Saying For Today: By centering somewhere, a specific space, we come to see the Center everywhere.
A Shore at Sunset
Old Orchard Beach, Maine
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Solitude, Latin solitudo, "loneliness, a being alone; lonely place, desert, wilderness," from solus "alone."
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Jesus made a habit of slipping away into desert places alone to pray.
*Gospel of Luke 5.16
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For Jesus, the "desert place" matched the landscape. Our "desert place" may be a garden, a park, a chair on the porch, a meditation cushion, ...
Jesus habitually prayed in apart places; he did not go there only to relax or get away from others. Meditation is not principally for stress relief or inner peace - these are byproducts.
Often, meditation may be disturbing rather than peaceful and relaxing. Like Jesus, we pray and meditate through varied internal weather conditions, some pleasant, some not. Habitually engaging in solitude is a way of practicing staying rather than running for fairer weather. We learn in the running that we cannot escape. In staying, welcoming what we are feeling in the present moment, we learn compassion for ourselves, gentling, and learning to practice an inner smile. Without this basic, innate warmth, we are likely to avoid solitude.
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Solitude allowed Jesus' work and prayer - the inner and outer - to alternate in mutual dependence. That is true, for solitude apart nurtures an inner quiet that remains within the self when among others. Likewise, with us... aloneness is shared as a manifestation of our total self. Solitude, through the time apart, becomes more than being apart as to place. Solitude becomes a quality of presence. Yet, we do not nurture this inner quiet and aloneness, a solitude that is communion with all Nature, without regular times in physical seclusion. Consequently, to deepen our connection with others, we set aside times to be without them.
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In my youth, persons of my religious upbringing often referred to prayerful solitude as having their quiet time. This time was usually in the morning, for many considered to begin the day without this devotional time was to begin it wrongly. One's quiet time principally included reading the Scripture and spoken prayer. Quiet listening and silent prayer were not taught. One needed this aloneness and its influence on the whole day.
My commitment to the importance of quiet time is exemplified in a morning at a hotel. The family had taken a trip and stayed overnight at the hotel. My father was a man to get up and get on the road when on a trip. He got up, got dressed, and waited for us to get ready to leave. I - now in my 30s - was vowed - one of the vows being solitude - and valued even more than before this time to begin the day. My dad got quite upset by my taking my Bible, a devotional book, and going alone to sit in a chair elsewhere in the hotel. My mother, herself a contemplative soul, defended my right to this time alone. I did not hurry but relaxed, as on other mornings, and enjoyed the reading and silence. Upon returning to the family, no one spoke of this. We departed the room and began driving homeward.
As with taking the time for solitude at the hotel, you choose for yourself to honor your need for sacred solitude. You owe no one an apology for this anymore than for breathing or eating. You do not wait for others to encourage you to engage in the practice of solitude or to affirm you for doing it.
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Now, on this same note of choosing to honor your need for solitude, we can inquire as to an objection to it: "But what if I don't have time?" You do have the time. Your responsibility is to find a place, not the time. We all have the same allotted time. What we do with time is not a matter of having or not having time but of what we prioritize. When a person feels the need enough for mindfulness apart from others, they will do it. We decide not to give ourselves excuses for neglecting such nurturing aloneness.
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In solitude, we meet a paradox. I am alone but not alone. The Greek philosopher, Plotinus, concluding his Enneads, writes of "the flight of the alone to the Alone." We are never alone, for we live in and with the Real. Yet, we realize this through relatively marking space away. By centering somewhere, a specific space, we come to see the Center everywhere.
Buddhism highlighted for me, too, that when alone, I can acknowledge everyone, past, present, and future, is present. We are empty of a self, meaning no isolated, self-contained person exists. We co-arise, or are interbeing, with all. In aloneness, we discover communion with all beings, not merely as a grand idea but a lived reality, a deeply known verity.
We may sense more of this interbeing, or holy communion, in solitude than when among others. We intend the communion we know in silence, apart from others, to enhance our sense of connection when with others. After over thirty years of practicing solitude, this has been my experience. I have learned, therefore, that one is not being self-centered by frequent solitude; instead, one is practicing being with all at a depth more true than appearances. Solitude reduces our attachment to others, aiding us deeply to feel our need for others. Accordingly, we become more of a presence of welcome rather than a person grasping for attention. The deeper communion allows us to enjoy simply being among others without having to be a star on the stage.
