Lab Notes

The Dark

May 23, 2026

I begin this experiment two years after moving to Fallbrook in September 2023.

For years I walked every morning in both Fairfax, California and Austin, Texas. But I never walked while it was still dark outside. With a friend, yes. Never alone.

When I moved here, there were no nearby hiking trails and no walking companions. One morning I decided to walk through the neighborhood by my Self before sunrise. I noticed immediately how frightened I felt.

The dark felt like a test.

My body tightened. I walked too fast. My mind raced ahead of my feet. I could feel my Self holding my breath.

What surprised me most was realizing the fear was not only about darkness.

Coiled inside it was something older: not wanting to be alone, not trusting I could take care of my Self, not feeling safe.

The feeling was so strong that my daily practice became very simple: I walk every morning for at least 45 minutes with a flashlight around my neck until the first military light appears in the sky.

During those walks, early memories surfaced.

Most were connected to being left alone when I was ten years old. I was afraid to stay by my Self, but my parents left me home anyway. I was told to "toughen up." The one babysitting me was my younger sister, only three years younger than me.

For a very long time I carried anger toward my parents for this.

The dark did not feel safe, especially when the people caring for you push you into what you fear before you are ready.

But something changed on those walks.

I chose to meet the fear.

I would ask: What exactly am I so afraid of here?

And for the first time, I realized I had a choice.

I could parent my Self differently.

So I began talking out loud while I walked. Sometimes I prayed. Sometimes I asked for help.

At first I did not even know who I was asking.

Future versions of my Self. Source. The Unseen Therapist. Higher dimensions. My non-physical friend, Mr. Owl.

I did not need to define it precisely. I simply asked.

What came back was not words.

It came as a settling in my body. A softening in the air around me. A willingness to breathe deeply again. A growing desire to move beyond the fear.

Mr. Owl first appeared in Fairfax the day my mother died.

What caught my attention was that his hoot sounded mixed with the croaking of a frog. I had never heard frogs in Fairfax before, though owls were common there.

The sound stayed with me.

That night I felt my mother was finally at peace. Or maybe I was finally at peace with her.

The following week I changed my name from Barbara Dona Toledo to Taye Bela Corby.

A few years later, the same owl appeared in Austin while I was walking our dog, Jackpot, near Lake Travis during the pandemic.

It was early morning. Daniel and I had received special permission to walk before the park opened because our condo sat on the lake property.

I remember feeling calm. Open. Bright. Ready for the day.

Then, several months after moving to Fallbrook, Daniel and I finished landscaping our backyard. One evening I sat beside our outdoor fire pit and heard him again.

I remember saying aloud, "He followed me."

At the time I gave it no meaning. No interpretation.

Only now, while writing this, do I notice the thread.

Mr. Owl is here now.

Mornings. Afternoons. Evenings.

Every day.

And the fear?

It is simply gone.

I do not know exactly when it left.

This morning I even tried to summon it back, just to see if it was still there. But there was nothing to find.

No tightening, no panic, no rushing.

Just morning. Darkness. Breath. Walking.

I cannot fully explain it.

I have no guidebook.

Only this living experience: staying present long enough to discover I am safe to be alone.