At the beginning of the year, I dove into the book Opening to Darkness by Osho Zenju Earthlyn Manuel, ordained Zen priest, and medicine woman of the drum.
The book looks at the spirituality of darkness from different angles: darkness as death and a place of rebirth; darkness as an identity associated with skin color; darkness as evil; darkness as a landscape in which we rest and dream; darkness representing that which we don’t understand. In the book, Manuel invites readers to meet and work with “Dark Mothers” of multiple spiritual traditions, goddesses and orishas that embody these various aspects of darkness.
Both for personal reasons, as well as what was happening in the country — it felt an appropriate time to meditate on darkness. This is the start of a series on my reflections.
Darkness as the Unknown
To be undone is a mystical occurrence, a state of being in which we are rendered, eyes opened, to the unknown. We see, hear, smell, taste, think, and can do nothing about it. All doing is done. What are we to do when we feel lost, a stranger in our own lives? We go through it. In the undoing of life, silence stretches into eternity—revealing stars in the dark.
- Zenju Earthlyn Manuel
Radical souls, I don’t know if any of you can relate, but very little in my life ever feels particularly stable.
It’s definitely because of the choices I’ve made — for better or worse. But it’s also because of an unstable economy, an unstable government, as well as chance (or fate, depending on your worldview).
I’ve completely uprooted myself more than once over the past decade, starting over in terms of where I call home, my career, my relationships. And I like to believe that I readily embrace the unknown, meaning I often see the future as an endless supply of possibilities.
Generally, I’m able to embrace the unknown because I have a solid foundation of faith in myself, as well as a general optimism about life. But sometimes that faith is put to the test. Like when my finances are stretched particularly thin, or when I’ve been ghosted one too many times, or when creative projects fail to take off. (And for some reason, these things always seem to happen at the same time. Like, the trials of Job.)
At times like this, that supply of possibilities doesn’t seem so endless after all. And I recognize just how shallow and short-sighted my faith can be.
When the unknown feels unbearable, I shrug off all of the moments in the past where things did magically seem to work out (even if it wasn’t on my timeline). I chalk them all up to coincidence, because it’s too scary to believe that things will work out yet again. Because hope is too painful.
Worse, I ignore all of the things I have to be grateful for in the moment. Because it’s so easy to focus on what’s not going well.
Fear of the unknown is a sort of pessimism that isn’t just about the future. It’s a pessimism that infiltrates how we perceive our present moment. It can blind us to ways that love is flowing through our lives, to the beauty and joy around us, and to the knowledge that change is already occurring.
Fear of the unknown is fear of a future we can’t predict or control, which is why embracing the unknown requires faith.
What do I mean by faith? This is what comes to mind:
Faith that when I ask for help, someone who cares will respond.
Faith in my own resiliency and capableness.
Faith in the Universe to move in mysterious yet loving ways.
Belief that this is not the end of anything for me or for those I love.
Faith in my ability to survive worse.
A resolve to prioritize joy.
A resolve to not let fear “drive the car.”
A willingness to “be the Fool.”
The Unknown as The Fool
I’ve been getting The Fool a lot in Tarot readings. In many decks the Fool is seen stepping off a cliff.
We can see this Fool as a stupid or ignorant person about to get themselves killed. Or we could see this as a person willingly taking a leap of faith.
And when we talk about a “leap of faith,” we mean stepping into the unknown.
This leap can feel impossible if we don’t believe that there will be something there in the unknown that will catch us, hold us, protect us.
And yet, life is painful. We do fail. We do suffer trauma and heartbreak and loss. Sometimes nothing catches us when we fall.
On the Tarot for the Wild Soul podcast, Lindsay Mack says that the Fool is a reminder that “we don’t get out of this alive” — meaning we all have one life to live and it’s worth the pain to truly live it.
When answering a listener’s question about The Fool coming up for someone going through a breakup, she explains the Fool reminds us that “protecting ourselves from things like the inevitable ache of what it is to love, to hope that a beloved will work out, to get our hopes up around somebody is kind of all a part of the ride.”
I believe this is true no matter what part of the unknown we’re afraid of — it’s all a part of the ride.
But writing this in the U.S. in 2025, I’m painfully aware that the unknown isn’t just about an unknown we want to step into. And I don’t deny that the unknowns in this country are a matter of safety and survival for many of us.
In fact, Lindsay Mack’s phrase, "none of us are getting out of this alive,” feels even more poignant in this moment.
But even though this current unknown — the future — is so scary, I still believe we can choose how to approach it: with complete terror or with another attitude.
I choose to believe that the unknown — the unpredictable future — will not only include bigotry and hate. It will also include people fighting back and moments of joyful resistance. There will be moments of pleasure and love and community for all of us.
Motivations Matter
The spiritual path invites us to embrace the unknown for other reasons than to avoid discomfort.
Manuel writes:
“What would it be like if we learned to love the forever darkness, without wanting it to serve us in some way, give us something, or without waiting for what’s dark to lighten up? What would it mean if we dwelled in darkness, available to the transformation, much like we did in our mother’s womb? What if we welcomed darkness as an ambiguous state of being alive?”
I struggled with this when I first read it. I felt very called out. I realized a huge motivation to meditate on darkness was to find personal comfort as I walked through the unknown. And I was very much hoping to find a door back to the light. Back to a future I had a solid grasp on. Back to some semblance of safety and security.
I saw darkness as “a dark night of the soul.” As a trial to get through.
I wasn’t seeing it as a permanent residence or even a loving place — both of which it can be.
I found myself asking what life would look like if I embraced the ongoing presence of the unknown? Not as a way to become more comfortable with it, but rather to have the courage to live with constant uncertainty?
What if embracing the unknown meant staying open to new experiences, opportunities, and relationships knowing they will be both exquisite and painful, shattering and uplifting?
What if embracing the unknown meant practicing more resilient, long-sighted faith in myself and my community?
What if embracing the unknown meant accepting that “learning to have faith” was a lifelong lesson, not one I’m meant to master overnight?
These are the questions I’m working with at the moment.
And what about you? How have you learned to work with and reside in the unknown?