Points of Light

I walk these streets paved by human hands, and I marvel at what we have accomplished. All around me is wildness, trees and swamps, but all around me is also civilization, manicured lawns and homes.  When I began this walk, there was still light. I saw the road ahead, and I recognized the world around me. 

But…

Now the sun retreats behind the trees, over the horizon, on to its rest or its new dawning. And on I walk on streets that quickly fade from my view. Gone is the civilization I recognize, replaced by the wildness, the mystery of the dark, and the fear. 

It’s subtle at first. Trees creak and groan around me, and I notice them for the first time. Are they speaking to me, warning me of some impending fate? Are they laughing at my mortal eyes struggling against the dying light? 

If I keep to the road, surely I’ll be safe, but it’s becoming harder and harder to see it, to believe it. Then, like a spark in the night, I see light pouring out of a house. A beacon of hope. As long as I’m caught in its light, I am safe. Maybe I should stop walking, maybe I should find shelter here, but no, that is not the way of civilization. This shelter is not my shelter, it belongs to another. My weary feet must march on past this sphere of light, of hope, back into the darkness. 

That mystery returns. Mystery and fear as the darkness deepens. On I walk, faster, faster! My legs demand, my breath demands, my mind begins to believe. I must walk faster if I’m to survive. 

I’m alone in the dark, in between the points of light, and though I know I’m safe on my peninsula within a peninsula, I don’t believe it. A shape in the dark woods catches my attention. It moves (no it doesn’t). It’s watching me (no it’s not). Unbidden, the hairs on my skin rise to greet the threat (there’s nothing there). My breath doesn’t quite believe the thoughts racing through my head. It catches and I feel that ancient urge to run, to escape the thing that hunts me. 

I resist. This is civilization after all (is it?). My pace increases and my hand reaches for the flashlight in my back pocket. My safety net. But I resist. 

Why? Why do I flee from the light? Why do I live in this fear? Fear is the dark between the points of light. Fear is the shape just beyond the edge of my vision. It’s the possibility of not knowing what will happen next (I do). It’s the certainty of knowing what comes next (I don’t). It’s civilization. It’s wildness. 

On I walk, from point of light to point of light. I know my destination, my safety, I just have to make it (I will), but it’s beyond the next point of light. How do I know this one won’t be the last safety (it isn’t)? 
Darkness is the fear. Fear is the darkness. It is being alone between the points of light. It is being alone in wildness. It is being alone in civilization. 

Ahead, I see it. My point of light. My civilization. My wildness. I walked through the darkness and the fear. I was alone in it, but I was never in danger (I was in grave danger). Now I stand in the light and all the fear melts away. Not because of the light, but because I’m no longer alone in the dark. No, I stand in the light and I discover I’m not alone, I was never alone. I am not the first to walk through the dark between the points of light. 

I am not alone. 

I am a point of light.