When I go camping with my family, my husband always carries a flashlight to the bathhouse at night. I never do. Usually, there are enough electric lights that you can see where you're headed even if you can't see what's under your feet. My daughter and I walk together, eyeing the dim, buzzing light ahead. We feel our steps. There is anticipation during the journey, a sense of fulfillment when we creak open the bathhouse door.
I learned young the beauty of walking in the darkness. In my childhood, campgrounds in State Parks rarely had more than a few electric lights. My parents shunned amenities, partly on principal, and partly due to the expense. Our little pop-up camper stood in the darkness. My father ran a cord attached to a lightbulb around the metal arm that supported the canvas over his bed. He clipped a lampshade to the dangling bulb and stayed up late reading while moths danced around the light.
Later, when he went to sleep, the camper sat silent, dark, and mysterious while the insects played muzak in the background. I woke and took a trip to the bathhouse to use the bathroom. The click of the camper door seemed magnified in the night, though I closed it as quietly as I could. In a campground, everything seems loud in the dark and you have to take care not to disturb the neighbors.
When I looked up, I saw no stars, only blackness. Thick trees blotted out the sky. I could hear the wind in their leaves, but I couldn't see them, either. I held my hand in front of my face and saw nothing. I believed the trees were there, but my own body felt unreal. I had no body to see. I was the darkness. Absence of flesh met absence of light. I could reach out and hold the dark in my disembodied hands.
With each step, I felt the ground and the air. I held my formless hands out so they could taste the darkness like a reptile scented the air. When my feet crunched pine needles and sank in the soft earth, I knew I had left the path. I felt thick-veined roots under my feet and knew I had found it again. Each step was magic.
Then I saw the dim blue light on the bath house. When I could see my destination, the spell was broken. I followed my eyes.
The world is brighter these days. Even in the wilderness, it is hard to find true darkness. Intuitively, my daughter yearns to feel the magic. She walks sometimes with her eyes closed. She asks me to keep her from walking into anything and I wonder how she feels. With me beside her, she can hear my steps, feel the nearness of my form. It's not the same as being alone with the darkness.
And I wonder, what was it that I found in the darkness? What mystery followed me? Could I give it a name and call it friend? That moment shines in my memory, but I was all alone and I didn't see a thing.
