It seems that if people are secure in themselves, if they are not escaping, but are searching for something deeper that what seems available out in the world, they are able enter solitude for an extended period of time and return whole. I think this is so true. At it’s best, solitude is not a selfish act. It is a way to restore ourselves so we can live in the world in more a loving, contributing way.
When Tenzin Palmo ended her thirteen year retreat in a cave in the Himalayas, people were intrigued that she was able to reenter society with ease, without being ‘mad’ or her mind slightly deranged. Being cut off from all human contact for such an extended period of time had not change the way she interacted with others in any negative way. In fact, she was more compassionate. Maybe what made the difference was that Tenzin Palmo was searching for something, not retreating from something. She became a hermit because she wanted to participate in intense Buddhist meditation, not because she need to avoid a difficult life situation or escape her own demons.
It seems that if people are secure in themselves, if they are not escaping, but are searching for something deeper that what seems available out in the world, they are able enter solitude for an extended period of time and return whole. I think this is so true. At it’s best, solitude is not a selfish act. It is a way to restore ourselves so we can live in the world in more a loving, contributing way.
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Looking out at our yard this morning, it is pretty obvious that if you have a lot of stuff, you have a lot of clutter, and if you have a lot of clutter, you have a lot to clean up. That’s the way it is at Camp Fisher. I’m not complaining. It has to be that way. The grandkids are immersed in craft projects and swimming, so they need supplies and towels. The grownups are immersed in conversing and relaxing, so they need chairs and books. This evening we will order pizza so the camp cook (me) can get the kitchen in order. This evening, the head counselor (my husband) will rally young and old to join his instant lawn and cleaning service. Tomorrow we will wake up ready for the July 4th festivities—road race, lunch, parade, fun and games, and a cookout. Family and friends will think they have entered a movie set. But of course it won’t stay that way, which is fine with us. Camp works best when there is a lot of stuff around. It’s simply the only way to have a good 4th. Happy 4th to all of you. My cottage near the sea Yesterday I mentioned that I might write about my fantasy of living on one of the “small islands”, namely Eigg. Well, truth be told, I may fantasize about living in a cottage by the sea, but very quickly reality gets the better of me when I think about actually living on a remote island. By remote I mean any island where I’d have to depend on a ferry to get there (and equally important, out of there). The romantic dream of growing my own food, milking my own cow, sheering my own sheep, not to mention weaving and spinning, so I can knit my own sweaters, doesn’t last long; believe me, I wake up suddenly with a jolt. I might like to participate in some of those tasks, well, some of the time, but I’m more of a sit-around kind of gal these days. Simplicity for me isn’t returning to the “simple” life on the croft, but simplifying what I have and what I have to do so I can lead my current ideal of a simple life. On the other hand, I like knowing about the island and croft life of people through the years in Scotland. At the moment I’m reading “Seal Morning”, the autobiographical story of Rowena Farre, who from age ten to sixteen lived with her aunt in croft in Sunderland—in the mountains but not near the sea. It’s a lovely tale of their every day life there, and of their experiences with their many pets, which include a rat, two otters, a dog, and various birds and other animals that came and went during the years, And of course there was Lora, the seal. I say lovely, but in truth it was an every day tough life-and-death existence. So, here I am, sitting in my cottage near the sea on my last day on Skye, with plenty of time to write or do whatever I want, asking myself what it is that draws me to this cottage life. Friends and strangers, intrigued and maybe mystified by my desire to find cottages near and by the sea, may ask me what I learned or discovered. I could offer a detailed list, and maybe I’ll share some of them another time; but for now, suffice to say that I hear God in the silence, solitude, and simplicity, and that, I believe, is what we humans are looking for, in our own particular way. Tomorrow I’m off to Oban and then to Iona for four nights. A week from today I’ll back in my cozy cottage at home. Just days before I heard that the cottage would be mine for another winter, I received a picture book from a friend who reviews children’s books. “One Wish” by Francis Wolfe, is the whimsical story of a girl who wishes on a star for a cottage-by-the-sea. The illustrations brought back memories of the summer my family rented a house on the Connecticut shore when I was twelve, and of course the entire book reminded me of my current CBTS. Am I the young girl sitting on the porch, playing in the sand, and watching the gulls? Or am I the gray haired woman on the last page remembering how her wish came true? I think I am both. I live a lot in my imagination, especially during my favorite ages between 9 and 13th. Why would I ever want to grow up? And with my mom still alive, how can I? I think I told you that my granddaughter and I toured the Emily Dickinson Homestead the other day. Definitely worth a visit when you’re in the Amherst, MA area. We heard how Emily was surrounded by the intellectual and social comings and goings of the area during her 56 years (1830-1886). By all accounts an introvert, it seems that Emily viewed much of the action from her bedroom widow; we also know that she spent much of her time there writing poems. Those of us who sometimes like to be alone can resonate with how at times Emily may have felt. We may not be the recluse that she was, but we have myriad social and public happenings in our lives that can keep us from times of desired solitude. So, like Emily, we need our own special room, from which