It’s 7:30 A.M. Xavier walks up to his office building and stops. Later that morning he must give a sales presentation to a prospective client. As he goes through the revolving door, he tries on a wary smile. His personal black dog is back. My Black Dog. That’s what Churchill had called his depression. The truth is that Xavier’s Black Dog rarely leaves him. When his dog isn’t biting, she is sitting on his heart like a forty-pound dumbbell balanced precariously. Could a heart that weighs maybe a pound support a forty-pound dumbbell? No! Of course not! It would be crushed. Xavier’s heart was barely holding up. But this won’t overwhelm me, thinks Xavier. Not yet anyway. I wish I could scream but that never works. I’m glad my dog is only crushing my heart, not biting yet. That will probably come later.

Xavier’s struggle against depression is often a battle against the feeling that nothing matters, that whatever you accomplish is trivial. Or even worse. That you accomplish something and ten minutes later it is in the past. What you accomplished means nothing now. It’s like a glass of champagne that was left on a counter overnight. In the morning, you pick it up to drink but there are no bubbles to tickle your nose. You must now do something even bolder and more significant to have any impact and then, inevitably, that impact will fade.

Xavier knew that no one who looked at his life from the outside would have any idea he has a Black Dog. They’d say that he has it all and they’d be correct. He’s in good health, a successful salesman who has a wonderful wife who works at the town’s library, a beautiful old house, two grown children, on their own, doing well, employed, seemingly happy.

He thinks back to a time, some thirty years ago, before his black dog was in constant attack mode. Back then, most often, he’d see the dog, lurking, hostile but still a few feet away. He’d just graduated from high school and had split to roam the country, deciding against going to college for a while. He rarely had five dollars in his pocket, no fixed place to stay, no girlfriend, no real job and lived minute to minute. As he traveled around, he’d look for job pickup sites for day laborers. He’d show up each morning at 6 A.M. He was far younger and stronger than most of the others. There were usually only two or three waiting at that time, maybe ten over the whole day at the site. A few of the men drank, most didn’t really want to work too hard, but he did want to work hard, so he was almost always the first to be chosen.

For Xavier, hard work kept his black dog at bay. How do you feel psychic pain when you’re carrying heavy boxes from one place to another or swinging a pickaxe overhead, crashing it to the ground, over and over to dig a drainage long trench? At that time, he only heard the dog barking at him. Now, the dog had her fangs inside his chest – attacking his heart. He is thinking of his presentation to the Board, later at 11 A.M. He gets up from his desk. He has a half hour free. He walks out of the building, heading for the walkway along the Hudson River, which is about two minutes away.

As he walks, he thinks about other people who have suffered like him. Lincoln fought against the black dog all his life. He learned perseverance and endurance. Not to be overwhelmed by it.

Jesus came into Xavier’s thoughts, who cried out when he was being put to death, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” He was quoting from a psalm of David. Of course, one would tend to be a bit depressed while being crucified. King David must have experienced the black dog too, to have written that psalm. But I, Xavier, am nothing like Jesus who lived a just life, a blessed one. Jesus tried to bring light to the world; what did they call him, “the light of the world that shone in the darkness?” And I’m not a wise king like David or a president like Lincoln. I’m insignificant compared to them, but maybe I’m supposed to also shine my light into the darkness? To smile when I don’t feel like it? To maybe be a dim, almost extinguished flashlight, to the world. Did Jesus eliminate his followers’ problems? No. In many ways they, from the world’s perspective, were in worse shape. They knew a truth, but few listened to them, and they all ended up being put to death. What could be worse than being dead? Xavier started to wonder if having a black dog was worse than death?

Xavier reaches the river. There is a wide path stretching north and south. He’s never walked as far as either end. Why don’t I name my dog, and maybe then she’ll go easier on me, Xavier thinks as he’s walking. It’s a thought he’s had for years but was too afraid act on. What would people think if they knew he was going to name his Black Dog? Crazy probably. But he’s gotten past that point of caring if people think he’s crazy.

“Hey Black Dog,” Xavier calls out in a very subdued voice. There aren’t many people on the walking path, but if he speaks loudly, they’d probably turn their heads and wonder what the hell he was doing.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

No answer, but Xavier detects a slightly less intense bite.

