Dancing in the Dark

When I was little, I used to get up at night and play in the dark.  Scared the caca out of my Dad I think.  But for me, it was a safe place and time to play.  

Now I am old, and I can't sleep much at night.  The deep, silent night still feels safe to me, and I can get a lot done without worrying about bothering people.

It also feels to me like it's connected with my conscious contact with God.

Now, I know that we humans are natural pattern seekers.  That behavior has survival value, evolutionarily as well as individually.  

If getting up to play in the dark feels fun and safe, it might become connected in my mind with finding it fun to play with words during dark times, even as an adult. 

Once upon a time I had a huge crush on Little Joe Cartwright of Bonanza fame.  I plastered pictures of him all over my bedroom walls.  

One day I came home from school to find my dad had put funny captions on all the pictures.  I was crushed!  I cried and raged for hours.  Dad thought it was hysterically funny.

I had been sober for about ten years before I realized he had spent hours making those captions and carefully putting them on the pictures in such a way that I could yank off the captions without tearing the pictures.  He did what he could with what he had, and so did I.  My dad was a wounded man.  I never really knew him well until he was old and dying.

Unfortunately, playing with words during dark times doesn't always come across as satire with other people.  They might hear it as pejorative and ugly.  It might make them withdraw from me as if I had deliberately attacked or insulted them.  To me, it's "dancing in the dark and remeniscing (sp?)."  It's dark humor born in a culture where you could be beaten or killed just for speaking your own language, or dancing at a crossroads at night because for some reason the powers that be think dancing is evil or tends towards moral depravity.

Or just because so-called good people "don't do things like that."

My point is that getting old may not necessarily have taught me how not to set people off, but it has reminded me that I know how to be happy.

That's a remarkably good thing for an old lady to know.  Maybe my heart jumps around in my chest and I wake up worried my old heartbeat might almost be finished.  Instead of drinking or smoking or whatever, I can read or write all night.  I get to have "joy unspeakable and full of glory" anyway.

I just need to remember that kids today weren't there when we crept around to keep from waking dad up. Or maybe they had their own monster dad.  But I don't have to act without thinking. I don't always have to say something about everything.

It's their turn now.  They were indeed born for these times. They've got this.  

So I get to sit under the table with my friends and have a tea party.  (Though I might need help getting up again.)  And I can still be there for them when they come in from the battle, weary and discouraged.  I get to love them without having to stick my nose in.  I can lead with my heart, because I'm a tough old gal and I know it will get better.  Even if it seems crazy to dance all by myself in the dark.