The Intimacy of Loneliness

Intimacy, for me, means getting personal, not generalizing not assuming, but getting to know a person or situation on their terms, not just seeing them as an extension of my own ideals or wishes. It is daring the world to get up close. And it is me daring to get closer to the world. It is asking the question: “Tell me more about this situation, tell me more about you.”

The words “Intimacy of loneliness” reverberated in my mind until I had an “Aha!” I realized that this is not a topic about loneliness or intimacy at all but a way of living in the world and a primary quest of all individuals on their life journey. It asks the question, “How does one connect to become fully alive to life?”

Intimacy is a whole range of microscopic responses from the divine to the most crass. This is a full spectrum of nuances and a laboratory for endless experiments in communication. This occupation and endeavor is vital and urgent: “Don’t be presumptuous! After all how can you chop down a tree when it has confided its wishes and longings to you?” 

The atmosphere, the ether, is a tuning fork trembling with lives that cannot speak for themselves. The air is as full as a green forest on a dark night. And being alone in wide open spaces is different than being alone in a room. I grew up in rural, ranching California near the ocean and I gained comfort from long horizons where I was steeped in vastness. 

This landscape seemed lonely because of the lack of human interactions but it was filled by familiar elements of earth and sky. I was not lonely, but alone, and I learned to use my senses in different ways. Not rating, or calculating or planning, but taking in what was offered to me. These were feelings and waves of interchanges where my senses reached out and was melted into the non-human. This is the place where poets stretch their minds and hearts, where the universe offers itself with open palms and empathy reigns. 

With this in mind, I have asked questions of fish, clouds, frogs, the sky, and other life forms surrounding me. Then I wait patiently (or not) until impulses or thoughts arise in return. Surprisingly, they often come in snippets or images. Then, I assume a conversation is beginning. 

I assume these exchanges are meaningful and worthy and I practice empathy. After all, I would not want to be a contemptuous or disrespectful listener to the feelings of others as I know all too well that If I am not listened to, I rarely bother continuing the dialogue. Would you?