I need to develop a healthy relationship with darkness. Instead, I’m always chasing the sun.
I recently became aware that I’m afraid of sitting in darkness for too long. I mean this both literally and figuratively.
A few weeks ago, I participated in a Temazcal ceremony in Zihuantanejo, Mexico, while on a retreat with a group of creative, spiritually-minded individuals. A Temazcal ceremony is also known as sweat lodge ceremony, a traditional Indigenous ritual. It involves a small, enclosed structure, built in the shape of a dome, representing the womb of Mother Earth. Temazcal is performed for spiritual purification, healing, and renewal, but the details of each experience vary based on the Indigenous culture.
Going into Temazcal, I was concerned about the heat. It turned out that the temperature didn’t bother me. It was the darkness that did.
During the ceremony, it was as if a black curtain was placed in front of my corneas. Instead of accepting the dark, my gaze kept wandering to the corner of the room, where a tiny crack of light peeped behind the curtain entry-point.
I quickly realized just how much I hate the darkness. In both the literal and metaphorical sense, I find myself drawn towards the luminous path, veering away from dark spaces. Diving into darkness unsettles me.
Perhaps this avoidance of darkness is programming from childhood— we’re told that we shouldn’t cry. We shouldn’t sit in negative emotions and instead should automatically look to the positive, even when our experiences are personally challenging. We’ve been programmed to be fearful of negativity, distress, and discomfort.
A lot of us tend to steer clear of negative emotions and uncomfortable aspects in life. This avoidance occurs at both individual and societal levels. Psychologically, it serves as a coping mechanism, allowing us to shield ourselves; we hope to protect our emotional well-being by avoiding difficult situations. Our cultural and societal conditioning has reinforced this behavior, emphasizing happiness and positivity at all costs, while discouraging the expression of negative emotions.
After the initial darkness set in, the Temazcal became filled with steam. I tried to keep my composure and meditate through the ancient-sounding drum-beats, the swirl of tree branches, and the sweet smell of Mexican herbs. I used my meditation as an escape from the chanting and the discomfort of the unknown.
After a few songs, however, I hit a dark threshold, and warm tears began to flow down my already sweaty, salty face. Fear and anxiety had bubbled up within me, and I finally needed to let them go, and so I sobbed through the echoes of the medicine women’s chants.
It wasn’t until I felt the all-encompassing fear and contraction associated with the darkness, that I was able to be present with the experience. I had to confront and process my negative emotions before finding enjoyment in the music and chanting. Before I truly felt the darkness envelop me, I was meditating through it, yearning for it to pass as quickly as possible.
This sprinting through darkness isn’t relegated to this experience. I’ve had similar feelings when I see darkness in the world. I initially feel immense empathy, hurt, and sadness. I become confused as to why so much darkness is still prevalent. And though I see what’s happening, I quickly turn my energy towards optimism.
I can and likely will always skew optimistic, and I’m grateful for that. But it also feels like Emotional Bypassing if I simply avoid sitting in darkness and disallow emotions from making their way to me. (More on Emotional Bypassing in another post).
Whether it’s wanting the dark days of winter to pass or shielding myself from energetic darkness, these emotions should be felt, processed, and ultimately transmuted. Instead of attempting to pull myself away from the darkness, can I sit in it longer and feel it more deeply? Can I let it stew and simmer and see what type of learnings come up as a result of staying in that space?
Darkness can be illuminating. It’s a backdrop for introspection, self-discovery, and the emergence of inner clarity. It serves a purpose that’s challenging, but ultimately expansive
From a psychological and spiritual perspective, acknowledging and allowing ourselves to feel all emotions – whether they’re light or dark – can be beneficial for several reasons. We can achieve better self-awareness and integration. We’re able to embrace darker aspects of ourselves, others, and of life. Sitting with uncomfortable emotions, we can learn from them and transform. We can break the pattern of Emotional Bypassing.
It’s only recently that I began feeling all my emotions more deeply, particularly the dark ones. In the past, if I felt sad or upset, I would cry for a moment, ruminate over the situation that was causing distress, and proceed to convince myself why I needed to move past the feeling. I was afraid of sitting in the dark space. I was afraid of what it said about me.
Noticing that darkness is part of our life experience is important. We wouldn’t be able to see the beauty in the stars, experience the warm ambiance created by candlelight, or marvel at city skyline contrasts, without darkness. Without the naturally short days of winter, we wouldn’t be urged to go inward. Without the opposite, we wouldn’t be able to notice, feel, and experience the range of emotions and experiences that are here for us.
Whether it’s literal or metaphorical, leaning into darkness can help us grow, change, and alter our perspectives.
Are there any places where you’re avoiding darkness? Is there a way to sit in that negative feeling in order to better understand it? I’d love to hear about your experiences, if you’re open to sharing x