Maybe my dog is at least listening. Perhaps I’m on the right track, Xavier thinks.

“Fido,” he calls out slightly louder. No. That’s a male name. “Fida,” he murmurs, thinking that this might be the feminine form of that name.

The bite gets much more intense. He tries to think of an analogy. He compares this pain to slamming the spine of a rose thorn into his left eye. The eye fluid, which has become sulfuric acid, starts to drip out, at first slowly, then with increasing speed.

Snap out of it, he thinks. That’s ridiculous. I must get through to my dog. I must communicate. How about calling my black dog something complimentary? “Hey Sweetness,” he whispers. “Hey Sweetness!” he mutters a bit louder.

The dog’s teeth dig in deeper and seemingly with more joy as if his leg were a raw leg of lamb fresh from the butcher block, and the dog he has just tried to name Sweetness hadn’t eaten in weeks. Sweetness must be able to feel Xavier’s lungs contract so strongly he can hardly breathe with each one of her bites.

No, thinks Xavier. Obviously, this black dog is not named Sweetness.

“Darkness,” Xavier calls out rather loudly. He notices the couple coming towards him on the path look into each other’s eyes as if they’d just heard a crazy man.

“My friend, Darkness,” Xavier calls out again, softly, after they pass. He immediately feels a profound lessening of the bite.

This relief is almost as sudden, powerful and important as were the results of the greatest black dog attack he’d ever experienced. Years ago, he was driving alone up to Plattsburg on the Northway to attend a funeral. He was dog-tired and knew he should stop to take a nap. He didn’t. He became even more exhausted. To stay awake he squeezed the steering wheel with all his might. It was working until unwillingly and unexpectedly, he was asleep; dreaming of a huge black dog that jumped out at him and clamped on his neck. “NO!” he heard himself shout. He woke with a start as if from another universe. His heart was pounding. Miracle of miracles, his car was still on the road, driving straight ahead. There were no cars within half a mile of him. He pulled over and got out of the car and thanked whoever had saved him. Maybe it was his Black Dog, who had awakened him in the dream. He wondered if the black dog meant him well.

He now wondered if he really should have been so thankful then. His dog knew he could have pulled over and taken a nap. He felt the dog’s thoughts. “Remember, Xavier, nothing prevented you from napping. You could have killed someone besides your insignificant self.” Since that dream, his black dog has never left him.

Xavier shakes his head to dispel these memories. He stops, turns and looks out across the river. He sees downtown Manhattan and to the right the Statue of Liberty.  Now he feels the dog biting his left calf. “Darkness,” he calls out loudly. The bite slightly eases.

“What do you have to teach me, Darkness?” asks Xavier. “What am I forgetting?”

Surprisingly the dog lets go of his calf, walks to his side, looking out over the river. They both gaze for thirty seconds and then Darkness begins to speak to Xavier in English.

“Of course, I’ll bite you. Again, and again. Until you learn your lesson.”

“How could I have learned?” asks Xavier. “This is the first time you’ve talked to me.”

“Haven’t you been trying to ignore and get rid of me as long as you can remember? From the time you were a tiny tyke. Do you remember trying to ditch me then?”

“I don’t remember any time when you weren’t there except when everything was precarious, and I thought I’d be forced to sleep without having had a meal or a place to lay my head.”

“You don’t get it.”

“So, what is it you were trying to tell me?”

“I bite my favorites,” says Darkness. “The bites are a blessing, a gift, a sign of love.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Xavier asks. “I hate your bites. Why don’t you bite someone else?”

“I’ve told you far more than enough already,” Darkness says. “Think. You always want others to tell you what to think. I’m not going to do that for you.”

Xavier says nothing, staring at the river. “Just leave me,” he says. “I don’t want you or need you.”

Xavier feels sharp, pointed teeth biting his neck. He wondered if this bite can cut his carotid artery and kill him instantly, but he dismisses this idea. These bites hurt, but they don’t kill; besides he isn’t even sure where the carotid artery is, and maybe Darkness was telling the truth that she bites to be helpful.

