Solitude has been puzzling to me. For me it has been a tricky affair. I value my ability to descend into a region of solitude. But the absolute immersion of Anchorites in solitude has actually seemed quite distant from the human condition. We are by nature connected, and a denial of that connection in total solitude seems misguided.
Solitude for me offers me an experience of having no distractions. I cultivate the ability to let go of all sensory experiences and, free of of engaging thoughts, descend into the darkness of an endless fall. I take this brief plunge into solitude many times a day. I relish this quick experience of solitude. In a strange way, it opens me to experience an immense realm of connection.
Tuesday, I found myself standing on the light rail platform at fifth and Nicollet, waiting for the train. I was typically alone in isolation. I notice an older couple standing quietly not far from me with their hands on green luggage. They are likely waiting for the blue line to take them to the airport. I decide to break our solutude that we stand in and soon, for several minutes, we are sharing thoughts about going to school for free when you are older. The train arrives, and I am aware that we remain somehow connected as they head off to the airport.
I know that I dwell in my own solitude. But I also know that we have always been connected, being part of this vast intertweined universe, even while we stand apart on the LRT platform on a cold December day. For a few minutes, we allowed ourselves to eperience that connectedness. We allowed ourselves to fall into part of the loving energy we each carry in our apparent solitude.
That we are alone is a great deception. I defy the belief that we are alone every time I hug someone. I am not alone, you are not alone. None of us lives in a solitude that must remain impenetrable. Still I am convinced that my being comfortable in solitude opens me up to a generous invitation for others to experience connection with me.
I am not afraid when I lose myself in the solitude of nothingness. Losing myself in a loving connection on the LRT platform or a lingering hug is both appealing and natural for me.
In a strange paradox, being able to enter solitude with ease allows me to enter connection with an equal degree of ease. It is my familiar notion of “both / and” that colors so many of my experiences. I think the Anchorites only practiced living part of the paradox. They practiced how to look inside the window, but not outside it.
I like and embrace my solitude. And I have the same zeal about experiencing deep connection.