Let the Night Be Too Dark

At most he thinks or twitters softly, “Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night be too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.”
                        —Robert Frost

Living in day-tight compartments is likely the single best strategy I have ever adopted in navigating the intricacies of my life. It makes real the understanding that the past is gone and should only be dragged into today when I study it for mistakes and successes that might inform anything beyond itself.

While writing is not often far from my mind (in fact, lately, as I lie in bed after waking each morning, I find myself looking forward to applying pen to paper), claiming to do it each day is probably a bit of hyperbole. When I do take the time, I am led to debate with my inner voice the merits of publishing anything online. For better or for worse, keeping the words to myself generally wins out, as—apparently—the merits of getting my thoughts into a place where someone else might see them has a hard time overcoming the near certainty that writing anywhere but in a private journal is a waste of time, if not downright dangerous. (The scary thing? That “downright dangerous” comment is not hyperbole.)

Life is dangerous, and it always has been, even for someone like me, who seldom is physically present anyplace beyond the boundary lines of my property in central Maine.

Perhaps the real point of all this is that I have stopped looking for answers. But that’s not quite it, either. I’ve stopped expecting answers. Instead, I have consciously decided to collect questions and information that lead to more questions, and I write about such accumulations because doing so helps me to sort. That leads me to conclude that it’s time to shift from the inner debate over posting and focus on encouraging the writing.