"out of the darkness leapt a bare hand / that stroked my brow"
Red Sunset by Arkhyp Kuindzhi, Ukrainian, 1905–8, oil on canvas, 53 x 74 in.
To Sleep
by Henri Cole
Then out of the darkness leapt a bare hand
that stroked my brow, "Come along, child;
stretch out your feet under the blanket.
Darkness will give you back, unremembering.
Do not be afraid." So I put down my book
and pushed like a finger through sheer silk,
the autobiographical part of me, the am,
snatched up to a different place, where I was
no longer my body but something more—
the compulsive, disorderly parts of me
in a state of equalization, everything sliding off:
war, love, suicide, poverty—as the rebellious,
mortal, I, I, I lay, like a beetle irrigating a rose,
my red thoughts in a red shade all I was.
from Blackbird and Wolf by Henri Cole, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2007
Creative Invitation
When have you felt yourself merging with Everything, with oneness? When have you felt the joy of communion in which you euphorically forgot the details of your self?
For me, it was fifth grade, during a daytime New Orleans rainstorm, under pounding needles of rain, crashing rivers of rain. I lay on the grass outside my house and felt the rain strike every part of my body like a percussion instrument. The ground shook with claps of thunder. My face was streaming wet, the world was a dissolving sponge and I felt as big as the sky. I was happy.
Describe when you went to that place of togetherness with the world, oneness, unseparation.
Note: Today I also published a letter from my other monthly Substack publication, an essay called I Love This Place. It’s about mutual aid and tender interactions with strangers. It’s got a dose of good news. Please subscribe if you like those subjects!