solitude

when moments touch eternity

“A certain brother went to Abbot Moses in Scete and asked him for a good word. And the elder said to him: Go, sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.”

“Do not flee to solitude from the community. Find God first in the community, then He will lead you to solitude.”

Here are two quotes on solitude from Thomas Merton, a beloved monk and writer from the twentieth century. (Abbot Moses lived in the 4th century.) The first addresses the thirst for solitude as isolating oneself for communing with God. The second is a corrective from hastily going off on one’s own as a method of escaping others.

One can be alone and find solitude. One can be in a crowd and find solitude.

Solitude is not simply being alone. Solitude is being present. And as I write these things, I find I have little experience with true solitude. But there’s nowhere to start than with the beginning.

Humility must exist. Consider Psalm 131:1–2. “O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high; / I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. / But I have calmed and quieted my soul, / like a weaned child with its mother; / my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.”

I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother. I once reflected on something similar to this in a sermon.

“It was the evening of New Year’s Day. There was a pitter patter of shower outside. I decided to go for a walk; I wanted to hear what the rain would say to me. Upon stepping outside, I realized the droplets were being outvoted by pellets. A slushy crust was coalescing beneath my feet. That’s okay, since the ice is making its voice heard, I’ll lend an ear. So off I went into the night.

“Actually, I did not lend an ear. I was too busy thinking about my determination to listen to whatever precepts the precipitation presented. Is there a word for me to receive? It’s difficult to be aware if you’re trying to be aware that you are aware. You wind up only hearing yourself.

“In any event, it was a pleasant walk.”

There’s a concept originating from Buddhism, but I think it applies to everyone. It’s called “the monkey mind.” It refers to a sense of restlessness, thoughts bouncing from one thing to the other, constant chattering. It’s called “monkey mind” because it’s like monkeys swinging from one branch to another. One thought leads to another and another and another.

Whenever we enter silence, it is inevitable that thoughts will surface. “I need to do that today.” “What’s that dog barking at?” “I wish I could get that stupid song out of my head.” Thoughts will come and go, but the trick is to not hold on to them. Let them pass through.

If I can be excused for one more indulgence, I have another story to tell.

“At times in life — and this is true more so for some than others — we have moments that touch eternity. Time stands still, or so it seems. When I was fourteen, I had such an experience on a late afternoon while sitting in a chair in our living room, while my father was sitting over on the sofa. On this particular afternoon, my dad was reading one of my comic books.

“It was one of those moments when streaming bright shafts of sunlight draw the curtain on specks of dust.

“Each time my dad flipped a page, I heard the rustle of the paper as it slipped through his fingers. There was just enough friction to make an insistent hush… — shhhift — — shhhift —

“It was 30 seconds (or was it 30 minutes?) between — shhhift — and — shhhift — In real time the whole experience lasted 15, maybe 20, minutes. But could I call it a taste of the eternal? I didn’t want it to end.”

Clearly, there isn’t any one single way to experience solitude.

One can sense God in the silence of a sanctuary… walking through a deep, dark forest… sitting next to a gently flowing stream… bathing oneself in music… being still…

I would like to close with words from Dag Hammarskjöld, UN Secretary General from 1953 to 1961.

“In a dream I walked with God through the deep places of creation; past walls that receded and gates that opened, through hall after hall of silence, darkness and refreshment —

the dwelling place of souls acquainted with light and warmth — until, around me, was an infinity into which we all flowed together and lived anew,

like the rings made by raindrops falling upon wide expanses of calm dark waters.”

The Wisdom of the Desert (New York: New Directions, 1960), Kindle edition, Chapter 2, section 13, paragraph 1.

Thoughts in Solitude (New York: Farrar, Strauss, and Giroux, 1958), Kindle edition, Chapter 2, section 15, paragraph 12.

Dag Hammarskjöld, trans. Leif Sjöberg and W. H. Auden, Markings (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1964), 118.