Sounds from depths of unknowing

Keep writing in the dark:
a record of the night, or
words that pulled you from depths of unknowing,
words that flew through your mind, strange birds
crying their urgency with human voices...

Denise Levertov, via Whiskey River

I was awake in the night, and rose and walked through the dark house to the couch, its blue velveteen merely another shade of non-color against the dark colorlessness of the room. It was three or four o'clock: a time when sleeplessness used to fill me with anxiety but now feels precious when I wake into it: a time for listening, thinking; when quiet opens out into a spaciousness that fills the rooms and spills out the window into the night.

That window was open, and I lay on my back listening to the sound of the night insects, and a light rain falling on the porch roof and the street. The rain stopped, and began again. I dozed, or maybe didn't; I wasn't sure; a soft breeze came in the window and I tucked my bare arm under the edge of the quilt, listening.

Today I read Denise Levertov's poem about writing in the dark and remembered something: I am young - six or seven - and the hallway of our house is completely dark. But I am standing at the old square piano in my pajamas, and I begin to try to play something, in the dark, not looking at my hands or the keys. My mother hears the notes and comes out of the bedroom, surprised. She asks me what I am doing. I can't explain. I just know that at that moment it is very important for me to feel something, to feel what music is like in the dark, without the guides and signposts and coordination I instinctively know are already starting to close in, defining it for me.

Comments

[patry Francis]

Isn't it wonderful how poetry can bring back a memory like that
in such visceral detail?

[dale]

Oh. You're back.

:-)

(The haunting you, I mean.)

[Julia]

I once read somewhere that 3-4am is the time when a body is more open to healing and most vulnerable to harm. There are monks in a beautiful old monastery in France who rise to 3am to chant and pray for all the souls in torment. When I wake with night terrors and feel alone and lost it is comforting to think of those old men on their knees praying for me

[whiskey river]

Better to write in the dark than to curse the darkness.
:-)

[beth]

Francis - yes, it's amazing to me. I was very surprised by that memory.

Dale - well, yes, I hope so ;)

Julia - I remember the monastics at those times too, and try to remember that I can also use the time to pray for them and for others, which does a lot to dissipate my own anxieties and self-focus. I'm glad to have this reminder and the image of the French monks...the next time I'm up at 3 or 4, I'll have a better grasp of myself as part of this web of healing/protective energy.

Whiskey - exactly!

[Natalie]

"...quiet opens out into a spaciousness that fills the rooms ...."

Exactly. I've always been a night person but now that I actually don't *have* to get up early in the morning, those wee small hours are my territory. There is something about that time when most normal people are asleep that is uniquely liberating. All those daylight concerns vanish and you can just play undisturbed.

Having said that, I would really prefer to get up early and have the whole day before me instead of that truncated bit that we night owls have.

[HHH]

\echo Dave

[HHH]

Ooops, Dave = Dale

[Julia]

Natalie - I agree totally... those quiet, calm nights when everything is still, silent and at peace, almost like the world is silently holding its breath lest it wake the sleepers... it's so wonderful to be awake and about, creeping past softly slumbering cats and the dog snoring and snuffling at his post... a silent observer. It's like the world and you share a secret, time stands still and sanity reigns, just for a few hours

[zuleme]

As a songwriter, when I get trapped in my own musical patterns I will take a step back, play one note and listen to it until I really hear it. Then I play just the one note in different rhythms. Then I play another note, listen to it and then play a song with just two notes. And so on.
I think it is possible to play music for years and never really listen to what you are doing, so I make myself stop and listen.
Play the spaces between the notes too.

[beth]

Zuleme - welcome - what a wonderful comment. I've never done what you suggest, but I have certainly always tried to feel and play the spaces between the notes.

[Lois]

This is a stunning little morsel, Beth...evocative on many levels!