On me-time and loneliness

The husband is on a ten-day trek in the Himalayas. I am hoping he doesn’t set up home in a cosy cave. Yes, he is eccentric. Slightly different. He loves moutaineering and hoards books by famous climbers. Why am I not climbing the mountains with him? Because he says he is likely to be asked every five minutes, “How much further?” Besides, I can live in a tent without a bathroom for two or three days, not more. It is freezing there, and I wonder if I am fit enough to walk uphill for a longish stretch.

So, here I am – missing him terribly. A friend suggests I will have a lot of me-time. Not much, I say. With a routine that keeps me out of the house for almost 12 hours, what’s left?

And what is me-time? When i do stuff I enjoy? Reading, listening to music, watching movies at home or theatre, shopping (I like this one!), walks in the park, chatting with friends or sister over the phone, watching TV (least preferred, but ends up being the most indulged-in activity), meditation (haven’t done this for ages). I love all this, but.but.but.

Chores are dime a dozen on weekdays, and weekends too, but even when I am free all by myself, I am given to acutely feel loneliness.

J Krishnamurthy says that if there is loneliness, you can do nothing but face it. He doesn’t guarantee that facing it will ease it.

Why is it so difficult for me to spend time with myself? Am I gregarious? No. But the need for people… to not be alone is there. Some years back I did a 10-day Vipassana retreat above McLeodganj. For 10 days, you can’t talk and you have to avoid eye-contact with others. You wake up at 4.30 am, go to bed by 9.30 pm, and in between sit for meditation with a few breaks. It made me realize that when there is no escape from thoughts, when I can’t drown in outward activities,  I feel swamped. Making peace with my overactive mind has been a long struggle.

I wonder if I was near Basho’s pond would I still feel lonely? He was a Zen monk. A haiku he wrote:

The ancient pond,
A frog jumps in
Plop!

Can you imagine the silence before and after the plop? I wonder if my restless mind would stick out like a sore thumb there.

A year after my mother passed away, I was in Rishikesh by the River Ganga. It was an early winter morning. I was miserable. Then, the river began to lap my feet. The sun rose to shine on my aching back. The breeze blew softly. They knew me intimately! It seemed they had always known me! This experience really defies description, all I can say is that I felt loved and solaced. Later I tried to recreate that miraculous peace. Same spot, same River. But the peace was missing.

I understand that a human being is essentailly alone. We take birth alone, we sleep alone, we die alone. So then, why do I keep running away from myself all the time? Why is the lightness of being so rare? Why can’t I cherish emptiness? Perhaps because it is stewing in a lot of noise.

Little wonder then i find mystics fascinating. Sanyasis living alone in the Himalayas, Sufis whirling and diasppearing. What do they have? Or what did they lose? Or what can they see that I can’t?

Siddhartha by Herman Hesse describes a ferryman who listened like a tree absorbs rain. Imagine listening so totally! Grant me patience, O God, “to listen to whatever comes” (including my own thoughts) .

Love,

a spirited seeker

PS: Will write a little more about my husband soon. He is eccentric, and great

Tags: Basho, Herman Hesse, J Krishnamurthy, listening, loneliness, me-time, peace, restless mind, River Ganga, Siddhartha, silence