Solitude and Silence

Almost 2 months since my last post and much has transpired.  From the surface of things, you'd not believe that all I want to do is write.  What you don't see, because I don't like to admit it, is how crazily perfectionistic and critical I am of myself, and how those particular traits keep me hopelessly stuck.  But here I am, vowing to write and publish anyway - despite the possibility that some people could read 3 words of what I've written and throw up all over them.  I am told that if I am motivated to write it, there are people who will want and need to read it.

So here we go....

After wonderfully heart-warming visits from my sister and parents, life has settled down. The garden is planted, the sewing room is ready and waiting, the kitchen is as organized for cooking as it's going to be, the fix-it type projects around the house are complete, closets and cabinets are cleared,  my health is once again on a path of improvement after a major setback, and I am increasingly comfortable with where I live - having reached a new level of acceptance of the apparent fact that these are not my people and I must drive 45 minutes or more to connect with like-minded folks. I am, of course, completely open to meeting like-minded folks out here, and there are still things I can try to do just that.  It feels good, however, to not be constantly online frantically looking for a new close-in place to live, even though I've had to budget an extra $200 a month for gas in order to maintain my sanity. 

That's okay.  The solitude is beginning to feel blissful again, like it did when I first moved to the country almost 2 years ago.  Since I am always where I am supposed to be, I can just relax into the present moment and simply be where I am. Sounds simplistic and oh so elementary on the evolutionary scale of Consciousness.  But there it is. The solitude and silence has put a spotlight on how incredibly restless I am and always have been - either jumping ahead to imagine, strategize and plan a fantasy future, or lamenting the past and all the things I shoulda, coulda  woulda done if only.  And of course with restlessness comes a complete lack of gratitude and acceptance of what is.  Nothing is ever enough.  Ever.  How can one relax and enjoy life with that type of mental tyranny running 24/7?  Impossible. 

I now know from the Internal Family Systems model of therapy that this restless part is trying to protect me from a deep well of hurt and pain experienced as a child.   This very busy protector, as well as other protectors, are just doing their jobs, even though it results in less than ideal consequences. Needless to say, it is crystal clear that part of my job right now, dare I say the most important, is to heal what is being protected. Without this healing, there will be no trusting or following any bliss anytime, despite my most heroic efforts.  And since I am always where I am suppose to be, there is no better way to do this deep healing work than living without distractions and social obligations.  In other words, in solitude and silence. 

So thank you dear, adorable, remote country cottage for providing the exact environment I need to heal on all levels - physical, emotional, mental, spiritual and creative.

I want to leave you with a poem by David Whyte that has stayed with me since first hearing it years ago. I am struck that, as much as I don't want to still be in the dark and alone phase of this major life transition, that is indeed where I still am.  This poem gives me great comfort and hope.  May it do the same for you.
 

When your eyes are tired, the world is tired also.

When your vision is gone, no part of the world can find you.

It’s time to go into the dark where the night has eyes to recognize its own.

There you can be sure you are not beyond love.

The dark will be your home tonight.  The night will give you a horizon further than you can see.

You must learn one thing.  The world was made to be free in.

Give up all the other worlds except the one to which you belong.

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to find that

anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you.

~David Whyte