The Dusk Hour

A power outage late in the evening dims all the lights. At first, when everything shuts down, there's a rational approach to the situation: "What has happened? Is everything all right? Are all the electric devices ok? How long is it going to last? If the situation is prolonged, what actions are needed?" After a while of some thoughts running wildly around, one notices the silence.

Deep silence has emerged to replace what was before filled with all sorts of unnoticed background noise. All the familiar household devices—the refrigerator, air conditioning, television, and computer—are completely silent. One is usually not aware of all that noise before it's abruptly cut. A moment of stillness arises while simply listening to the unexpected, magnificent silence. Then, one decides to light up a few candles. There's something immensely peaceful about how the fires on the candles slowly dance, throwing some formless, shifting shadows on the walls. The moment has shifted from rational assessment of the situation into soothing serenity.

A quick peek outside reveals the entire neighbourhood has no electricity. Some reflections of flashlights are seen in the nearby windows, but mostly, the whole neighbourhood is sound asleep. The eyes witness the same silence; no background lights whatsoever obstruct the view of the starry sky above. The moon shines softly through a thin veil of clouds, creating an eerie sensation while casting shadows of the buildings on the snowy ground. The little diamonds in the vast blackness of space seem curiously joyful, as if smiling back at all living beings who recognize their intrinsic beauty and miraculous existence. One stays outside for a few quick breaths, enjoying the intensely cold winter air, and then heads back inside for warmth.

Some elderly people have talked about the dusk hour where, during old times when electricity was still scarce or there was none available, there wasn't much to do after the day's chores were done. The night had already descended. It was too dark to read or otherwise entertain the intellect of the mind, yet it was too early for sleep. People would simply sit down in solitary silence, and maybe do some minor tasks that needed little activity. Mostly, they would do nothing of effort but listen to the silence and watch how the night embraced the surrounding snowy landscape. It was time for the family with no expectations toward anyone. It was time for oneself with no agenda at all.

Such a dusk hour might sound terrifying to a modern mind that is always immersed in active doing. The idea of giving attention to the present moment with nothing interesting in it might feel utterly absurd. Yet, when contemplated thoroughly, the dusk hour is something all human beings desperately crave for, often without even knowing it. The dusk hour connects one with the very roots of humanity, where the night's silence holds mysteries within and the impenetrable darkness reveals magnificent sparkling lights in the vastness above. Surrounded by space that's hopelessly beyond intellectual understanding, a possibility for profound inner stillness arises—a paradigm shift toward peace. Even if there are thoughts still swirling around, one would be forced to face them directly without distractions.

That's when peace and presence begin to emerge. That's when healing becomes possible. In simple silence with oneself.