Darkness - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
When you are willing to shine a light upon your darkness and make it submissive to the light, you are reborn a hero.
When your darkness becomes your protective inner dragon whom is the servant of love, bound in duty to obey the light, the darkness becomes the most soft of black velvets illuminated by heaven-spun stars.
Conquer the season of darkness by opening a door to your own light.
Not quite the hot dark of embers, but a soft, hopeful dark. The dark that comes just before the sunrise, a kind of dark that helps the orange and gold blossom across the sky, like a small flower trembling open in spring. The dark that encourages you to fall asleep as you close your eyes, tossing and turning in a futile attempt to slip away into the depths of unconsciousness, blissfully unaware. The type of dark that occurs in a complete solar eclipse, blocking out the light, the noise, the feeling of being, leaving you in the silence of serenity, if only for a few seconds.
When the world has become a pencil drawing, a masterpiece on the easel of the creator, I await for it to fade to black and arise anew. It is as if the nightfall were the curtains closing, and the dawn were their opening each day, the birds singing on cue with their beautiful serenade. While others sleep through the dying of the light, my task is to remain awake and witness its rebirth, to see how the pencil sketch becomes the greatest of high definition movies. As the blackness comes I calmly watch myself be erased, eyes open and seeing nothing at all, the only evidence of my being is the steady thump of my heart and the cool air in my lungs.
Darkness comes as strong protective arms, holding us close until the promised dawn. Within it we are as children once more, safe in shields of duvet. Yet in this place so open to the skies, resting in the cricket's lullaby, our eyes are as bright as the constellations above; our stardust atoms seeking the stars until they can bathe in the light of the sun.
People say the darkness “presses in,” it doesn't. The darkness kisses up to your skin closer than a mother and whispers excitement into your ears. The darkness is your best friend, it's funny and glib, flattering and cool. The darkness will be your favourite thing right up until your exits are blocked, then it has no reason to hide. If it was easy to spot darkness there wouldn't be a problem, how often are you confused with day and night? But I can tell you now, if you don't understand your own emotions and motivations I can't help you. You are a character, this is your story, now what do you want? What do you fear? Know that and you can unlock your own cage and step into the light.
I've seen darkness before, the kind that makes our street like an old fashioned photograph, everything a shade of grey. This isn't like that. This is the darkness that robs you of your best sense and replaces it with a paralysing fear. In this darkness I sit, muscles cramped and unable to move. I only know my eyes are still there because I can feel myself blink, still instinctively moisturizing the organs I have no current use for. I can't hear anything either. I guess that should bring my heart rate down below the level of “rabbit in a snare” but it doesn't. By my genes I am a predator, I have the front facing eyes and brain enough to hunt, but I feel like prey in this utter black. The dawn is many hours away and until that precious time I can only wait. Moving makes noise, it's bad enough I still have to breath. But I want to see tomorrow enough to make me hold this position for as long as it takes. Not making it means not being there for Sharla and that is something I would never willingly do. Abandoning isn't my thing.
As a child I used to wake in the night and wish for the sun. The darkness worried me, my imagination supplied many beasts with fantastical jaws to lurk beyond the range of my vision. But now I embrace it. The night provides cover from the flesh and blood monsters of the day, the ones with their guns and official badges, the ones who can be judge, jury and executioner in the name of freedom. Even on the most moonlit of nights I blend into the city shadows, staying clear of those pools of yellow light that flow from the street-lamps. The neon and white lights that used to flood from the bars and restaurants are extinguished. The only reason to venture out at night is to join the game, the game where everyone looses and the only prize is knowing you fought.
The lack of light that had bothered us so much at first just became normal. The world was etched in charcoal, the once vibrant hues of the plants were no more than a vivid dream. It had been three weeks to the day that the super volcano had erupted and the blanket of blackness that obliterated the sun had not faded or thinned. Day and night just blended into one another and all the time we shivered. We coughed and spat up black phlegm, the spring plants were loosing their foliage and every water source was contaminated.