Night She Comes, Cloaked

9 Dec

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Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened—that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on—
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.


Here I sit, in a tiny vintage 30’s cottage on the main street of Ocracoke, at the corner of Howard Street and Fig Tree Lane. I am home. That is the only way to describe this feeling. Home. The trip was a blur. Driving to music entirely wrapped in my thoughts, I could not discern where I was in space. My mind wandered and dreamed. I remembered how I had become used to reading aloud as a passenger on long drives, and had never really noticed the trip. But with every mile, my mind became more clear, my heart filled with a deeper conviction. As Clarence and I boarded the ferry, I knew I want to be fully in the moments as they pass. I have no plans. Furthermore, I don’t want any.

I just want to be…and be fully.

I don’t think I even realized that I would be witness to a sunset until the ferryman said to me, “Should be a nice sunset tonight. You’ll get some good pictures”. So I fished out my camera, got Clar settled, bundled up against the wind, and began to learn how to balance savoring and saving. That has always been a problem for me, trying to record the experience, yet being in it fully at the same time.

The perfection of this night crossing was so overwhelming that I struggled NOT to share it with others via phone. To stay unplugged and keep it within me and let it embrace the edges of this fear. How many pictures of a sunset can you take? And then I thought of the day of the 44 sunsets in the Little Prince.and I asked myself, was he truly sad? How could he be while looking into the face of the Universe? Each sunset, each one is never truly lost. I struggled to watch this beauty, to understand that I was witnessing the Divine.

My words here seem so trite and cliche, so ill befitting this splendor of fire and water. To my left a flock of seven sea birds flew into view, wing to wing, spirit to spirit. And when the great sun, like liquid red gold, dissolved into a wide expansive blue bay, I knew…it is all One. An answer to my pondering of disconnection came. Words and social constructs don’t matter; we are all one in our humanity and we must love one another above all else. It is all that matters. Love is what we take with us into the next world and the next and the next. Yes, humans fail. Yes, they slumber in their souls. Yes, all have turned inward to petty fears and vanities at one time or another. But we must open and allow, letting fire and water balance within us.

I have seen the hand of the Universe today, and it is kind and loving. I know now how Keats may have felt when he wanted to die in the nightingale’s song. Tonight, I could have died without fear in the face of that sunset. All of the sliding planes of the sky in azure, indigo, black, gold, orange, pink, peach, rose, mauve, red, white. All sliding planes of existence.  All of these layers upon layers of light.

Time past, time present all melted into one. Nothing to separate us.

And in the night crossing upon the ferry into the buried world of home, there is now hope in an eye “made quiet by the power of harmony”. There is hope.


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