What did Darkness’ words, “I bite my favorites. The bites are blessings,” mean? Is the bite of depression a blessing in some way? Xavier envies perpetually jolly people who never seem to suffer and extrude happiness in everything they do. If I had the option of siccing Darkness on these jubilant people, would I do it? He thinks of Alexander, a supremely bubbly, witty person, who pursues his goals unceasingly and without doubt. If I could sic Darkness on him, would I? Would I exchange places with Alexander?

What have I been doing to help alleviate the worst agony of others? There’s disease, loneliness, heartache. “Maybe if I dedicated myself to alleviating them, Darkness will stop biting,” he says aloud. Darkness bites harder. “My bites are a gift” is what Darkness said.

He felt Darkness let up her teeth’s grip and say, “I could go and bite Alexander, but then I’d have to leave you. Permanently. Go ahead. Tell me to do it. It would be a treat to both of us for me to bite someone like that.”

“You’d do that for me?” asks Xavier.

“Just say the word,” says Darkness. “It is the only way I will ever leave you. You must wish me on to another.”

“A victim? Someone who will be destroyed by me.”

“I’ve said enough,” says Darkness, and she bites into Xavier’s left wrist.

“I never thought a wrist could hurt so bad,” says Xavier. He knows that it is not just physical pain. This is a massive double bind. I want to get rid of this pain, this Darkness, and yet I don’t want to sic her on someone else. It’s really a triple bind. I also don’t want her to leave. I’ve gotten used to my black dog, Darkness.

Xavier throws a pebble into the river and sees the ripples it creates. Two minutes later, the waves have dissipated. Everything fades and goes out of existence, he thinks. In a thousand years there will most likely be no way to tell that he’d ever existed. And in a hundred million years? Who at that time, assuming there were still beings on earth, would know that any species like Xavier or his black dog had ever existed?

Could that be it? Even if there were a thousand candles in a closed room and each one was lit, the room would eventually be in darkness. Even the sun, which will burn for billions of years, will eventually stop shining and inevitably there will be darkness. Darkness never dies. Darkness is always there. Wouldn’t Darkness, his own black dog, still be around in a hundred million years? Maybe. But wasn’t Darkness just a part of his psyche which will perish with his death? Maybe not. Maybe this dog was a manifestation of that eternal darkness.

Xavier wonders if the words “embrace the darkness” should be written in the sky with large capital letters like “EMBRACE THE DARKNESS?” He imagines everyone near the river seeing it.

Xavier calls out “Darkness, my friend,” and he feels the bite deeper, and he knows that the bite is a blessing.

“I am alive,” Xavier calls out. “I have my friend Darkness with me. We are inseparable. I would not give her away to anyone else. She’s mine forever.”

He stops talking but continues thinking. He’s sure Darkness can hear his thoughts. Your bite no longer seems like a bite. I embrace you. I don’t wish you to stop. Go on. Continue biting forever. I will be alive. I will love despite the seeming pain.  Xavier realizes that is all there is to it. There is nothing else. “I am.” Darkness is telling me that “I am” no matter what happens.

Xavier is happy. “Bite me,” he says to Darkness.

Darkness stops biting. “I’m not here to hurt you,” says Darkness. “I never was here to hurt you. I think you have finally learned something important. Perhaps I should depart.”

And it seemed to Xavier that Darkness left him, which was very surprising because he thought he’d have to sic Darkness on someone else.

His puncture wounds slowly heal. Where is my friend Darkness, Xavier often wonders.

Slowly, Xavier notices that he has a Siamese cat sitting on his shoulders, often purring but always with her claws clamped down through his shirt so that he can feel the pinch of her nails whenever his mind is calm enough to feel them. “Darkness?” he asks.

“I dig my claws into those I want to help,” the cat answers.

“Darkness?” Xavier asks again.

“Moksha,” he hears. He looks up the name which means liberation. The pain of the nails is always there, but he doesn’t mind. He reads the quotation. “Desirelessness is Moksha.”

“That’s not at all how I would describe it,” says Xavier.

“How would you describe it?” asks the cat.

“It would be a question,” says Xavier. “If you are feeling unhappy and you don’t mind, how would you feel?”

“Brilliant. You don’t mind my claws in you?”

“Not at all. They are very reassuring.”