the gourd captures my own personal mythology, beginning with the wolf howling into the phases of the moon, representing lunar cycles of birth, death, and change.

this week I started taking night baths — not in water, but in a few hours of darkness.

I would go outside after 9pm and walk to the lake, passing rice paddies with the sound of wind in my ears. I’d stand by the water and listen to the sounds of the fish entering and leaving its surface. after a while, my eyes got used to the darkness — and darkness doesn’t feel so dark anymore. I could see more deeply into the night. by see I mean sense.

then I might get ready for bed, and sit in my room in the dark — for an hour or two — or lay down on the tatami mat stretching and self-massaging my back. no light of any sort. except street light filtering in through the rice paper screens, and this gourd lantern above — which I carved at daikon dad’s house on Sunday, my day without screens.

in new york, I used to live in an airy apartment with too many windows. in the middle of the day, I would go into the bathroom and close the door and sit there. just to bath myself in the dark. there are so many gifts there. in the dark is where true rest (and healing, and integration) — can begin.

but our culture is a light-centric (and activity-centric, yang-centric) one. we fill our nights with junk light. we go from screens straight to sleep, then wake up with screens again. I’ve been paying extra attention to the way in which I rest.

if sleep is a journey into the unconscious — where the mind and body can surrender and release — then should we not be more deliberate about how we set sail? should we not wait at the port and set intentions for this journey? to see it not as a bodily obligation, but as a ritual as equally worthy of our attention — as voyaging in the land of light?

darkness baths