Too much alone

"Too much alone" - phrase borrowed from Ezra Pound, Cathay

There are several sadnesses which I cling to; like the sadness of departing from a dearly loved friend (because it means that I am loved); or the altruistic sadness I feel when I see poverty and homelessness (because it means that I am not entirely selfish); or the existential sadness that drives me to write (because it leads to the pleasure of creative expression).

There are several sadnesses which I cling to. And loneliness is not one of them.

Suddenly, I find I am afraid of solitude.

I used to seek it out so desperately, rejoicing in that feeling of being utterly alone. It’s funny, the connotations of those two words: solitude and loneliness. Don’t they mean the same thing? But not at all… Solitude is sought out. Loneliness is forced upon unsuspecting victims. Lately, I’ve been so afraid of being alone. When I feel that loneliness creeping up on me, I immediately and desperately try to fill it with people. And then I feel needy, which honestly shouldn’t be such a bad thing. People need each other. Why can’t we just admit it? And don’t we love to feel needed? Maybe not everyone is like that, but that’s how I am. My friends, please don’t be afraid to need me!

Anyway, that wasn’t supposed to be my point. My point is this: I need to see solitude as a good thing again. Not in the way that a Dickinson-esque reclusiveness can foster the morose pleasure of self-inflicted pain. Nope. I’ve done that. I’m referring to the solitude of the Mountain and the English countryside and the ocean. The solitude of today, where I sit cross-legged on a log on the beach of Bellingham Bay, with the sun and the breeze, and nowhere to be. This is the solitude in which I am forced to see God, because there is nothing else in the way.

So excuse me while I revel in my newfound (or refound) bliss…