It was dark. Darker than anywhere I’d ever slept before. Quiet too.
A friend and I were spending a weekend in beautiful Berkeley Springs, West Virginia, a scenic, arty little community of about 600 residents in the Appalachians. My friend scored us a roomy two-bedroom unit that faced the town square, just around the corner from U.S. Highway 522, the main drag through town.
It didn’t occur to me until it was bedtime that my room didn’t have a single window. The door fit so snugly that no light crept in from the 
living room’s four windows that overlooked the square. It was windy and frigid outside, but you’d never know it from my room. No window panes or frames to rattle.
I read for a bit, and when I turned off the light, I realized it didn’t make any difference whether my eyes were open or closed. The room was pitch dark. Even after my eyes had had time to adjust, I couldn’t pick out anything, not the nightstand, not the dresser, nothing. I had to grope to find the chain for the bedside lamp.
Being someone who lives inside her head entirely too much, I started thinking of analogies and metaphors and other stuff: The people who walked in darkness, from the Bible. The Age of Enlightenment. Sensory deprivation. The light pollution that exists just 100 miles away where I live in the Washington, DC, area. Why that part of the building was constructed without windows, or why when it was being partitioned a window or skylight wasn’t added. How dark our lives and souls are when we choose to shut out God or people, even the ones who annoy us.
It was hard to fall asleep that first night, even though the bed was comfortable, even though I had my drug of choice, melatonin. The second night was better, but I still was happy to get back home the next afternoon.
The experience reminded me just how much I love the light, and strive to live in it metaphorically, spiritually, and literally, bedtime or not. Come early May, my bedroom shades are always open, even if it means I have to wear an eyeshade for part of the night to fall asleep. For me, there is little holier than being awoken by the sun streaming into your room rather than to an alarm clock’s jangle. The dark just doesn’t work.
