night sweats, night terrors and gifts from the night

It was about four o’clock in the morning. I was sleeping so sweetly. After a difficult, painful, often sleepless week, I was lost in the dreamworld that lurks beneath the surface. The sound of two basset hounds and a southern blackmouth yellow cur rushing from the garage in full voice brought me instantly awake. It was not the coyotes but another dog, also barking at the top of his lungs that started the fracas. The conversation continued for some time despite pleas and commands for Phoebe, Zeke and Barney to cease and desist. Finally I gave up, got up and went to the front porch to call the dogs home. As I sat on the front step, they began ambling up in the darkness surrounding me with their smelly dog presence. Farm dogs, good farm dogs always smell a little... or a lot.
Barney laid his head in my lap. Phoebe sat behind me patting me with her big paw. Zeke slobbered on my pajamas. We sat and enjoyed one another in silence awhile. It was a lovely night. The setting crescent moon was full and golden. I could hear the train going by down on the river. There was a peaceful liveliness to the night so I sat for a spell, bewitched but not bothered any more. The basset hounds followed me in and I put them downstairs to sleep off their intoxication. Then I went to my big blue chair and settled in with the squishy green pillow and white afghan. Once again I slept.
Waking in the night does not always bring pleasure with it. One of the joys of menopause for me has been night sweats (don’t tell me about hormones- been there, done that, didn’t work). I claw up from the depths to find I am sweating under my eyes, my hair is damp and I throw the covers off. A few minutes later I wake to chills from the dampness drying and scrabble for the covers. Not much reward there. Waking at three o’clock in the morning, listing and re-listing every worry or possible catastrophe for an hour is no fun either. But this waking in the darkness was different and perhaps my spiritual lesson about this season of drought in my soul.
Somehow I need to go sit on the front porch of my soul and call the dogs of grief and anger and worry home... let them snuggle up to me so I can scratch their ears, bring them in with love and tenderness. Then we can sit and see and hear the gifts the darkness brings. Everything looks different in the darkness. Shapes of the familiar shift and a new landscape emerges. Smells are different. The slight dampness carries the smell of darkness, so different from the smells of the day. It is earthy, musky, elemental, comforting.
Last night on my front porch, I was able to be still and know God, hear God, smell God, see God, feel God. It was a gift from the darkness. Thanks be to God.