Reading Virginia Wolfe in the Woods

For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of – to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others… and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.

Virginia Wolfe

A cozy overstuffed leather chair in a cabin.

I’m sitting here contemplating that quote from a quiet spot in the woods with no cell connection. And it occurs to me (not for the first time) that silence is as necessary to the spirit as food and air are to the body.

Hmm… How do I get more of this, I wonder?

I know the answer, maybe? TV off. Candles lit. Shut off the screens and turn off the phones. Let the absence of stimuli become the one thing I’m hungry for.

A cabin in the woods is a crutch, right? Nice, but not essential. Can I carry this feeling home with me?

The sparkling lights of the city are beautiful in their own way. Not green like a forest, but just as breathtaking. Does the setting make the difference?

It’s so quiet here in the woods. So I ask again: Can I bring this feeling home with me?

Wait! Don’t tell me the answer. The answer is somewhere in this room. And if I’m patient enough, it will come over and tap me on the shoulder.

Shh!

πŸ˜‰