how to turn loneliness into sweet solitude

I love reading Toni Bernhard's book,  How to Be Sick: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide for the Chronically Ill and their Caregivers

I find it a friendly and reassuring companion when fatigue or pain assert themselves a little too strongly and compromise the activities of the day. I was never as social as Toni but there are still times when I'm on my own for longer than I would like. I do well with my own company but sometimes I can feel shut off, especially if there are family or Amida events that I'd love to be part of but just can't get to.

She writes:

When my health deteriorated and I had to trade the busy life of a university professor for the isolation of my bedroom, the loneliness was palpable. At times, it was hard to distinguish between the illness and the loneliness.

One day, a friend I'd met online, sent me this quotation from the theologian, Paul Tillich:

"Language...has created the word 'loneliness' to express the pain of being alone. And it has created the world 'solitude' to express the glory of being alone."

I was such a social animal that I found being alone anything but glorious. It wasn't even remotely sweet. But Tillich's words planted a seed and I began to investigate the meaning of "being alone." I realized that being alone in and of itself is neither positive nor negative. It was just a fact that now described a good portion of my life. If Tillich was right, it could be experienced as painful loneliness or as glorious solitude.

So, I went online to see what people treasured about solitude. Here's a sampling of what I found:

"Solitude gets my creative juices flowing. It gives me energy."

"I love solitude because no one is making demands on me."

"When I'm alone, my senses are sharpened and I feel part of the rhythm of the universe.

"Solitude refreshes my spirit."

"I make my wisest decisions when I'm alone."

These statements were inspiring (and I filed them away as possibilities), but they didn't replace the pain of loneliness for me.

As I do when I'm stumped, I turned to the Buddha for help. I thought about his first and second noble truths—that we suffer when we desire for circumstances over which we have no control to be other than they are. I was stuck-like-glue on the desire to have my active social life back. But I can't. It's the nature of my illness that socializing for very long exacerbates my symptoms.

I saw that if I could let go of that desire, I might be able to open my heart and mind to the possibility that solitude could be sweet, maybe even glorious.

I asked myself, "What might I treasure about being alone?" Here's my list, as it's grown over the years:

The quiet soothes my mind and sometimes even reduces the intensity of my physical symptoms, especially if I mindfully follow my breath coming in and going out of my body.

Being alone heightens my powers of observation. I notice details around me that I'd otherwise ignore, like the play of sunlight on the ceiling or leaves floating in the air on a breezy day.

I'm more productive when I'm alone because I can follow a train of thought more easily, especially when I'm trying to write. (My illness can make concentration difficult.)

Being alone allows me to let my body dictate the rhythm of the day—when to nap, when to eat, when to write or crochet.

I can watch whatever I want on TV!

Being alone so much makes my forays out into the world special, as if I'm seeing the world afresh, with new eyes.

:: continue reading here

Toni Bernhard is the author of the How to Be Sick: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide for the Chronically Ill and their Caregivers, winner of the 2011 Nautilus Gold Book in Self-Help/Psychology

Toni can be found online at www.howtobesick.com