Night 2/7 or 8


So Meditating on night again….

This is the shape of the mountain by Etal Adnan, who also wrote a collection of poetry / meditations called… NIGHT.

I probably have already written about it.

Some favorite pieces:

Standing trees sleep in this forest that created the night when the moon was looking elsewhere. Gone the sailboats, the sea, in this obscurity that’s keeping no promise

Night is a subtle rain, wetting body and soul.

The night was clear, and the depth of the mountain’s slopes awesome: rivers were growling down into the valleys. The moon was there, oh yes, speaking her language. My neck was hurting following her journey. On a cliff made of translucent marble, voices had stopped. Then the season showed a pervasive fear within Being’s texture.

I’m asking you to see me lie on the traces that your body has left on the bed, but the heat belongs to you within our souls.

At 20 I was living at the door of reality, but I did not enter. There was no one to enter with, either. By the time I decided to go in, rivers had flowed, trees had grown, the seasons had aged. Soon later, I have had the chance to die, and I let it go; reality had no more reason to be. Like a ship, you can shipwreck against the night.

So many things to say about night. But night is the ineffable so we really cannot say anything about it. Instead we must write poetry or play music, or dance, or do all those things that are the activities of the night.

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