to view the world, and be our creative selves. Recently, while perusing the stacks at my local library, I came across, “The Solitude of Thomas Cave,” by Georgina Harding. (Of course it was the title, that caught my attention.) The novel, set in 1616 during the early whaling expeditions around Greenland, is a rather haunting story of Thomas Cave, who on a shipmate’s wager that no man can survive the winter there alone, remains behind and waits for the whaling ship to return—which it does. The story has many flashbacks and is held together by a narrator, as well as by Cave’s journal entries and the narration of Thomas Goodlad, a young sailor, who befriends Cave on those voyages and who keeps in touch with him afterwards as Cave wanders around, finally settling alone on the English coast. It struck me that after spending that winter just trying to survive, Cave never talks about his experiences nor his accompanying thoughts or feelings. Although it is evident that his relationship with God has deepened, it, too, is beyond verbal expression. And yet God appears in some quiet, subtle way as miracles are performed. By Cave? By God? Part of the mystery. All of us longing for solitude find ways to share parts of our search. We talk, take pictures, do art, write, and even blog, and like Thomas Cave we show by example. So many ways. But even with all these words and ways, we know that it is not all to be exposed. We solitudes live in our own secret garden, which we cherish as part of the mystery. Oh dear, this sun room is getting cluttered. What is going on here? I haven’t put any “sitters” or “hangers” back after clearing out for the new windows, but, oh, stuff is piling up-- newspapers, books, a coffee cup, some laundry, you know, the typical accumulation of daily living. Not to worry, it will just take a minute to tidy up. I’m reminded of the following story retold by Joan Chittister. The Hasidim tell the story of the visitor who went to see a very famous rabbi and was shocked at the sparsity, the bareness, the emptiness of his little one-room house. “Why don’t you have any furniture?” the visitor asked. “Why don’t you?” the rabbi said. “Well, because I’m only passing through,” the visitor said. “Well, so am I,” the rabbi answered. I want the room to look like we’re just passing through. The gray exuded warmth and calm. If you live in the Boston area, I urge you to take a field trip to the Museum of Fine Arts in the next month or so and explore The Art of the Americas Wing. (Next best would be go on line on mfa.org.) I went yesterday with a group of long-time friends, one of whom organized a tour of the new wing given by a exceptional docent, who generously shared her love and knowledge of the MFA. As I sit in silence reflecting on the day, I’m am aware that the day wasn’t silent or simple, nor was I in solitude. And yet, the entire experience offered a balance to my time at the cottage when I sit in silence, solitude and simplicity. We conversed as friends do, and yet we were calm and thoughtful. Although we shared a common experience, we each absorbed it in our special solitary place. Learning about the space, (how to get from floor to floor, what was displayed where and why) at first seemed extremely complicated. And yet there was an immense order to the entire new wing and it’s relationship with the rest of the museum. I don’t want to live at the cottage all the time, and I certainly am grateful for situations when threads of silence and conversation, solitude and community, and simplicity and complexity weave a common cloth. Yesterday was one of those days. “Well, just remember, when you’re not here I can eat whenever I want to.” That was my husband's comment upon reading my 1/4/11 blog. We had a good chuckle about it but it sure got me thinking about how self-involved I can be about my solitude. The people we live and work with, the people in our larger social network are affected by any changes we make in regard to the 3S’s. Silence, solitude and simplicity feel like something is being taken away, which we are apt to think of as negative. But as my husband indicated, he is enjoying his own 3S’s while I am at the cottage working on mine. It’s worth stepping outside myself and looking at what the other people in my personal circle might be needing; silence: maybe they don’t want to hear my incessant chatter; solitude: perhaps they wish for a room of their own; simplicity: possibly they would relish simple weekend plans, or no plans at all. I don’t have a monopoly on the 3S’s. I have to remember that everyone wants a cottage by the sea--or it just might be that they are longing for a cabin in the mountains. If you’re interested in daily routines, here’s a typical day for me at the cottage. Out of bed between 5 and 5:30, turn on the coffee, dress warmly and sit on the deck, just looking. No, no, no, I’m not outside, I just call the living room the deck. At this time of year it is totally dark as I watch the morning twilight and then the sunrise. I do some meditative readings, write in my journal, sit and watch, and pray. Email time is relegated to about an hour in the morning and again at 5 pm, and a quick check at 8:30 before bed at 9. Other than working on the blog, I try not to correspond with people during day. Although I follow a normal meal routine of breakfast lunch and dinner, by 9 my time commitments are over. The day is mine; the magic begins. I nap, read, pray, sit and look at the ocean, write, walk, work on a jigsaw puzzle, and perhaps cook, but I have no idea when these will happen. One moment I am sitting and watching, the next second I am putting on my shoes for a walk. After finishing breakfast I might find myself going to the chaise lounge for a nap. How did that happen? When I am at the cottage I never have to plan a schedule with anyone else. I never have to ask, “What time do you want to eat tonight?” or, “What time shall we meet for coffee? Now, these are perfectly sensible when living in community, but it’s just freeing to have some days living alone, when no one knows what I’m doing, or where I am. If it is your heart’s desire, I hope you can create your own cottage-by- the-sea day. Remember this one? “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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