What happens when you get naked and sit in the garden of your dark?
This sentence is so evocative for me that I had to start with it first. My dark is fluid and warm and forms a sphere around me, a womb in the middle of my garden where it's always dusk, purple and pale yellow, fire flies flashing among the night blooming flowers that are just waking up. There are mice in the roses. The darkness flows like water, but it has solid depth and the texture of slow pour molasses. My dark is like the amniotic breathing fluid in The Abyss. I breathe it in, and it fills me. The thick silence is deafening and amplifying. Sometimes it wraps me in its arms, and sometimes it crashes against and around me like a wave. It becomes what it needs so that I can be what I need.
A riot of vines criss-cross the ground, bisecting the rows, growing up the towering corn, flowering and laden with fruit among the stalks. Dark purple fruit filled with red flesh, dripping juice that looks like blood. Sweet, tangy, salty all at once. Chaos in order. Comforting. Frightening. Exciting. Intoxicating.We're all in our Dark. Everything happens in the Dark.
