Advanced Darkness

For discerning fans of Spongebob, the term Advanced Darkness resonates. Originating in the "Rock Bottom" episode, the line has wormed its way into regular conversation around these parts, and when referring to night at the Cabin, it really resonates.

Living in a city right now, with streetlights and shops surrounding our apartment building, REAL darkness is rare.

Never are light beams in short supply; never are the meager-est quanta of photons fully needed to get by.

Have you ever been in darkness so advanced that the only way to know if your eyes are open is your own body sense, since both open and shut look exactly the same?

It's something we take for granted, that there's a difference between having your eyes open or shut. City boy Cassius was, at some point one night, wailing away. I got upstairs as noticed that the desk-lamp we set up before we found all the nightlights seemed to be blasting him. He was fully turned around in bed and trying to bury his face where his feet should have been.

"Let me turn that light off," I said, and, despite his positioning, he sounded reluctant. Once I clicked it off, my own eyes hadn't adjusted and in the first seconds it was off, it was a definitely a can't-tell-open-or-shut-eyes situation.

For me and for Cass, as I learned because he let out a terrified bellow about turning the light back on. I realized then that that was probably the darkest he's ever viscerally experienced.

We retired the lamp once we found the nightlights, and one evening I helped him to the bathroom. Afterwards, once I noticed that it was a few minutes after four, I carried him outside to peep the stars.

HOLY COW! Mars never looked as red as that night. It would have been a spectacular night for a time-lapse pic that Corrie and I had been practicing. That kind of night never again materialized for us, but in the future we're planning on taking advantage of the fact that the Park is open 24 hours during the summer months.