Into the Desert: Darkness

“Night-time heightens, sharpens each sensation
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination
Silently the senses abandon their defences…”
Andrew Lloyd-Webber, Phantom of the Opera

Living as we do on the fringe of Melbourne’s CBD, darkness is a foreign experience to us. Street lights ensure that it is possible to play sport in the park next door with minimal risk (save perhaps the experience of facing Brett Lee with a new ball at 3 am!) regardless of the time of day or night. The absence of darkness fosters a continual activity, whether it be in animal life or the multitude of vehicles which travel King Street. The night sky always bears the dull glow characteristic of city light pollution, keeping the number of stars visible to a minimum, invariably high in the sky. As a consequence it is not often that one’s gaze is averted to the night sky.

As with the experience of silence, the wonder of darkness was first experienced in the Flinders Ranges. It was fascinating to watch our children seeing a panoply of stars in the night sky – it was filled from horizon to horizon! The breadth and depth of the night sky in the absence of ambient light reveals a glory hidden from city eyes. We enjoyed watching and identifying the different constellations, and even some planets.

Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendour
Grasp it, sense it,
Tremulous and tender…”
Andrew Lloyd-Webber, Phantom of the Opera

Yet this initial experience was but an introduction. As we moved up the Stuart Highway towards Coober Pedy, we were rewarded with a glorious sunset over the desert. To the east, however, we enjoyed an entirely different experience – watching the night sky rise! While the last rays of sunlight dissipated as the sun dipped further below the Western horizon, the deep blue-black of the night sky gently rose in the East, the shadow of the earth evident in the sky. We would grow in wonder as this experience was repeated on many occasions, with the darkness slowly enveloping the land. We were able to capture this on camera at Uluru, the night-lines visibly moving further up the rock. The further the darkness rose, the more stars became visible, the night sky slowly unfurling its splendour.

…silently the senses abandon their defenses
Andrew Lloyd-Webber, Phantom of the Opera

Yet this wonder was not all the darkness would reveal to us. As we became more comfortable with the darkness, enjoying its stillness and our own, we would become aware of the satellites circling the earth, their dull light moving at speed across the sky. To see satellites requires a commitment to stillness, and to allowing one’s eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was only when we embraced the darkness that its full glory would be revealed to us – our eyes discerning the stars and objects in the sky with a candescence less penetrating. The presence of any light prevented us from seeing these lesser objects, as they would easily succumb to the opposition.

At Mataranka I sat outside for some time, allowing my eyes to adjust to the night sky in an effort to appreciate its full beauty and glory. And as my eyes adjusted, my ears became increasingly sensitive to the sounds around me: the small noises of insects, the distant calls of birds, the soft shuffle of the leaves in the nearby trees in response to the wind, the movement and sounds of animals nearby. Starting as an observer, I slowly embraced myself as part of this creation and its soft symphony, increasingly aware of my own contribution to it, realising I was actually a participant. Every movement created a sound! The scraping of my arm against the chair gradually revealed a volume which became increasingly disturbing. What bird or animal was listening to my own echoes?

And yet I was still not seeing fully.

On our last night at Mataranka I took the binoculars with me. O, what a wonderful array of stars was revealed through even this small magnification! What hidden beauty exposed when my sight was both more focussed and assisted! The number of stars - already in what seemed a full sky – multiplied! My exclamation at the sight brought the rest of the family outside, wondering what had captured my attention. To see more deeply into the world, the universe, only came as I was prepared to embrace its darkness, its stillness, and my own limitations.

I recall being afraid of the dark as a child – its eerie sounds and ability to hide bred an imagination of horrors, and an aversion to darkness. I would turn on lights, play music, watch TV – anything to hide the horrors of darkness from me. As an adult, I no longer regard them as horrible, but still have not learned to recognise the darkness as a repository of riches. The habits of avoidance evolved into comforts in their own right, the darkness still alien; viewed as emptiness at best. The desert has introduced me to its riches in a new way…

And invited me to reconsider the darkness of my own being. Is it possible that these places are a rich source of life which I have ignored?