Solitude, Silence & Synchronicity.

On the fear and benefits of being alone and still.

O solitude! If I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep, -
Nature's observatory - whence the dell,
It's flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavillion'd, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee, 
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd, 
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

by John Keats 1817

Before coming to the page today, I wandered around the garden, admiring the apple blossom and thinking about this piece. I knew I wanted to write about my recent solo trip to Samye Ling, about my fears of being alone, and of being silent, but I wasn’t sure of the title or how to pull it all together. Settling down to write and turning the computer on, Google informed me it was the anniversary of John Keats’ first published poem, ‘O Solitude’. Perfect synchronicity, I thought, running upstairs to get my mum’s copy of his poems - the one that had been taken from her poetry shelf after she died.

I have my dear friend Eli to thank for suggesting that I head off for a solo retreat at Kagyu Samye Ling Monastery and Tibetan Buddhist Centre, when I voiced that I wanted to do more things by myself.

Being impulsive, I went home as soon as Eli mooted the suggestion, booked my stay. Two nights, staying in my campervan on retreat at a Buddhist Monastery, meals provided, with invitations to join prayers and silent meditations with the monks and nuns. I knew that if I didn’t book it there and then, I’d bottle it. I then spent the next few weeks worrying. Would I be okay on my own? Would I manage the drive in my camper van? Would I be frightened on my own at night? The thought of going into the dining room terrified me, and as for joining in with meditation and prayers, my anxiety was through the roof!

Still, off I went, with a pile of books, my notebook, laptop, nature journal, paints and pens. Two days to do all these things in uninterrupted peace!

The drive here through the Borders of Scotland was nothing short of stunning, helped of course by sunshine and blue skies, but as I drove, and ‘the Zen Den’ tune washed over from Craig Charles’ Radio 6 show, I realised what I was scared of more than anything else. I was frightened that if I stopped the frenetic pace of life that kept everything neatly packed down and allowed my feelings to surface, my complicated grief over losing my Mum might cause a tsunami.

And so, all things considered, it was with a huge amount of trepidation that I walked the path from the car park, following signs to Reception.

The campervan space here at Samye Ling is alongside a river, and after a gentle supper of soup in the dining hall, served by monks (there was nothing to worry about), I fell asleep to the sound of running water. There was a slight moment of panic the night before, as I tried to lock the van door from the inside and the alarm went off. Not great at a silent retreat! I decided that there was no need to lock myself in. I was quite safe here, and I slept well.

I woke the next morning to birdsong, and one particular bird seemed to be calling above all the others. What was this? I opened up my phone and the Merlin Bird App helped me identify it as a song thrush. How beautiful its song! On opening the van door, I saw splashing down in the burn and, grabbing the binos, saw I was being treated to two otters frolicking in the water. What a morning! Nature turned up to the max.

The riverbank seemed to be calling me, and so I walked down there, took my notebook, pen and paints, and spent several hours drawing and sketching in the warm sun. Tibetan prayer flags fluttered in the breeze, while dippers bobbed up and down in the water, and all the time, the sound of fresh Scottish water tumbled over rocks. But I was still ‘doing’ and not ‘being’. Frustration took over when I tried to draw the Stupa, and I got annoyed with myself for spoiling a page in my nature journal. I had tried to draw big, filling the page, but it had gone wrong. When I return to nature journaling, I promised myself that I would keep it small and simple.

I put down my pen and brush, packed them away in my bag, and just sat.

For once, and possibly for the first time, I allowed myself to just be and let go of the pressure to produce. The day was hot, and I spent it all going from bench to bench, in the sun and then in the shade, allowing the colours, sights, and sounds to fill my soul. Amazing that a whole day passed doing nothing!

But was I doing nothing?

There was the option to join in with prayers and meditation, but I chose the garden and river instead. I had gone into the temple of evening prayers the evening before, but hadn’t stayed for long. Apart from not being able to sit on a cushion on the floor without my hips screaming at me, and worrying I was going to cough, I found that the temple triggered a lot of unresolved past trauma around places of worship. I left after ten minutes and wandered the grounds instead. Like Keats in his poem, I preferred nature’s observatory to being among the buildings.

However, there were no ‘murky buildings’ here: The Temple, Peace Garden, Stupas, and statues here at Samye Ling are amazing!

I returned to the river for my last hour here, and while everyone else was in the temple for the morning meditation session, I sat and felt the sun on my face, watched two mallards, bottoms up, heads down in the water, and then closed my eyes and breathed. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and to my absolute amazement, a hare crossed the path not two feet away from me. If you’ve read The Rewilding of Molly McFlynn or have been around for a while with my words, you’ll know that hares and I have a special connection, for we have hares visit our garden and leverets in our wild patch as I write. This large brown hare and I locked eyes for a fraction of a second, and then it ran off down the path. I gasped, and my heart beat a little faster in my chest. Was that you, Mum?

The board at the entrance to Samye Ling speaks of love, kindness and compassion. Before we have world peace, the board suggests, we need to find peace in our own hearts. Thanks to the solitude and peace here at Samye Ling, I have gone a little further in my journey of grief, in allowing Mum, like the hare, to walk away down the path. I have also learnt that it is okay to stop, to be quiet, and allow the thoughts to come.

I wonder, are you okay with being still, with doing ‘nothing’? Easier said than done when we have others who need our attention, busy lives, families, and jobs.

Is this a luxury you can’t afford? Or is it a luxury you cannot afford to miss?

Are you stuffing down pain by always being busy?

Are you scared to stop, and like me, frightened of what might come crashing down if you do?

We don’t all have the resources to take ourselves off ‘on retreat’, but can you carve out five minutes for yourself each day to just do nothing?

It’s a practice I intend to cultivate some more.

Thanks for reading.

Sue xx