Moon Shell, who named you? Some intuitive woman I like to think. I shall you another name – Island shell. I cannot live forever on my island. But I can take you back to my desk in Connecticut. You will sit there and fasten your smooth circles winding inward to the tiny core, of the island I lived on for a few weeks. You will say to me solitude. You will remind me that I must try to be alone for part of each year, even a week or a few days; and for part of each day even an hour of a few minutes in order to keep my core, my centre, my island- quality. You will remind me that unless I keep the island- quality intact Somewhere within me, I will have little to give my husband, my children, my friends or the world at large. You will remind me that woman must be still as the axis of a wheel in the midst of her activities; that she must be the pioneer in achieving this stiffness, not only for her own salvation, but for the salvation of family life, of society, perhaps even of our civilisation.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Though it is true that no man is an island, it needs to be stressed that nevertheless there is deep within each of us an island-quality which is essential of our nature. The distinctive mark of the human person is a level of self-awareness which is unique to each individual. it is at the depths of this unique consciousness that we become aware of our own individuality, and the uniqueness of the Father’s greatest gift to us, ourselves. Indeed, the island-quality that we each have is an assertion of the importance of recognising our own uniqueness, and the need to dwell on it. It is at the deepest level of consciousness that we come to know what we really are, and to commune most intimately with the One who made us what we are, and maintains us in it.
This is a knowledge, an experience which we can only have alone. It needs to be found in a withdrawal into self in way in which no one else can accompany us. It has already been pointed out that it is of the nature of our going to the Father that we must journey within, like the germinating seed, seeking nourishment deep down before producing its shoot.
The solitude is not so much a withdrawal form, as with a withdrawal to. It is not an escape, but a surrender. In this moment of solitude, we give ourselves completely to the Father, focusing on the One who gives real meaning to our life. It is a return to a source, the very source of life, which revitalises, re-energies the whole of life. This solitude is not directed towards oneself. It is important for self, but it is part of the self to reach out to others. As we drink of this very source of our being, we draw nourishment not only for ourselves, and we cannot do that continually unless we renew ourselves at the very source of life which lies deep within us. Unless we have the capacity to be alone, we are not able to really be with others.
Life is necessarily full of activities and responsibilities which draw us out of ourselves and focus our attention on things outside of us. The process of normal human growth draws us more and more out of ourselves, and we may well have to take definite steps to foster the ability to withdraw within. In the beginning, the many necessary activities will make it difficult to withdraw to one’s deep self. Nevertheless, the capacity to do so can be, and must be, acquired. It means turning within briefly at first, and then for more extended periods, until we are able to do it at will. This solitude is not just an absence of people, a withdrawal from activity; it involves a conscious presence to oneself, a being with the Lord in his own realm, in his own mansion, in the depths of our heart. (Jn 14:23).
If we drink of solitude in physical terms, as being either with or absent from people, there is no room for degrees. We are either with others or not. The solitude we are speaking of here does not admit of degrees: it allows for growth. There can be an ever-growing awareness of ourselves to ourselves, and to the Lord whom we inevitably meet when we withdraw more completely into his unique dwelling place. This is why it is important at times to be alone here for longer periods, in order that we may grow in this solitude, in this presence to ourselves and to the Lord. There is a whole world of growth here, and it must be fostered. Growth here is essential for the unfolding of the unique Christian personality bestowed on each of us by the Father. This inner life is the seed germinating, and the deeper its radicle extends, the more nourishment it draws for its growth, and the more its shoot appears and grows. As we proceed on out journey to the Father, we must have this kind of solitude.
David Walker