Complete Darkness and Zucchini Jam
Things I am grateful for this week.
Complete Darkness
It is 2024, and our light switches automatically toggle on when they detect motion. It is a hands-free experience, that is handy1 at night. Two weeks ago, sometime after midnight, the lights shut off without warning. I didn’t know if it was an electrical matter or if the timer ran out, but the suddenness caught me off guard. Think complete blackness. Any outlines, shapes, or colors were obliterated. My stomach dropped, and the feeling was akin to falling. There was once a room and a “me” here — now both are gone.
The first feeling was a caution. My fugued mind swam, checking in on itself; it attempted to make conclusions. Did I slip and fall? Did I hit my head? Was this death? What else could have happened? This felt like death, but I couldn’t imagine what dying could feel like. In the dark’s hold, I could not discern any part of what made me “me”. Problems, complaints, and insecurities were gone. The physical too — the musculature, veins, fat, and aches once embedded into my body — melted off. There was a hollowness.
This whole affair didn’t scare me; rather, I felt easy and warm. This was a brief exhale. For a second, I was freed of what I was. And I could experience that. I could perceive warmth and process comfort. If something did go wrong, that could be okay. It reminded me of a common metaphor relating to meditation. The meditator is a solid mountain; their thoughts and feelings are pieces of pollen drifting off into the cold air. I was there, then I was not, but I still was — and all of this was okay.
The fluorescents snapped back on. I crawled back into bed and felt the itchy cotton bedding, the hump of the pillow propping my head up. The window was open, and ambient noises of the street at night and the trucks far off in the distance twinkled.
Zucchini Jam
Tucked behind stacks of kimchi, leftover jasmine rice, probiotic yogurt capsules, and quart containers of beans, I found the jar of zucchini jam I made in February. My second favorite reason I love this jam is just that I get to tell other people about it. What an easy thing to discuss! This weekend I made jam! Zucchini jam! I don’t need to talk about my problems, look at this wonderful, odd object! The phrase “zucchini jam” itself is so irreverent yet mystical that I feel like a thief stealing from a larger reservoir of coolness in the world2.
The primary reason I love this jam is actually what follows after the initial astonishment: curiosity. If I mention the jam, unfortunately, I have the jam on me. And I want you to taste it because it is legitimately tasty. There is a vegetalness that the zucchini gives, but it is suplexed by the copious amounts of lime zest, lime juice, and sugar the recipe asks for. The texture is also a hoot; think flat translucent strips of plant matter that glow green when held up to a light source. The smallest bits of crunch also add a nice bit of texture and substantiality.
I enjoy zucchini jam on top of a nice bowl of old-fashioned oats. The recipe is from All the Stuff We Cooked by Frederik Bille Brahe.
Ah man, we’re going downhill. FAST.
The reservoir of coolness exists in a dream Europe fetishized by naïve Americans who hoard a growing collection of Fitzcarraldo Editions.