Thoughts, and Letters from Subscribers on Solitude

Solitude

Here is an excerpt from A Pause for Beauty, #58, which reflects some of our thoughts on this month's topic, "Solitude":

Language... has created the word "loneliness" to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the word "solitude" to express the glory of being alone. - Paul Johannes Tillich, The Eternal Now

When we cannot bear to be alone, it means we do not properly value the only companion we will have from birth to death — ourselves.
- Eda LeShan

I love people. I love my family, my children . . . but inside myself is a place where I live all alone, and that's where you renew your springs that never dry up.
- Pearl Buck

Dear Heron Dancers,

I haven't always craved solitude as I do now. From the age of 14 to 34, I feared it. The moment I was alone, my head filled with internal noises: hobgoblins named Doubt and Fear shouted their unanswerable questions, Shame and Regret banged at the door, and always there was this most painful question playing over and over,"Who am I?" There was nothing peaceful about solitude to me. If I found myself hiking or biking alone, I set a furious pace, literally hammering out the discord in my brain, leaving me ragged and limp.

Soon after I first met Rod, he told me, "I love to be alone." I was stunned and nervous but very soon became curious — Why did he like being alone so much? I read every issue of The Heron Dance Nature Art Journal; I asked him to talk about it over and over, and I slowly caught glimmers of insight. During that time, Rod had me watch a remarkable film, Into the Great Solitude. Witnessing Rob Perkins' solo journey. Listening to his sensitive narration inspired me to welcome solitude in my life.

A few months later, I spent a week alone in the woods myself. Luckily, Rod had told me that it would take at least three days for the internal noise to die down before I'd be able to sink into a quieter rhythm. He was right, and the gifts of that time are too many to name.

In Celebration of the Gift of Life!

Ann

THE SHAPES OF SOLITUDE

I sleep with books
all over my bed,
hardly room for myself.
A lovely coziness.

**

In the garden
stitching a quilt.
Nothing here but now.

**

Playing the piano
I got lost
and didn’t want
to come back.

**

Rain slants from the north.
All afternoon a book in my lap.
Nothing wrong here.

**

The last light of day
easy to watch
a long time. I thank my good health.

Gaye Abbott

Hi,

Just read your most recent Heron Dance letter and fell into the last three years for myself. Three years ago, I had locked myself into the roles of yoga teacher, therapist, massage therapist, retreat facilitator, mentor, coach, nurse, parent . . . and the list goes on . . . .

Driving across country to immerse myself in an herbal and organic gardening apprenticeship at a yoga ashram, I knew that all of those definitions were going to wash off of me like clothing that had been on way too long and that needed some fresh air, sun, and a different context to bring out vibrant self awareness. As those definitions faded away, I was free to discover who Gaye was/is in the deeper and more expanded sense. What a delicious . . . and disorienting journey it has been!

Now I write this in a small rounded A-frame house located on an organic grain farm where I can see for miles in all directions — the Adirondacks visible on the west side and the Greens on the other. Living alone for the first time in my almost 58 years of life here on this planet . . . and oh, what nourishment the solitude provides . . . .

Thank you for sharing yourself so openly to all of the Heron Dance community . . . .

Love,
Gaye

Penelope S. Rice

Solitude is more than being alone. Solitude is a withdrawal; the quieting of the chatter and observations that run through my mind. Solitude is breathing slowly and steadily, sinking my roots deep within the earth, sending my spirit soaring on a capricious breeze, remembering to live from my center. Solitude is silencing the internal and external noise to dwell in the place that knows I am a part of the universe; stardust in human form. When I reach that level of awareness, I can expand to encompass the All while remaining the unique entity that I am. It is in solitude that I restore the resources to allow me to resume loving and living fully, deeply, and in integrity.

Lesly M. Parsons

As a former English teacher, I often had to explain the difference between "lonely" and "alone." Some languages don't have that difference. The best I could do was, "Lonely is a longing, a sadness; alone is satisfying, enriching, empowering." After, of course, you have conquered the darkness and the fear. It seems to me that the more gregarious and social you are, the more uncomfortable you are with facing your "lonelitude," as I called it. I know I was until I braved the plunge of facing myself with no background noise. I swallowed hard because what I saw was not exactly as pretty as I expected it to be: my soul. Yet, for the first time, I appreciated my humanity.

