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in the darkness it shone

white and ghostly

swaying as if suspended on a stalk

its roots deep in the nebula

invisible moorings

sapping light

 

Art: Odilon Redon, Strange Flower (Little Sister of the Poor), 1880

Darkness

She closed her eyes and peered into the darkness… velvety, translucent yet impenetrable; it held all the mysteries, and all the fears.

Closer and closer the darkness grew, enveloping her imaginary being, holding it, cradling it. Such strange comfort in the arms of nothingness….

As if this endless dark held an answer, an absolution, a revelation.

And yes, why not, a miracle. What kind, she did not know.

She just stared and stared until images began to emerge from the tactile background, distant yet close enough to touch, if you had the courage.

In the world of darkness, she had no fear. And so she looked on and on, exposing her whole being to the unknown space that did not exist beyond her eyelids.

A sanctuary of her own making. A friend. She kept her eyes closed for so long she did not know if she would open them again. Ever. Nor did she want to.

A welcome blindness, unreal yet comforting. In her waking state it would devastate her. But here, behind the veil, it held her gently, without demand, forever if she wanted.

Did she?…