Solitude

“Solitude is a glade close-pressed by trees – great thick clouds of trees, leaf-rippled by the warm air.  It is the hum of summer insects, the slow pendulum swing of a silk-held caterpillar, the beckoning of a fern frond.  And a deer in the dappled green shadows, eyes half closed and jaws moving at the cud, ears turning to catch the hushed whispers of warning from the wood.  True solitude is not a loneliness.  It is a great oneness.  One with everything: the cool grass, the deer, the glade, the wood, the countryside; this thin envelope of gas which gives our world life; the planet, the galaxy, the universe.  It is not a loss, but a gift of wholeness.  A wholeness with everything: body, spirit, mind, and the whole level of attention.  A wholeness in the one moment of time, poised in eternity.”

The Shining Levels
John Wyatt

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