Silence, solitude and simplicity—it depends on the point of view. Take my husband’s fish nook. In silence and solitude he watches life come and go in this fifteen gallon fish tank that he found at the dump; and yet, keeping the tank clean and healthy for the fish is not a simple task. Now, as far as the fish are concerned, their life seems pretty simple as they swim about in silence. On the other hand, it doesn’t appear that they get much solitude, does it?
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Sunset at the cottage. I'll be there tomorrow. Yesterday at the memorial service of a dear church friend it became clear to me (once again) that we don’t experience silence without conversation, solitude without community, nor simplicity without complexity. Although conversation was rich as people shared stories of Earl’s fulfilling life as a law librarian, his essence was refined to a few simple words—mentor, loyal friend, family man. And in spite of gathering in community, each of us was also there in our own solitary space, absorbing the gifts that this generous man had given us. This is NOT a photo of my kitchen, but it could be. Let me be honest. The cottage offers me a unique opportunity to experience the 3S’s--one that can’t be repeated at home. Take today, for example. What could I possibly have done for two hours in the kitchen this evening when I got home? You know how it goes--- I made brownies, washed lettuce and made a simple salad, heated up a casserole, took twenty minutes and ate supper with my husband, washed the dishes (he did the plates and silverware), scrubbed a few pots and pans, cut the brownies and put them on a platter, threw in a load of laundry and kept checking to be sure the pipes hadn’t frozen.... Whew, I’m exhausted just writing about it, and I’m aware that I have more possible free time than many of you reading this blog. How do we get some “cabin time" in the midst of our busy lives? A friend has decided to take one day a week, which she envisions as her "cabin day” from the moment she wakes up until she turns out the light at night. This friend works at home as a free lance editor and although she can manage her own time, she often feels that she never leaves the office. “Just making this decisions gives me a feeling of freedom. And I don’t feel as jealous of your cabin by the sea,” she tells me. I thought today was going to be all about shoveling, but I went out this morning and 45 minutes later my car is good to go. It was simple. But last night life become complex for me. Someone parked at the end of the driveway, which would have been just fine except it meant that I couldn’t get plowed, and that wasn’t fine. The police told me that since the car was registered out state and they had no way of contacting the owner, I could get it towed (at the owner’s expense). But that didn’t feel like a good karmic choice. While the friendly policeman and I were chatting by the side of the road, my equally friendly neighbor came out and voila, the car belonged to a visitor of hers. He moved the car, the plow came and I slept peacefully and am living happily ever after. I thought how pleased Eckhart Tolle would be that I had stayed in the Now. “So why all the shoveling?” you ask. Plows plow driveways and plow in cars. That’s the plow culture around here. I don’t need my car today. I’m going to walk on the beach. Taken from the deck at 8:30. The visibility from the deck this morning extends as far the waves breaking and smacking against the rocks. (Oh, I just saw a lone gull flying, which may be the only sign of life I see all day.) I usually consider that a winter storm makes my life complicated. There is so much to deal with—shoveling, changing plans, worrying that I can’t get out--you know how it is. But as I sit here today I’m thinking that inclement weather makes my life simple. There is simply nothing I can do about it, other than breathe in its awesomeness. 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. “Pretending that each act, each event, each encounter, each occurrence could be the last makes nothing too trivial to put off.” When I read these words by Helen Ng, a woman interviewed by Lionel Fisher in “Celebrating Time Alone,” I was startled. They weren’t morbid nor did they bring up thoughts about dying or being with the dying. I thought of Zen mindfulness, of Tolle’s being in the Now, of my father’s use of the phrase carpe diem. Helen Ng has no idea that her simple words have done more to keep me observing the present moment than any others I have read. Eckhart Tolle wrote an entire book about it, and here is Helen saying it all in one sentence. Take string beans, for example. I don’t like them at all, but I do prepare them for the family, which I did last week. There I stood at the sink, washing the beans, appreciating their greenness as they danced sensually through my fingers. “Um, how luscious they look and feel… ah, but I don’t have to eat them.” If green beans don’t do anything for you, what about sushi? At my favorite sushi bar last week it took me twice as long to eat my lunch because I was I was enjoying my usual combo of salmon and avocado, and spicy eel and avocado as if each piece was my last. The experience even has me peeking into the future, anticipating my next visit. “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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