Darkness. When it’s dark, when it’s night, death feels closer. Not some fun anthropomorphic vision of death like in Terry Pratchett books. The kind that lurks in the darkness itself, in a way.
When I lay down and shut my eyes, thoughts race. I allow myself a glimpse at the edge of that cliff. Teetering above the void. What would it be, to shut my eyes and step off that edge? What is waiting out there?
From the security of cliff’s edge, I cannot see. I cannot get a taste of it. I cannot even get my mind around it. The idea of giving up this world, stopping breath, and the flow of blood sends adrenaline through me. Tells my heart to beat faster, stronger. Tells my lungs, take on all the air you can. My body seeks to further distance itself from the precarious edge we are all tripping along.
The body is delicate. The body knows this, but seeks to distract itself with day to day dramas. But in the darkness, it’s not so easy to forget. So when darkness comes, the soul can more easily ponder the edge. The tiniest fraction of space and time. The gossamer nothingness that stands between here and now and that deep dark unknown.
The body is unwilling to spend too much time at the edge. The body fears it’s fragility, for it has an end, outlined and proven again and again in shootouts, car collisions, and cancer. The body ends, in decay or flame. But from it something escapes.
I think the body must resent the soul, for the soul is free from this temporary existance. Allowed to explore places the body can only dream about. So when late at night, the mind touches the only thing it can. The very edge of this cliff. And even the edge causes the body fear.
There is no comfort in darkness. No safety in the unknown. Only the paralyzing fear and the desperate thumping of the heart.