I am sitting alone, reading. Bill is out at a council meeting. This time, though, I approach aloneness differently. What if I read with God? What does that mean? How to do it? It is not sitting on the knee of a personal God! To me, it means relaxing into a larger consciousness that holds both me, the writer and his characters, a larger, compassionate whole.
So, instead of an emptiness that I am filling – pleasantly, but with a feeling of yawning space – this time I am cradled. The book, a non-fiction account of the history of creativity, comes across differently. I can feel the author talking to me but this time without any barriers. No feeling of separation, but a oneness: his mind – my mind: both one, part of a greater, creative whole. The inventors described come alive. My ego self is gone. Above me, I feel a greater intelligence that bathes both me and them.
Gone the restlessness, the awareness of time passing, the subconscious scanning the environment for danger. I rest with my companions in the presence of God. Loneliness, which I know well as a military wife, is not a beast to be subdued, but spacious, enveloping. I have known it well and dread its return one day as widowhood. I gave seen my father, icily alone after my mother died, try to fill his days with the chatter of busyness or just sitting, looking into space.
It occurs to me that I never need feel lonely again.