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Prayerful solitude inspires us; work is an aspiration. If you hold your breath in, you die. If you refuse to breathe in, you die. The spiritual life relies on a rhythm of inspiration and expiration: solitude, togetherness; prayer, service; work, rest; silence, speech; stillness, movement. The quantity of these complementary aspects can differ over time and will be based partly on the sense of inner calling. Regardless, for all, solitude and togetherness are essential to spiritual well-being.
What of this prayerful? When Jesus went alone to pray, does that mean he said prayers or spoke prayer? Prayer was and is so much more than speaking prayer, though it included and still does worded prayer. Prayerfulness is a quality of openness, worship, and communion. Prayer in solitude is more about wakefulness and receptivity than saying something. There is no reason to assume Jesus was saying prayers or praying prayers all the time when praying alone.
One can question if saying a prayer is prayer, if it does not arise from a spirit of inner prayerfulness. Solitude cultivates the spirit of prayer, while such a spirit sustains the viability of solitude. So, through reverent presence, solitude does not become a mere empty, arid space. Solitude is not about absence but presence. Solitude is not about isolation but communion. Apart from prayerfulness, one is unlikely to continue to practice solitude - it will become unbearable.
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Solitude may be difficult for many primarily due to the widespread obsession with usefulness. Even in religious groups, one will likely find little support for solitude as an intentional way of life. Religious groups tend to manifest the same grasping for usefulness apparent in the larger society. In religion and culture, efficiency in action is esteemed as more important than depth in spirit - in both, depth in spirit is usually not even recognized.
Now, what of uselessness that is useful? I share a Taoist story on the right view of holy uselessness...
A carpenter and his apprentice were walking through a large forest. They came upon a tall, huge, gnarled, old, and beautiful oak tree. The carpenter asked his apprentice, "Do you know why this tree is so tall, huge, gnarled, old, and beautiful?" The apprentice replied, " "No. Why?" "Well," the carpenter answered, "it is useless. If it had been useful, it would have been cut long ago and made into tables and chairs, but because it is useless, it could grow so tall and beautiful that you can sit in its shade and relax."
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The Christian contemplative, Henri Nouwen, in Out of Solitude, speaks to how being useless, in contemporary terms, is useful. Nouwen writes, "In solitude we become aware that our worth is not the same as our usefulness." For example, a tree serves a purpose by being a tree. A tree is worthy without being used to make another object. If a tree is alone and never seen by anyone, it, in being the tree it is, serves its created purpose. A tree is useful in being itself.
We learn we do not have to do anything to be a being of inestimable worth. Solitude reminds us we are human beings, not human doers. Rather, constant doing whittles away at our humanness. And, if we seek to find worth in what we do for others, we begin using others to support our grasping for self-esteem, bolstering a fragile sense of self. Doing a lot of good for others can be as self-centered as refusing to do them well.
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I know I am no one and nothing when in solitude. Here, I am not present to impress or please anyone. Here, I learn that my worth arises from being from and in the Sacred, not what I can do for the Sacred. No one is with me in solitude to compliment or tell me I am okay or special or needed. In solitude, I am that I am. Solitude says, "Rest in just this."
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Being with just this, we learn to see what is before us with new eyes, the eyes of the heart. Richard Rohr, in Just This, writes, "You cannot know something spiritually by saying it is a not-that; you can only know it by meeting it in its precise and irreplaceable thisness and honoring it there." In solitude, appreciating and celebrating your own particular distinctiveness as given to this world, you learn to see and appreciate other created things in the same way; this means you no longer esteem anything based first on what it offers, but what it is in itself as embodying and mirroring the Sacred.
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Last, in solitude, we can listen to the inner Voice, apart from all the other voices that can drown out that Voice. When offered a job as a counselor and an opportunity to move to another state to serve as pastor of a church, I chose solitude to discern the way. Upon receiving my Masters in counseling, I had planned not to return to serving as a pastor. Yet, my heart was divided, and in confusion, I went to walk a labyrinth I had walked several times prior. Before beginning, I stood at the entrance, said a prayer for guidance, and began walking quietly and slowly. In this prayerful walk, a message arose: "In which direction do you feel joy?" Standing still, I knew thinking of moving to serve the church was when joy arose. Within a few weeks, I had moved and enjoyed six years at the church. Solitude opens an inner spaciousness from which we can listen unhindered by the noises and voices about us daily.
*Use of photography is allowed accompanied by credit given to Brian K. Wilcox and notation of title and place of the photograph.
*Brian's book, An Ache for Union: Poems on Oneness with God through Love, can be ordered through major online booksellers or the publisher AuthorHouse.
