The sacred night

It is kind of late tonight and I feel tired but content. A good sleep will make me anew. Nevertheless, I must write something.

I vindicate the nature of night as mystic and sacred. Nights are unknown and mysterious for kids, bestowed by an unfathomable power, and they render it with sacred tremor _all rules of Nature can be overwhelmed and inverted by the reign of night.

Twenty-five or thirty years ago, as a boy, my father used to take us all down to the cost in Spain for 2 or 4 week-vacation the very early morning of the 1st for August. The trip was of an odyssey type, long and tedious, and lasted for quite a few hours. However, I used to get very excited about it. I got waken up at 2.30 or 3 am and driving by passed the empty streets of the town as we left it, I beheld furtively well into the night mesmerized by the gift of such an unusual contemplation.

Today, being a grown-up, I only possess since a long, long way back the rotten shatters of that virginal whiteness of the night _all its secrets violated, it is not magical any more, and rather than a pure breeze crowded by the invisible, blinking lights of its fairies, night has become the nest of crooks and degradation. All my tigers come at night, all untamed instincts of self-depredation. In the dark hours, only evil and temptation exert their reign upon me.

One only chance I have... Where shall I conquer you, my dear Beatrice, so your peace shall heal my wretched soul, and my nights shall be sweet and magical, once and for ever?

***

MY FAITHFUL FOND ONE
Paul Mounsey, Nahoo (1994)

My fair and rare one,
My faithful fond one,
My faithful fair,

Wilt not come to me,
On bed of pain here,
Who remain here,
With weary longing for a sight of thee

If wings were mine now,
To skim the brine how,
And like a seagull,
To float me free,
To Islay's shore now,
They bear me o'er now,
Where dwells the maiden that is dear to me

My fair and rare one,
My faithful fond one,
My faithful fair,
Wilt not come to me,
On bed of pain here,
Who remain here,
With weary longing for a sight of thee
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