For a city-bred man of the twenty-first century who is a prisoner of the mechanized life-style of hectic speed solitude may seem to be a blessing of peace that grants blissful relief, release and relaxation. But, at times solitude may pose to be a curse that burdens. One’s mind and heart with desolation, despair and dejection. Under its spell, to quote Robert Browning, ‘an instant made eternity’ deprives one of hope, fancy and fight. Solitude then appears to be hanging from one’s shoulder, like a twin of despondency.
But, solitude is mostly blessing in disguise. Like William Wordsworth, the Nature-prophet or like John Keats, a prey to the doldrums of the ‘city pent’ like London, we flee away from the rigorous routines of daily life into the blissful cavern of solitude in Nature to enjoy the eye-feasting scenes and sights, to smile at the open sunny firmament overhead, to marvel at the freedom of the twittering birds in whimsical flight, to relish the maiden verdure all around and to wonder at the motherly kiss of the fragrant breezily on our cheeks. There, fully relishing the flavor of the ‘dolce for ninete’, as the Italians say to mean ‘pleasant idleness’, we, somehow, enter the world of mind and, unknown to ourselves, we start exploring the labyrinth of our mind in an unconscious endeavour to discover our inner-selves. Blissfully we lapse into reminiscing the past, how and why had something saddened us as well as how and why had something gladdened us!
Solitude causes loneliness that offers us the chance of being with only ourselves. And those are the opportune moments for self-analysis, very rare moments at that. We lapse into introspection. We face ourselves, and through penetrative self-analysis, we can explain the myths of self and Soul. Then we can realize what is the spirit of solitude. And, then and then only, we come to identify ourselves with strange solitude and know our solitary entity even when we are surrounded by tile multitude.
But, solitude is mostly blessing in disguise. Like William Wordsworth, the Nature-prophet or like John Keats, a prey to the doldrums of the ‘city pent’ like London, we flee away from the rigorous routines of daily life into the blissful cavern of solitude in Nature to enjoy the eye-feasting scenes and sights, to smile at the open sunny firmament overhead, to marvel at the freedom of the twittering birds in whimsical flight, to relish the maiden verdure all around and to wonder at the motherly kiss of the fragrant breezily on our cheeks. There, fully relishing the flavor of the ‘dolce for ninete’, as the Italians say to mean ‘pleasant idleness’, we, somehow, enter the world of mind and, unknown to ourselves, we start exploring the labyrinth of our mind in an unconscious endeavour to discover our inner-selves. Blissfully we lapse into reminiscing the past, how and why had something saddened us as well as how and why had something gladdened us!
Solitude causes loneliness that offers us the chance of being with only ourselves. And those are the opportune moments for self-analysis, very rare moments at that. We lapse into introspection. We face ourselves, and through penetrative self-analysis, we can explain the myths of self and Soul. Then we can realize what is the spirit of solitude. And, then and then only, we come to identify ourselves with strange solitude and know our solitary entity even when we are surrounded by tile multitude.
