Night.

Night time. Its the time of day that most of the waking world likes to rest in. The sun goes under the horizon and the moon shows itself in the sky with the stars, Limited light allows the eyes to relax and the conscious mind to "sleep". But I have been working nights for some five months now, and I have noticed that the nighttime world is in fact not as dark and scary as the daytimers would have us believe.

Sure, its dark. Sure, we cant see as well, and sure alot of different things happen int he world at night than they do in the day. But thats all it is, - difference.

My discoveries how found the world at night to show the polarities of our existence more prevalently, everything is more intense in the night. The light itself, can be blinding, The emotions run deeper and higher on the wave of consciousness. In my pursuit of truth as a lifelong commitment, I have found recently the world at night to be definitely more of one thing - honest.

Away from the pretences and shows of the world bathed in sunlight, the stars above us show a more romantic, more passionate, and more instinctive world. A world that offers no lies or pretences. A friend said it best with..

"The night always brings honesty. the day has ended and people don't need to put on pretences to survive. they look to relax and be their true selves. Its easier to be yourself when the light does not reveal it so people are braver. For all the stereotypes about light and dark, the dark seems to hold more truth and unveling than the light."

I agree with all of that statement. In my previous years i had shunned the dark for fear of risk, fear of influence of the dark, and fear of I suppose the unknown. But if we look at the classic poles of reality as a union of opposites , then i would see that dark is as much of value as the light is. That the fabric of the universe is indeed much in a delicate state of balance  I have come to the conclusion that the world of night could hold many adventures and discoveries, many truths as of yet un-illuminated. After all, thats all that darkness is - an absence of light.

I am aware that physically light (white) encompasses all frequencies colours and hues, but there are frequencies we cant see, both above and below our visible spectrum. Are these to be included in darkness too?

It is said that the brightest of stars have the darkest of journeys, and that without shadow there can be no light. In my pursuit of truth as an ultimacy, I must know darkness as equally as the light. So, as time progresses, you will be updated with my discoveries into night, and its influence upon us. there are two sides to every story after all...

In the meantime, i'll quote one of my favourite poems about the night time.

TWELVE o’clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory	5
And all its clear relations
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark	10
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
Half-past one,
The street-lamp sputtered,
The street-lamp muttered,	15
The street-lamp said, “Regard that woman
Who hesitates toward you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,	20
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin.”
The memory throws up high and dry
A crowd of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach	25
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,	30
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
Hard and curled and ready to snap.
Half-past two,
The street-lamp said,
“Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,	35
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter.”
So the hand of the child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child’s eye.	40
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.	45
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.
The lamp hummed:
“Regard the moon,	50
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smooths the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.	55
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and eau de Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells	60
That cross and cross across her brain.”
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,	65
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars.
The lamp said,
“Four o’clock,	70
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair.
Mount.	75
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life.”
The last twist of the knife