Should We Rage Against the Dying of the Light?

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Today I want to sit with a big question. One that’s haunted poetry, film, culture, and maybe, in quieter ways, each of us:

“Should we rage against the dying of the light?”

That line, of course, comes from Dylan Thomas’s famous poem:

Do not go gentle into that good night

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

It’s been quoted to death, used in movies, speeches, motivational moments. And I get it. The spirit behind it is defiant: don't give in. Keep fighting. Don’t surrender. Push through.

But lately, I’ve started asking myself: what is the dying of the light, really? And is rage the only response?

Two Dying Lights

To me, there are two dying lights we’re all facing.

1. The First Dying Light: Civilization

Let’s be honest. If we look at the data, at the climate science, at the geopolitical chaos—it’s not looking good. The systems that have shaped our modern lives are showing cracks, many of which now seem irreparable. This isn’t about something in a hundred years. This is about the decades ahead.

We’re facing the potential collapse of the world as we’ve known it. And yeah, that’s a terrifying thought.

We’ve been warned. We were warned 30, 40 years ago. And instead of heeding it, we distracted ourselves. We scrolled. We bought more stuff.

But now, here we are. So what do we do with that?

For me, I’ve decided: I’m not going to rage against that particular dying light.

I’ve done that. I wrote the blogs. I stayed up late doom-scrolling and battling it in my mind. But it’s like raging against the sunset. It’s exhausting, and it changes nothing.

Now I try to meet it with presence. I try to be here. I try to do some good in what’s still alive in front of me. It’s not about giving up, it’s about choosing where to place my energy. Because the fight I was having? It was mostly in my own mind.

2. The Second Dying Light: My Own Mortality

Here’s the other light: me. I, Ewan Nicholson, will die.That’s not dramatic, it’s just the deal.

Maybe it’s a bus tomorrow. Maybe it’s a quiet, worn-out breath 40 years from now. But either way, I’m heading there. We all are.

Every day I live, I’m a day closer to extinction—not of the species, but of this particular constellation of cells, memories, quirks, regrets, kindnesses. The one and only version of me.

So: do I rage against that?

Again, for me, the answer is no.

The Question Behind the Question

Faced with these two inevitable deaths, of the planet as we know it, and of the self as we know it, I found myself asking:

Is there a light that doesn’t die?

And the only kind of light that could never die, is one that was never born. It was never lit. It just always was.

I can’t tell you what that light is. I won’t brand it, or call it God, or truth, or soul. But I have caught glimpses.

In stillness. In music. In grief. In awe. It doesn’t shout, it doesn’t demand. But it’s real. And when I touch it—even for a moment—it gives me enough strength to go on.

Like a teaspoon of eternity you could live off for a year.

Ewan Nicholson

Why This Matters

That undying light? It changes the way I father. It makes me a better partner. It makes me gentler, with myself, with others.

It doesn’t erase my trauma, but it softens it. It doesn’t fix the world, but it anchors me enough to show up for it.

And here’s the mysterious part: We don’t just seek it, it seeks us. It wants to be found.

You don’t need a temple. Or a guru. You just need to be still enough, soft enough, receptive enough.

A Final Thought

If you’ve seen glimpses of that light, nurture it. If you haven’t, start listening for it. It might be closer than you think.

Because no matter how many lights fade, or how many endings loom—not all light dies. And that is something to live for.

Thanks for being here .If this stirred something in you, feel free to subscribe or check out my other reflections. You’re always welcome.

Take care,

Ewan