zenscription

the greatest darkness i've ever encountered was during my years of spelunking. We'd get at our destination in a cave - deep in the drippy rock intestines of the earth and shut off our carbide lamps. Yes, it was that long ago that i went caving with carbide lamps. The darkness would surround us, hug us and not let go. Usually with normal darkness our eyes would adjust within 5 or 10 minutes and we'd see something, but here - here in the photonless world the darkness would seem to press against the eyeballs. I remember even touching my eyeball because i wasn't convinced that my eyes were even open. My body seemed to grow in size and so did the surrounding rocks. Our other senses were heightened and we laughed nervously at our own disorientation.

Darkness like this only comes rarely in life, and i'm glad i experienced it - enough to know that blindness, if it ever comes to me, will be like the death of a part of me... not just because i won't be able to see my Helen's eyes or take photos or Orion's constellation or the silhouettes of buildings, because i'll still have my imagination. It will be like the death of me because i live for light and give thanks to the gods for being able to see.