For the first time in ten months I sit alone. Ten months snatching solitude for brief moments. Then suddenly I found myself with days of quiet. A little awkward at first, fear flirting around until I slipped into a familiar rhythm. When the creek of the stairs would wake me, I’d wander through shadows broken by windows of moonlight. A dark expanse of grass outside. The brush of my feet against the hardwood floor. A whispered scent of jacaranda blossoms.

For almost everyone I know, the company of people is the thing. The thing that makes the party, the church supper, the game. For some people those are an escape from pain, but many seem to genuinely love the group experience. The more the merrier. The more, and more, the merrier. To be alone, to want to be alone, is at best arrogant and at worst pathological. In the news, the serial murderer is always described as a loner, a hermit. The bustle of the family, the children, the house, the buying of more stuff, is the way of things in our culture. Yes, God is there too, but surely it is difficult to hear that still soft voice above the din?

Sometimes the gathering of friends does bring me something intimate, especially when we’re singing, making a joyful noise. But still, I yearn for total silence. Not the easy chit chat of needing to come down from the rush, but a solitude where I can feel God closely, a warm blanket of spirit. A quiet so solid that I can hear my cat’s paws wander across the carpet in the dark. It is in these concealed spaces that God finds me, and blesses me with peace.

In solitude an elemental rhythm asserts itself. A knowledge that there is no other about, other than spirit. No need for politeness or respect for other’s space or time or needs. There is only me and my work, cooking, writing, sometimes being. I listen to music, letting it wash through me, a stream of cool water. There is a focus that comes only when I am one with spirit, one with myself.

If I had it all the time, in a little cabin - would it be the same? Would my heart grow fuller with spirit, and return it to those in need? Or would I become lost in the ease of not having to care what anyone felt or thought? I don’t know; maybe God does. Maybe, God Does.