Though I may be smaller than speck of a sand in the big universe, the shore wouldn't be the same without it. And that makes all the difference.

Mary Sullivan, r.c.

TWIN SISTERS, SOLITUDE AND SILENCE

Silence seizes me strips me distills me to my essence

Awash in life's poteen my Irish soul quiets stills

It is there quiescent, aware God greets me in His language, silence

Silence, so dark, I hear the stars whisper Silence, so seductive, I vibrate to its music Silence, so rich, I hoard its sound Silence, so enveloping, I feel God's voice Silence, so quiet, I plunge into my dearness Silence, so deep a well, I draw up words

Patricia Miller

Solitude is not silence, not alone, never lonely. Just one-on-one with your own most secret places— A rehearsal, perhaps, for the solitude of eternity.

But my solitude is full of sound and meaning. Racing tides, smashing breakers, water over a stone. A bird singing, wind rushing, frogs grumping. Harness bells jingling, is this our farm? Is this the quietest evening of the year?

The road goes ever on and on. The sounds of silence fall upon our ears, crash upon our hearts, swim among the id, the ego, the wispy soul. We wait, catch up our breath, are we really alone? Or just lost in solitude?

This two-headed hydra waves, weaves, and beckons. It’s quiet, it’s dark. I am alone; but no, my mind my heart and my head are with me in my solitude. We dance, the hydra and I, in the mists and miasmas of extended time.

Marsha

Solitude is not a luxury to me. It is a necessity that allows me to renew and refresh.

The whirlwind of life around me makes it so. The noise of TV, the hubbub of traffic and its stressful encounters with ever-increasing impatience to "get there" jangles a part of me that simply cannot tolerate it unless I make a daily space for myself where I can contemplate the real meaning of life listening to music or just sitting in my backyard with the sound of birdsong and perhaps the amusing antics of squirrels.

Getting in touch with nature in this way is vital to my well-being. If I don't have that much, I am grouchy and overwhelmed and much less able to paint or settle down to write. My solitude is something I have always treasured but sometimes had to assert myself to get. Not everyone in my life understands why I am not ready to engage in the same activities as they, but I simply can't tolerate a too busy schedule.

Solitude? I'll do whatever I must to have and preserve mine!

Cynthia White

LONELINESS: This word for me brings to mind how lonely I get. When my life is too—everything—and I haven't spent enough time in my garden listening to the hummingbirds and the bumblebees, my spirit and my soul screams for me to come awake from the nightmare I am living. My bicycle and I are renewing our long-term love affair, and I am delighting in the sound of the wind in the grass and through my hair beneath my helmet. When I realize how happy I am, I know I have been spending my solitude nurturing my loneliness for ME.

Lynn Kidder

March 29, 2006

Dear Heron Dance,

You sit there, wherever you are, and you write things that go out over the internet to people you'll never meet, not knowing if they'll read it, if it will mean much. (I suppose) But you make the effort to touch your truth. And because we're all connected in some way I can't point at, when you touch your truth, you twang mine. Somewhere under all the stuff, our truths meet.

I sometimes think we come into this life with specific things we need to learn, as well as gifts we're given to enjoy and share.

In this message you talked about allowing your soul to be nourished from within, from your own solitude, rather than looking to others to define you. That's my lesson. The Big One. I've been working on it for quite a while, making some headway. This particular "Pause for Beauty #127" arrived on a day when I most needed the reminder you provided—with such gentleness and clarity. You said it so well, and with such kindness and compassion. I must thank you.

Thank you.
Lynn Kidder

Don Donham

Merriam-Webster online says solitude is "The quality or state of being alone or remote from society." But I don't feel alone when I am remote from society. I listen to the Mother Earth, and don't tell anybody but sometimes I talk to her. What a lovely companion.

MOTHER EARTH'S VOICE

I hear her whispering As her children lie asleep. It's her breath upon the willows In a voice soft and deep. Sometimes I hear her singing On a breezy summer day. It's her breath upon the poplars In a voice bright and gay. There're times when she seems angry And she roars out in spite. It's her breath upon the treetops On a dark and stormy night. I hear her voice everywhere, The vibrations of her breath. It's the joyous sounds of living, And the stillness . . . that is death.

