I’m captivated by the rhythms of sunrise and sunset—the arrival of light, the retreat of dark. The world’s myths mirror this fascination, often telling stories of light and darkness where light is good and darkness bad. An early Christian writer proclaimed, “G*d is light, in whom there is no darkness at all.”
Religions around the world echo this metaphor. The blessed state is “enlightenment,” while those in ignorance remain in “darkness.” In Star Wars, Anakin Skywalker is seduced by the “dark side” and becomes Darth Vader. Harry Potter’s nemesis Voldemort is “the Dark Lord.” When Europeans colonized Africa, they referred to it as “the dark continent,” painting it as mysterious and unknown, with more than a hint of racist undertone. Myths and metaphors are filled with this duality: light equals good, darkness equals bad.
And yet, I wonder.
Since my bout with COVID in 2022, my eyes developed a new sensitivity. Bright light causes me to squint against the pain and dizziness. Thankfully, it’s not all the time, but the last few days, with the snow bright white, being out has brought discomfort. I’ve taken to wearing sunglasses more often when the brightness of day is unbearable. I can’t stay long in a room with bright fluorescent lights.
I’m not surprised that when factory farmers want hens to lay more eggs, they shock them into overproduction by keeping lights blazing for 48 hours straight. In torture chambers, prisoners are kept under unrelenting light, depriving them of the refuge of darkness.
Light is not always good, and darkness not always bad.
Nature teaches us rhythm—a dance of light and darkness, not a battle. Days blend into nights; seasons shift from summer’s brightness to winter’s shadow. Imagine a world of unending light. It would be intolerable. But a world of unbroken darkness? Equally unbearable. The ancient Chinese sages understood this balance through the concept of yin and yang—light and darkness, not as opposing forces, but as complementary ones. Neither is inherently superior or inferior. Each has its time and place: light for growth and movement, darkness for rest and renewal.
This balance invites me to reconsider metaphors about the divine. Traditional religion often describes G*d as omnipresent—present in all things, at all times. But if G*d is only in the light, does that mean G*d is absent in the dark? If darkness is simply the absence of light, can G*d who is everywhere be excluded from it? If G*d is in all that is, then G*d must be in the darkness too.
The secret to a well-lived life is learning how to dwell in both light and darkness. To appreciate the constant dance of yin and yang, silence and sound, rest and action, soft and hard, spirit and matter. Life is not about escaping the dark but embracing it as part of the whole.
And maybe, with this understanding, when I retreat from the bright light, I can softly hum the words of Paul Simon: “Hello darkness, my old friend…”
+Ab. Andy