Seascapes 5
Izumu Tanaka
In the midst of winter
I found there was within me
an invincible summer.
Albert Camus
Every December, instead of selecting a small pine tree, lugging it inside my apartment, and covering it with baubles and lights, I pull out the above quote from Albert Camus’ essay “Return to Tipasa” and share it with friends and loved ones. The message of this single sentence has been the core of my own contemplative practice for the past ten years and is always received with gratitude and nods of agreement.
Turning to words of wisdom in times of darkness and difficulty is so instinctive for us that we forget the obvious fact that the balm, the healing medicine we are taking, is wrapped in language and metaphor. The past two years on this ever-changing planet have in particular seemed like an interminable winter. The specter of COVID added to the global intensification of weather systems is enough to break even the hardiest person’s spirits.
The key element of wisdom in Camus’ quote is that there is winter, there is darkness, and there is light that comes from within. To survive without despair, we must acknowledge both the dark and the light; we must realize that we are both alone, and that we all share that reality.
In his essay “Solitude,” taken from the book The Art of Solitude, Stephen Batchelor shares the account of researcher and educator Robert Kull’s year living alone (with his cat) on an uninhabited island off the coast of Patagonia. From Kull’s experience we get a tiny glimpse of the stark realities of our human condition. For many of us, this kind of isolation would seem like a living death—which, in a relative sense, it is. And yet, we can understand Batchelor’s fascination with the concept of solitude and our aversion to the fact that we enter and leave this world alone. However, reading the essay we are also privy to the insights Robert Kull has during his year on a deserted island, insights that are doorways into abiding wisdom:
~~ Perhaps the most useful aspect of my year alone in the wilderness was to come to accept that my inner world has its own inherent weather patterns, as does the external world. The recognition that I'm not in control and that gray days do not mean I've done something wrong. That all the ups and downs, lights and darks, are part of who I am; who we are. ~~
As I reflect on the past five years working with the team at Leaping Clear, I realize that we have, in effect, been in the business of providing glimpses of summer. Given that all of our contributors have some form of contemplative practice, it naturally follows that the art, poetry, prose, and media we have been blessed with and shared with our readers will offer wisdom, glints of enlightenment, and maybe even delight.
May you all recognize in the winter months ahead your own inner “invincible summer.”
Best,
Alyson Lie
and the editors at Leaping Clear