In a recent conversation with a friend, one of my collaborators from Dark Night, they said, “Whatever the heck happened in Boise changed me. I can’t even explain it.” To be sure, everyone from the team, and I include myself in this, experienced something that night.
During the wrap party, a dinner at a local restaurant the Saturday evening directly following the over-night event we all sat in wonder. What did we just do? How did we do it? What were some moments that we remember? Together we slowly pieced together our recollections.
A common theme was that we all felt that we had been a part of something larger than ourselves. This, alongside my friend’s statement got me thinking.
I’ve always wanted to know. Not just have an idea about – I want to know. Not just be able to recite – I want to know. Not just wax poetic – I want to know. This desire has sent me on adventures and journeys that from the outside might seem outlandish, otherworldly, or reckless. I have had to time, encourages, and resources, to take the journey, so, why not?
This is where I’ve landed:
There is a lot to know. There is a lot to experience, interact with, employ, and work out. There is plenty to confront, contend with, apprehend, and act on. There is enough for a lifetime’s worth of discovery.
AND…
There is a category of knowledge for which any kind of explanation, description, or ascent to assumption diminishes the very knowledge we are trying to pursue. The category is that of the divine. This idea is woven throughout St. John of the Cross’s description of the dark night of the soul. It isn’t just about not knowing. It seems to be about being willing to not have to explain, describe, or ascend to having knowledge over the experience.
Of course we want this knowledge. We want to know why and how and for how long a dark night of the soul may last. We want knowledge enough to navigate if not control the situation. Not knowing sounds a lot like not being knowledgeable, which is the opposite of success in a world that requires knowledge to survive if not thrive.
But there is a difference between not knowing and not having to know. Not having to know requires trust in something that protects us from the danger inherent in lack of knowledge. This naturally brings up questions like, “Who or what might we put our trust in?” Or, “What does trusting someone or something other than myself actually look like?”
Trusting might look like giving up. Describing a profound shift with the words, “whatever the heck that was,” is a wonderful reminder of not having to know. Saying, “I can’t even explain it,” is simply confirmation of a disposition of wonder.
Trusting looks like being willing to be acted upon for one’s own good, to sit in wonder when things happen that we couldn’t have done ourselves, and bask in gratitude for such things.
In a few weeks I will be hosting an in-person Artist Talkback. I will attempt to share the experience I had during the night, alongside new photos that were taken during the event (but haven’t been released yet).
Spoiler Alert: There will be a lot that I won’t have words for.
But maybe that’s the point?
Maybe there is something to just bearing witness to what happened, without specific interpretation, explanation, or ascent?
Maybe that’s enough?