Kenneth "Tim" DuVall

At 76, I've discovered the unblemished joy of silence, that chance to shut off the cacophony of external babble that distracted me for so long. It smothered and muffled that singular voice that is mine alone and which I share only with my God.

Margaret Martin

SOLITUDE

I was born the third of triplets, so I have never felt "alone." A favorite family story is an answer my grandmother gave to my mother when she asked, "What are we going to do with 3 babies?"

"Why, we're going to love them and feed them just like they were one!"

I have had to grow into understanding "unity" as a mind coming to know itself — indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. "I am plural," as my brother wrote in a birthday poem. I am, we are all, infinitely sensory beings, and training my mind to open to thinking as a sense, with love, is thrilling, quiet, and fantastic. "Solitude" to me describes, in one way, the quietly intense energy of acknowledging our unity as human beings, with all else living, internally and externally.

Margaret James

FRIDAY

For today, no songs of separation.

How can I sing of Your absence, when You are everywhere I turn?

Mary Lee McClure

An 82-year-old female sharing some thoughts here. I have learned to love my solitude and treasure it for what it has become, a time to recognize the truths in the lessons I have been unwittingly, for the most part, learning along my way: how I have been so very blessed to have lived a very rich and varied life and how, although at times I was tempted to question why, when what seemed an insurmountable obstacle was facing me, I nevertheless fetched up from some place I barely was aware of, the knowledge and strength to climb over, walk around, or somehow transcend each one. In review, I suppose the lesson learned was that I could trust in myself and the mysterious "something" that seemed to take me by the hand to lead me safely and still whole through whatever trouble came along. One of my most treasured gifts in later life, in addition to my precious solitude, is a small talent for writing the Japanese-based tiny distillations of poetry called haiku in which the realization of the "oneness" of all life and all things crystallizes and falls into words.

open window—
all through the moon filled night
the mockingbird

Vera Gesse

A SCULPTURE IN A FOG . . .

It’s amazing how much you can discover being in solitude. I was walking in the woods alone . . . there wasn’t anybody around, and it was very quiet. Snow was falling to the ground, and it was foggy, too. Then I saw the trunk of a very old tree that was broken about seven feet above the ground. The trunk was hollow, and the front of the trunk was shorter than the back of it. I stopped and sadly looked on these remains of the tree that had a very long life. I was about to resume my walk when all of the sudden, I noticed two holes in the back of the trunk. I looked closer, and this old trunk reminded me an old, wise man who had a long, long life. It looked like a sculpture of the old man. The tree was gone, but it continued affect those who were passing by . . . it continued to affect people with this wonderful sculpture left behind.

How often in our lives we do not realize that we touch other people’s lives just by being there. And how often, when we are gone from this life, the affect is still alive . . . . We all leave our tracks in the world, sometimes without knowing it. We all affect the lives of others, not only during our lifetime, but even when we are gone. Never underestimate your life and your presence in this world, no matter how simple your life seems to you.

Michael S. Smith

THUMP

Twenty minutes before sunset. Alone.

I’m half asleep in my tent on Isle Royale, 10 miles by trail from the nearest person. It is 40 degrees, threatening rain, and the 25-mph, cold north wind makes me wonder if it is really May.

I awaken to a “thump,” and as I lie quietly, listening to the wind in the balsams and white spruces above me, I hear it again. I look outside but see nothing. A brief gust shakes my small tent, but it’s the wind, not a thump. One more time, and I’m going out to take a look. Something is out there.

Thump.

I bolt out of the tent. I still see nothing as I face the aspen shrubs and tall grasses behind my campsite. I then turn around towards the rough waters of Feldtmann Lake and into the cold wind. There, 12 feet away, separated from me only by air, is an adult timber wolf, Canis Lupus himself. His huge shoulders elevate his front end like a platform. He is absolutely magnificent and completely unafraid.

“Oh . . . My . . . God,” I say aloud. We stare at each other, his dark eyes boring holes in me, his ears erect. I’ve got my wish; seeing a wolf in the wild has been at the top of “The List” of things to see or do in my life. I’ve been given one of the greatest gifts possible: seeing something I’ve always wanted to see with total, unambiguous clarity.

Related Resources:

* Heron Dance Community
* A Pause for Beauty #58
* Into the Great Solitude - DVD

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