by Jill Schroder, Diamond Approach student in the Cascadia 2 group (Seattle, Washington, United States and Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada area)
Serene solitude supports…
sublime silky silence sustains…
I love the soft sibilance of these sounds as I bask in the afterglow of my annual camping trip with women friends.
I am not a solitude-seeking soul. I live in a city and love it—the bustle, the accessibility of so much, so easily. I am privileged to live on the edge, near water, forests, with an expansive view of sky and mountains. Still, it’s urban, the bang of waste-collecting trucks, the scream of sirens now and then. Commerce is just a block away. So when my dear women friends and I landed at our campsite in Strathcona Park on Vancouver Island, the change was profound. We cherished the big British Columbian rainforest trees around our tents, liked pumping water from a well, cooking together over a small camp stove, sharing our lives since our last year’s gathering. I began to relax, to sense more deeply, to slow down. Me!
But the park was not the final destination. We took a boat ride for over two hours to arrive at Yuquot on Nootka Island. And this is where I experienced how serene solitude supports—where I dropped into the nourishment and sustenance of sublime, silky, silence.
We had a cabin for cooking and our gear, but chose to pitch a tent on the beach. Some of my companions didn’t find it quiet, because we were on ocean’s edge. But for me, the gentle lapping of waves was soothing like nothing else, and was easily enfolded into my definition of silence. I loved falling asleep to the tide coming and going, steadily rolling the multitude of exquisite small rocks, which were a glistening wet wash in the daytime, and a gentle sweet rocky background to the silence of our four northern nights.
At home I spend a lot of time alone. I am not lonely, but neither am I in silence or tapping into the gifts of solitude. My high-rise neighbors are nearby, my husband (we’re both retired) is often in the next room. But mostly it’s my thoughts, my communicating and staying in touch, the computer, the phone, my lists and activities that typically keep me connected to the pulse, and out of touch with the support of solitude, the sustenance of silence.
So the contrast on Nootka Island was “rad.” We were almost entirely on our own—walking along the ocean, through old forests, marveling at the moss and rocks, sitting around our beach campfires at night, taking the time to watch a grandiose banana slug make its way across the path, swimming in the crystal lake, dipping into the warm Pacific ocean, simply being.
The small but numerous and pesky mosquitos and the smokey air, which rolled in on our second day, emanating from all the fires on the west coast, countered and contrasted our near-perfect time and place. Full disclosure: at times I was bored, itchy, dirty, and wished for my own bathroom and bed! It was heartening to notice how I was able to hold the “wishing it were different” together with gratitude for the forest, the ocean, and experience the peace of silence and solitude… the depth and the surface at the same time! Both/And. This is my path of metabolizing, of integration.
Thankfully, the deeper experiences persisted: serene solitude supports. My experiences transfer to my life in the city. Memories of silky silence support and sustain my soul—right now. As I write this, I allow myself to feel again the quieting that solitude offers, I am in touch with the silence, alone with only the sound of the clicking keys, the soft and welcome rain on the windows. Nourishing, restorative, surprising in subtlety and profundity. Right here, right now.