There is a darkness that our fathers never mentioned. There is a darkness that our mothers warned us about. There is a darkness. The men from town ignore it because they cannot sell it. The people ignore it because it reminds them of the future. But the darkness breathes. The darkness ponders. The darkness waits. There are some who brave the darkness. They return to the people, always with the same message: there is no darkness that is not also within ourselves. But the people pretend not to hear. Their darkness is unrequited desire. Their darkness is foolish hope. Their darkness is basic dignity. They do not want a lantern. But the light cannot be extinguished, only delayed. It cannot be reasoned with, only invoked. It cannot be understood, only embraced. The secret of the prophets is that the lantern and the darkness have the same source: ourselves.
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