Midnight is where the day begins
It is amazing how songs move me.
The title of this piece is from a line in the song by U2, “Lemon.” As soon as I heard that lyric, I knew it would stick with me for as long as I lived. Art has that power.
And consider some more of the lyrics from that song:
I feel like I'm slowly, slowly, slowly slipping under
And I feel like I’m holding on to nothing
Now, granted: I am a huge U2 fanboy. The band got me to expand my musical palette from the hip hop which had been my music since I was ten. When I moved to Los Angeles, I was suddenly thrust out of my parochial upbringing in Washington Heights. I was jettisoned from the comforts of my neighborhood into this strange, hot, bright land, where I did not know where I fit in, where I belonged.
Of course, being an original MTV baby—I swear I have a memory (possibly false) of tuning into the very first minute of the channel—I knew of U2, and liked them desultorily. But it was not until I was thrust into this new life that the band suddenly became a sort of lifeline, a connection with new friends. I could hang out with the hip hop heads and the New Wavers. I could move between worlds, and reconcile them. I found I could contain multitudes, and not contradict myself.
It is not until this moment, this exact moment, that I realize the power of those words. Midnight is where the day begins.
We have been in a long midnight. Interminable and inky black. No stars in the sky, no moon bathing us in light. It has been a midnight filled with strange noises, knocks in the night, fear of the unknown oppressing our thoughts. It is a midnight which has been brought upon us by actors who delight in dominance, who revel in the power to abuse. They have no other reason for being; their souls are shattered and empty; realizing this, they take their vengeance on those whom they see as having that which they do not have. They are the hollow men of whom T.S. Eliot wrote, the ghosts, the phantoms, all too real, still able to wreak havoc on those around them. They have no ideology save hatred; no motivation save retribution. They are broken and wish to break. They are lost and wish to lead everyone into the thicket.
Midnight does not last forever, though. The earth turns, the stars move, and the sun rises again, as it always does. The universe cares nothing for the tantrums of human beings. The universe is immovable and unstoppable.
Midnight is where the day begins. It is helpful to remember that. That no dark place remains dark forever. No gulag remains locked. The gates will open, the prisoners will shuffle out, glancing at the sky, their eyes squinting at this unaccustomed light. Those who tormented them will scuttle off, hiding from justice, suddenly aware that their pretensions of power were chimeras, ephemeral and ultimately meaningless. What they thought of as eternal was nothing of the sort; it was merely the delusions of the mortal. Power fades, wealth evaporates; the world cycles on, getting better, bit by slow bit.
The day begins in darkness. That much is unavoidable. But darkness, as always, is a passing thing. Know that dawn will come, and then another day to get things right, to make whole that which is broken. Know that those who mend are more than those who smash. Destruction is easy, and people tire of it, like bored children. Those who restore have the determination to outlast the others.
None of us know what will happen next Tuesday. But I have a hope that the light will prevail. The dark is no place to be for long. And the day will begin again. For those of goodwill are looking for something other.