The night is terrifying. In the dark and the solitude, in the chasm between the lighted bustle of the days, everything drops away and disappears in the depths. No identity left, given, assumed, or invented. No work. No significance. No ambition. No façade. Only being is left: this small, naked, freshly-minted mite of the Universe. This is the true identity: this new-born creature enfolded tenderly by the night. In flight from this fate, we turn to a legion of distractions, diversions, and misdirections. Most damagingly we turn to each other. We blindfold each other to the truth.