Dusk is a lovely time.
The bustle of day is calmed. The winds of change have become the breezes of peace. The leaves on the trees begin to snuggle for their rest. Small creatures of the night emerge, looking and sniffing this way and that to discover food and friend. They liven up the darkness but seldom wake the sleeping. When the church clock strikes the hour, myriads of bats leave their hanging posts to protest to the sky the invasion of their quiet. An owl hoots his Call to Ponder – a state between meditation and prayer, a time to reflect and respect. Silence gives way to tiny tranches of whispered wonder.
Dusk is a lovely time.
For many people, dusk is hard. Pain is not just ache but persistent discomfort compounded by fear of the unknown. Death is mostly portrayed as oblivion or judgment, seldom as rest, never as recuperation. Is it more likely to be peace and joy? Or deep felt appreciation? Memories are glimpses of how we appreciate, but they transit quickly without leaving solutions. The puzzle of life is perpetuated by reminders of the past and uncertainties of the future.
Dusk suggests a coming answer.
Hope is a grasp-at-straw-solution for it can only compass our limited imagination. No harm in testing the brain to invent what joy may be, but we must keep forever an open mind to wonders we cannot imagine. They may not be visual or tasty or harmonious or scented. We cannot perhaps touch them or feel a frisson of their temperature. If they have form, we may not even be able to distinguish it. But satisfaction is appreciation, a concept not a concrete. To feel its benefit as it enwraps you is to sense paradise.
Dusk may be the precursor to an answer.
Even if that proves not to be the case, dusk is itself a cooling of temper, a warming of want, a signing of security. It may not be the plat du jour but it is certainly the table d’hote. Put into it what we want. Receive from it what we need. You cannot ask for more than that.
Dusk is a divine time, above all.
Dusk and the shadows falling o’er land and sea;
Somewhere a voice is calling, calling for me.
Night and the stars are gleaming, tender and true;
Dearest my heart is dreaming, dreaming of you.
Good morning
John Bittleston
Say a prayer, or a thought if you prefer, for anyone who cannot sleep tonight.
You can even tell us about it, if you like, at [email protected].
21 September 2024
