Two of my dear friends took me out for my birthday the other night, the first night of the full moon. My non-trad, co-ed friend brought the lunar calendar up in our conversation, or I wouldn't have known. My psychologist friend, pouring over paperwork in the back seat as we drove along, popped her head up and chimed in: "Oh, it is a full moon?" Apparently she can tell just by the behavior of her patients. "People even drive weird during a full moon."
I, a thinking human with an intellect and an imagination, visualize the brightness of the world under the light of the sun, intensified by the brightness of a full moon, the celestial body to the lunar month that the sun is to the solar day. I squint with my spirit out into the universe beyond our sight inside of myself, to the world of the spiritual. I can do this within myself, for I was gifted with that intellect, with that imagination. It is a gift I share in with all of humanity: "God created man in His own image." (Genesis 1:27)
With our incredible gift I see all of our spirits, and tears well in my eyes, for our disease becomes visible beneath the light of midday--their eyes are covered with scales; their ears ooze custardy discharge; their mouths are stuffed with rotting flesh; their wounds are insect-infested; they are gripped by a parasite that feindishly laughs into the void as its grip is loosed from the earth, from the people who just can't let go, because they no longer see or hear, knowing no other way but darkness.
What is this madness that grips the world by the throat? A shining darkness with countless razor-scaled tentacles lashes out at humanity, leaving open wounds upon our back as it whips us into submission to its will. It whispers to us in our dreams while we sleep, reminding us of our weakness, of our pain. "The night racks my bones, and the pain that gnaws me takes no rest." (Job 30:17, RSV) It whips us endlessly, commanding us to whip ourselves, promising relief from the pain if we only take the switch to our own backs.
We take it gladly to ease our pain, and it's tenticles slip into the cracks, its razors cutting into us deeper; and we believe it when it tells us its wriggling into the gashes is really the path to ultimate pleasure, and that ultimate pleasure is the antidote for pain. The darkness becomes pain's sole relief.
We fear pain the most, don't we? We numb ourselves with whatever poison about which we can wrap our lips, just so we don't feel pain.
So the darkness dines with nothing but contempt for its prey.
"And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light. And God saw that the light was good, and God separated the light from the darkness." --Genesis 1:3-4