In Search of Solitude

re-post of scattered thoughts one day

I ran away from home this morning. I had to--to be someplace where there weren't televisions and children and stuff. Backing out of the driveway I switched the radio off, I wasn't ready for noise yet. I didn't know where I could go--not the park, with loud children and tired parents, that's what I was running away from. I found myself at the cemetery.

I parked and started off on the big outer loop of the myriad asphalt drives. I was mostly alone in my walk, the cool breeze doesn't count as company, he mostly left me be. The wind and a couple of acrobatic squirrels and a stuck up butterfly, a person can breathe in company such as that.

Once in a while, I found I had to stop. First, to touch a granite slab. I just wanted to feel the coolness of the rock under my hands. Once, to grab a handful of loose dirt. I wanted to breathe the scent of it in, to feel the grains of it fall through my fingers. I had to stop under the tall pines near the front gate and look up at the blue sky showing through. I closed my eyes and imagined that in 1862 the Union defeated must have walked under these trees on their way to the courthouse as prisoners of war. The trees must have other stories. The oaks, the spruce and the pines; they must have seen many people come and go. I imagine, they’ve mostly seen people come.

I've always liked cemeteries. They are such quiet places. There’s nobody tugging on my sleeve. Nobody crying for attention. I like the solitude. I like to read the stones and guess how people side by side might have lived together side by side. I like to note the iconography. Something about those Victorian hands carved pointing upwards gives me hope. It occurred to me to find a sunny spot and stretch out and take a nap. But, no, that might be hard to explain.

As much as I love cemeteries, I don't want to be buried in one. I never knew that before. I don't mind dying. But I think I've had enough of darkness. Spread my ashes on the wind. Or throw me down in a hollar somewhere and let the buzzards pick my bones clean. But no more darkness, please. I might have to come back and haunt you.

I noticed one large marker that somebody had visited back in the spring. There were hostas and impatiens planted, but the good people must not have had time to get back and tend to the flowers. I pulled the weeds out for them. My good deed for the day.

And when my insides stopped shaking, I got back in the car and drove home. The important part about running away is coming back, I guess. I advocate running away often, you can choose your own haven, of course. I might not want to share mine.

 

Reviews

[...]

. oh ... it's tough for me to find the words to even express how overwhelming your "scattered thoughts" are ... they speak of an acute consciousness ... of time, of space, of place, of context, of humanity, of isolation, of darkness, of life, of revival, of poetry ... your connection with your internal universe is inspiring ... your connection with the external universe is equally inspiring ... your brilliant mind and your brilliant heart glow so beautifully that you could illuminate the air ... i'll never forget this post ... your words will echo in my mind when i need to run away ... and even more importantly ... when i need to return ... thank you for this post, emily ...

[Arabdha]

Alright- I just love this piece ..bravo !

[Jen]

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[Kenneth The Poet]

Stellar.

[The Analog Kid]

I am not afraid of cemetaries. I used to ride my Big Wheel in a large cemetary across from my Dad's childhood home on the winding, smooth, safe macadam paths. Maybe knowing that I had family buried there allowed me to accept it as a part of life. Anyway, I did find it very relaxing as my Dad would just hang back and I played Grand Prix. I guess for a boy at age 5, racing around with no inhibitions or traffic is relaxing. It was like an oasis in a growing 1950's era suburban borough. I like the way this straddles the line between a short story and your random thoughts:)

[Gandré]

Running away means - sort out own thoughts. I often live days without radio and to say the truth, I watched TV last time like 4 months ago. I read mostly. Of course, living alone is something what gives me freedom, and this is different, than living with family. I liked this small story, it is peaceful and inspiring. I also love cemeteries, in Genoa Italy is a wonderful one. Wonderful crypts with man-height statues with faces of the deceased.. I liked the idea of the ash. I think, your family got you back relaxed and yes, I loved the idea about coming back. this is the most important thing about running away, when we know where we belong to. Wonderful writing, Emily.

[Perdition]

But you did just share your hiding place...and beautifully might I add. I was there upon your shoulder peering into the Victorian hands, the loneliness ..the gathering of that long rest from the thousands of arms that tug at us daily. I was in the nap...selfishly watching and wondering why you chose to pick at weeds instead....till I felt that it must be heart. A wondrous walk. Thanks~

[Jibey]

Yes... running away is something we all want to do and sometimes do... How well you tell of the relief, of the comfort of the elements, of the need to return and continue the path from which there is no escape...

[mick weller]

for me the 'elasticity' of the escape reaches its farthest point of travel just before you decide a nap would be a good thing - then the realisation that you must return and the band pulls you back ...

[holly]

When I read "But I think I've had enough of darkness. Spread my ashes on the wind." I wanted to stand up and holler YES. I not only liked and agreed with the sentiment but loved the way the words were put together. When words flow together like that it's almost a sensual pleasure. Running away for an hour or two gives us the understanding that we aren't just our titles - wife, mother, worker, poet, friend - we are also a singular spirit connected, however tenuously, to the great I AM.