It is in solitary living that he opens
himself to the first experience of the world, without the derivative and all-too-human notions of subjectivity
or consciousness or science or religion. Solitude does not mean living in a
little room in a city and avoiding one’s friends and family. It does not
necessarily mean living on a mountaintop either. Solitude is removing oneself physically
to a wholly other world, a different world than one knows. Different
language, customs, topography, animals, food, the weather, the sun and stars, the love of a foreign woman, the seasons,
buildings, trees, and gods and rivers. In such a place a man lives entirely alone.
He has little to grab onto, or that grabs onto him. There is no longer the
familiar. This is solitude.
As a result of the surrounding novelty, he
has the experience of the world in its glory and wonder. He becomes as the
child. He makes the discovery of the world as gift.
If he is traveling by bicycle or on foot
his solitude is even purer. He lives in concern for his need of food and water
and shelter. He asks that no one other than the food sellers be skillful for
him. He addresses this new world with his own skills. He lives nearer to the
world’s mystery and thereby awakens the gods to care for him.
Indeed, gifts from the gods may be bestowed
upon this solitary man. Ideas and visions and new ways of life as mysterious in
origin as the world itself.