a time of Advent. At the same time, the darkness feels so alive with the promise of infinite possibility. Surrendering to emptiness and entering a sphere of nothingness, I gain a sense that all is present. Unobserved but present.
I cheat a little during this darkening time of year. I may often look out my windows into darkness much more as the month of December advances. I have cheated darkness by populating my darkened yard with many tiny lights on trees around my home. Their soft glow reminds me of the promise that in the darkness there is light that can and will emerge.
I can celebrate my gradual entry into the emptiness of a darkened, indistinct world, knowing there is an abundance and richness enveloped by that cloak of darkness.
The darkness may lack form and substance, but it is also rich with abundance I may yet experience. Christians bring a faith and promise to their observance of Advent descent into darkness. I bring a confidence of emerging wholeness to my descent into emptiness. Whether I am staring out my window or sitting with closed eyes, darkness is not my foe. Darkness is my friend inviting me into a new kind of experience. I try to allow that experience of emptiness to happen. Sometimes it comes.