There is a dimension of consciousness that knows the dark, belongs to the dark, but has no way of asserting itself - but the metaphor 'dimension'is maddeningly inapt. Here and now, the act of thinking is effectively inclined towards the light, but feels, or feelingly knows, itself to be perched on the surface of a thick silence, a dense unspeakability. To say that this is, or these are the content of the dark is to mistakenly assume that the dark is simply an obscure analogue of the illumined. It is better approached through the logic in play. Conscious thoughts are present to their occasion and to each other, they are together in the light, their togetherness is the light, and they uncover, expose, disinter, whatever is not yet clear, they distinguish and trace form. What gathers the unspoken elements of the dark is entirely different, a belonging unbounded and unmutual.