Night

Whereas last night the full moon made the night resemble a cold day

Today clouds give the night its old shrouded, crowding demeanor.

Ghosts stalk the forest gleaming (at me) from just beyond the circle of

      light thrown by the fire.

You, old night, I wish to make my peace with.

Eventually I know even I (I think, I'm told) must enter naked, a cold

      north wind in winter or a gentle September breeze instructing my sole

      spirit . . . .

There exist powers overwhelming for the human body and mind.

The aborigine's untold night of meditation on the mountain, coming away

      with his life-long totem and power.

The mountains tonight are alive with benevolence that could (for one

      lacking humility and respect or the hunter's perspicacity) flame up

      into insane malevolence.

You, old complete night, I wish to make my peace with

Being utterly a creature of the water and the light.

Night on the mountain, the human animal alone, without cohorts, speech

      and music inane without other ears to listen

Yet blasting, blasting against the night

Even after fire dies, its skin still the halo beacon to nothing in nothing,

Mind pouring on the electricity, outward to friends back in the cities

Receiving in return only strange sounds.

The ear must differentiate and protect.

Just as fluids within keep the body balanced so must the ear when the

      eyes are blinded by night

Balance the mind. Eyes, heroes of the day, enjoying orgiastically

      autumnal delights

Are now slaves to every primeval passion of the mind.

But the ears: it is a sound they have heard before and can identify.

Night, old strange night (were we once acquainted?), I wish to be at

      peace with you by becoming knowledgeable.

Fear like fire clings to its fuel.

I wish to dampen passionate fears by attuning the five senses to all that is

      normal dark and day.

To know the habits and cycles of everything I live beside

And my inner spirit become a silent tide attuned to nature's lunacy.