Silence without loneliness

At some point, I wrote a couple of posts about the choreographer Twyla Tharp and her book "The Creative Habit" - a book that I recently found from my heaps of books in search of the title of a headline.
The headline is about one of Tharp's exercises in the book: "Build up your tolerance for solitude" - to build an ability of tolerance towards being alone. You simply have to sit alone in a room and let your mind fly. Initially for one minute; later on you can expand to ten minutes after which you can begin to focus on whether an idea or goal is formed in your thoughts - otherwise you have to icrease the time used. The exercise is called "ciúnas gan uaigneas" - it is Gaelic for "silence without loneliness" - without loneliness, because the idea you breed will be your companion. As Tharp states, this is the exact opposite of meditation - you should not try to empty your mind, on the contrary, you should attempt to lure thoughts from the subconscious in order to befriend them and stay with them.
I have never really been able to understand the concept of meditation - so I was very happy when I found ciúnas gan uaigneas. I should set aside more time for this purpose...
(Translated from Stilhed uden ensomhed, originally published January 16, 2013)

Alone with your thoughts

I have often thought about the difference between being alone and being lonely - but the other day I actually saw something that took me a little closer to what I think must be a suitable description of the difference.
It happened when I saw a sign on which someone wrote: "A customer should never be left alone with their own thought".
Of course, thinking solely business, there is a certain reason in saying so. However, it initially led my mind to the thought that we can all benefit from having someone near us to help us when we do not want to be alone with our thoughts.
And then it dawned om me: lonely is what I am when I am alone with my thoughts without wanting it to be so. And when I'm lonely, anyone with whom I can share my thoughts is a friend.
I only wish for anyone that they will always have good friends available when loneliness closes in. And I'll do what I can to be a good friend when people around me do not want to be alone with their thoughts - while at the same time respecting, when people actually want to be alone with their thoughts.
(Translated from Alene med sine tanker)

Islands in the archipelago of mankind

It happens that I get past text I've written years back and want to modify a little bit in the details of the metaphors and thoughts that the text expresses. Thus the following is inspired by a text that is almost eight years old - so maybe it's about time to refresh it a bit.
I have - as it may be known - a fondness for John Donne's words from his Reflection XVII from 1624, with the familiar introduction:

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less...any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind...

I think John Donne was absolutely right at that time - people of the 17th century were completely aware that they were dependent on each other. But, if we are to stay with the metaphor, the waters came flooding in over humanity and transformed us into an archipelago where we can be tempted to believe that we are islands, even though we are connected just below the surface. But the archipelago is in any case so densely covered with islands that we can easily see from coast to coast and make bridges to neighbouring isles. With today's technology, we can even see the distant islands and communicate with them far easier than you could communicate with most places on the continent of humanity in Donne's time.
The problem is however that we can just as easily retreat to the middle of our islands, turn our backs towards the coast and gaze into the ground as we let the hair grow long and our vocabulary degenerate into inarticulate grunts and murmur. But it's our duty to do the opposite: instead, we must go down to the coast; follow it around our islands; make it clear to ourselves how close the surrounding islands are to us and consider how we overcome the distance going there. And it's not a particularly unpleasant duty - it's not even difficult if we just decide to make the small effort it takes.
(Translated from Øer i menneskehedens øhav, originally published October 16th, 2017)

On the topic of having the time to sit here

In an edition of the Danish newspaper Politiken dated a few weeks ago, I saw a couple of thought-provoking pages. On the left page, a text - on the right page, a photo, both by Daniel Hjorth. The photo showed a location in Copenhagen with two benches, one in the foreground, one in the background. On each of the benches an elderly gentleman was sitting alone, and the text said (in my translation):

A simple thought.
What would happen,
If I asked:
'May I sit here?'
Although the next bench was vacant. 

It is, perhaps, a simple thought. But isn't it so that we are not good enough to seek the company of other people? It is far from certain that other people sit alone due to an active choice. What if we gave each other the opportunity to meet each other? Perhaps even the opportunity of conversation?
I think I'll ask next time.
Perhaps even though I do not really need to sit down.
Perhaps even though I do not really have the time to sit down.
Because: what does it actually mean - "to have the time"?
Maybe the world would become a better place if more people asked, "May I sit here?", although the next bench was vacant?
(Translated from Noget om at have tid til at sætte sig her)