Biking home in the dark, my adrenaline peaking, heart rate steadying, night vision locking in—I’m inside that hyper-focused trance that I cultivate, crave, worship.
Everything makes sense deep within the chaotic tranquility of the Bewitching Hour.
In darkness, things can’t be seen, so I rely on what I ‘feel’. I’ve been gazing into the abyss for hours, not asking questions but feeling answers in silence while better understanding who I am.
The incessant chatter of the physical world muted, I flourish inside my nocturnal garden where boundaries blur in this quiet ether. Inside the Bewitching Hour, there isn’t any need to translate myself for others.
If you are next to me inside the Bewitching Hour, then you already understand the beautiful pieces that we are.
The cool crisp darkness settles into my bones, warming me up:
a paradox only the night can justify.
Peace is a cold brilliant flame.
The abyss that is out there, it isn’t empty. Filled with unedited dreams, raw truths, and quiet magic, it’s a temple to retreat into where inhibitions have no place.
As the sun suddenly appears on the eastern horizon,
I comprehend that the abyss is inside me, always.
