Man is a lonely island
How wonderful are islands! Islands in space, like this one i come to, ringed about by miles of water, linked by no bridges, no cables, no telephones. An island from the world and the world's life. Island in time, like this short vacation of mine. The past and the future are cut off; only the present remains. One lives like a child or a saint in the immediacy of here and now. Every day, every act, is an island, washed by time and space, and has an island's completion. People, too, become like islands in such an atmosphere, self-contained, whole and serene; repecting other people's solitude, not intruding on their shores, standing back in reverence before the miracle of another individual. "No man is an island," said John Donne. I feel we are all islands-in a common sea.
We are all, in the last analysis, alone. And this basic state of solitude is not something we have any choice about. It is, as the poet Rike says, "not something that one can take or leave". We are solitary. We may delude ourselves and act as though this were not so, yes, even to begin by assuming it. "Naturally," he goes on to say, "we will turn giddy."
We seem so frightened today of being alone that we never let it happen. Even if family, friends and movies should fail, who used to complain of loneliness, need never be alone any more. We can do our housework with soap-opera heroes at our side. Even day-dreaming was more creative than this; it demanded something of oneself and it fed the inner life. Now instead of planing our solitude with our dream blossoms, we choke the space with continuous music, chatter and companionship to which we do not even listen. It is simply there to fill the vacuum. When the noise stops there is no inner music to take its place. We must relearn to be alone.
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