The Freedom of the Night

Turning away from the artificial light sources of the world, the darkness is where we encounter our true selves

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”

Carl Gustav Jung

Last night my wife and I were watching a TV show when we were interrupted by a loud flapping sound at the screen door by the front entrance. A moth the size of a sparrow circled frantically around the porch light just outside the door. The last time either of us had seen a moth that size was when we had lived in the Nakasorachi district of Hokkaido, Japan - known for its massive moths. Here, in interior British Columbia however, moths typically tend to come in a more “normal” size.

This fellow was an impressive specimen, not only in size, but it had an enormous body and a pair of thick antennae on its head that resembled horns. In fact, if the very devil were to take the form of an insect, this moth would be it. It both mesmerized and terrified us - and we were secretly glad there was no way for it to get inside.

After a while, however, I began to feel pity for the creature. It appeared trapped by its own compulsion to move towards the light. A vast and endless night lay behind it to explore and here it was flittering obsessively around my porch light unable to tear itself away. Finally, I turned the light off to set it free.

Positive phototaxis is a phenomenon in which moths and certain other insects are attracted to light sources due to the highly sensitive photoreceptors they possess that help them navigate the darkness of the night. They use moonlight and starlight to fly - adjusting their tracks by keeping these light sources at an angle to their eyes. Artificial light sources, however, radiate in all directions and this can confuse moths as they attempt to adjust their orientation to the light. This may be the reason why they tend to spiral haphazardly towards these sources.

In other words, contrary to what most of us believe, they are not really moving ‘towards’ the light, they are seeking to orient themselves by it. But because the light is “everywhere” they grow confused and disoriented and are unable to escape it.

In many ways, we human beings are not so different from moths. We find ourselves steeped in a culture of artificiality that encompasses our language, our relationships, our work and our self-perception. Positivity, good deeds, righteousness, success, happiness, beauty, youth are the ideals we see projected everywhere around us - on social media, on advertising billboards, on retreat pamphlets, on campus brochures.

We find ourselves transfixed and trapped in endless spirals towards these myriad artificial sources of light - forever adjusting our flight paths for reasons we do not fully comprehend. And in the end feeling consumed by those very light sources we oriented ourselves by.

But just as the moth’s photoreceptors evolved to respond to the subtleties of moonlight and starlight, and are disoriented by the harshness of the lightbulb - so also is the human soul’s sensitivities orientated to the subtle light of the spirit, and is disorientated and desensitized by the harshness of our social artifice.

The ones who adapt do so at a great cost. They are like the many moths whose carcasses I find in the lightshades or among the clothes in my home. They may have found a way to survive for a time, but they will never know the freedom of the night - of what it means to fly by starlight.

I was like that moth myself once - in some ways I still am. But somewhere within me remained a memory of what living by the light of the spirit was like before I became lost in the artifice. And I knew instinctively, that as long as I clung to the light I would remain trapped. That in order to rediscover the light of my spirit I would first have to step into the darkness once again.

That darkness was my own shadow.

There is nothing more painful, more repulsive, more terrifying and more disheartening than facing your own shadow. It exposes every vulnerability, every shame, every inferiority, every feeling of unworthiness or incompetence, of shallowness, of envy, of greed, of lust, of fear and insufficiency one feels. These are forces that we relegate to the subconscious, so that they do not interfere with the idyllic, albeit flimsy, self-images we have constructed for ourselves to cope with the vicissitudes of life.

In a world filled with artificial light, it is imperative to our social survival that we appear artificially bright. It gains us no advantage to reveal our shadows to the world because the world doesn’t want to see them. After all, society also functions according to a similar paradigm in which the shadow of the collective is similarly denied while projecting strength, power, competence, superiority and prosperity is considered the norm.

Yet, I arrived at a crossroads at which I realized that the needs of my soul transcended those of my body and that my body’s survival could not come at the cost of that of the spirt. When I began facing my shadows, I did not do it with any agenda in mind or with the desire to gain some advantage. So much of what constitutes “shadow work” today is just another societal strategy to ‘brighten’ the self. We want to become “better” partners, “stronger” leaders, “more effective” in our work.

But facing your shadow has nothing to do with improving performance or attracting better outcomes. It has to do with one thing and one thing alone: meeting the whole of your self.

I began to (and still continue to) see all the ways in which I had learned to sabotage myself in various arenas of life in order to cope with my own shadow. I noticed how I compensated for feelings of inferiority with certain people by vilifying them or dismissing them in my own mind in a way that made me appear superior to them. I noticed how I often projected an overly commanding persona at work that successfully earned respect from others, in order to compensate for feelings of incompetence in technical matters. I called attractive women ‘shallow’ because I felt destabilized by the attraction I felt for them. I looked down on those who had achieved significant material success because they reminded me of the shame I had felt in my own failures which prevented me from committing myself to any long-term aspirations. These were just a few of a rich unconscious terrain of disowned instincts and forgotten selves that I had inadvertently cast aside through the first forty years of life.

I faced my shadows not to banish them with the light of my awareness. But to sit with them in the dark. And to befriend them.

I faced my shadows not so that I could feel equal to those with whom I felt inferior - but simply so that I could accept my own feelings of inferiority as a fact of my reality.

It is okay to feel inferior.

I faced my shadows not so that I could finally feel competent - but so that I could accept my own incompetence as reality.

It is okay to be incompetent.

I faced my shadows not so that I could convey a calm and confident demeanour around beautiful women - but simply so that I could accept my own feelings of sexual discomfort.

It is ok to feel vulnerable.

I faced my shadows not so that I could commit to lofty aspirations and manifest the material success I know I am capable of - but simply so that I could accept my own shame around my feelings of failure.

It is ok to feel ashamed.

When you spend enough time in the shadow world, not trying to coax them into the light or change them in any way - your eyes gradually grow accustomed to the dark. And when this happens, something miraculous occurs.

You begin to notice the light of the spirit for the first time.

Just as gazing into a night sky, unpolluted by artificial light, gradually reveals more stars the longer you gaze into it - so also does the light of the spirit grow brighter and more radiant the more you gaze into your own darkness.

With my shadows beside me and the light of spirit as my guide, I can experience the freedom of the night. I fly like the moth in the darkness, keeping the light along my wing and dancing in and out of my shadows.

Acquainting myself with my shadows has, paradoxically, brought me closer to other human beings. For I see them now in a way I never did before. And I love and accept them in a way I never did before.

I cannot hold their hatred against them, because I know what it is like to hate. I cannot hold their ignorance against them, because I know what it is like to ignore inconvenient truths. Their envy, their greed, their lust, their shame - and all the behaviours they exhibit to compensate for these - are my shadows too. And in embracing my own I have no choice but to embrace theirs.

Their was once a time when humankind lived by the light of the stars alone. When nighttime was not something one banished - but welcomed. When darkness and shadows were not portents of evil, but portals into ourselves.

The light of day was for exploring the outer world. The darkness of night was for exploring the inner.

Perhaps, one day we will all willingly turn towards our shadows and honor them with our acceptance. That is what, I believe, the Earth wants for humanity.

I turned off the light and set the moth free because I knew it belonged to the freedom of the night.

As do we all.

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Dear Reader,

As AI-free content becomes increasingly hard to find, I believe it is now more important than ever for readers to have a means of identifying works that are purely human made. I endeavor to continue to bring you works free of AI enhancements. The below stamp of authenticity is one I have seen used by other creators like myself who believe in the sanctity of human artistic expression.