A gift of old age. Or a curse.
To learn to take in hand,
and not to be subjected to.
To be ardently sought for.
allowing us to think,
move perhaps back into the past
which is the basis of all we do,
the past of things best forgotten,
or the foundation of the future.
Solitude opens the door
to thoughts one would hope
to keep at bay.
In solitude we become aware
of our bodies,
of the vagaries of our mind,
over which we have no control.
We become aware
that the end of the journey
is almost within sight.
Is it thanks to solitude
that when you take
your evening walk,
undistracted by useless conversation,
you suddenly notice what otherwise
you would have missed?
The shimmer on the cobblestones,
the orange-tinged sky,
a bird, just one, hopping on the wall?
Or the lights marking the paths to other villages
up high in the surrounding hills,
the clusters of lights, constellations,
telling you there are other souls out there?
The architect of all things
must have been in solitude
when the world and living creatures
Waiting too has its companion in solitude,
when one can lose
awareness of oneself
Alone with oneself,
one fears loneliness,
afraid of feeling alone
and being invisible
to the surrounding crowd.
Yet in solitude you are never alone.