Why do we always have to be busy, doing something, accomplishing something? Have we forgotten how to just be and find our still point, that state of inner balance and calm, finding center amidst chaos? I think we have. It was T.S. Elliot that who originally count the phrase the “still point of the turning world there the dance is.” What did he mean by this? He said it represents the paradox of the eternal now, a timeless space where past, present, and future merge, and where the dance of life finds its meaning. Heady!

“At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,

But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,

Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,

Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,

There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.” T.S. Elliot

Society praises busyness because productivity has been turned into a status symbol. A packed schedule signals our importance and value. If we are constantly occupied, we avoid uncomfortable emotions and the existential questions that may arise when we stop to think. 

I love the acronym JOMO! Anil Dash, an author and entrepreneur, originally coined the term in July 2012, and it means the joy of missing out. The author Christina Cook then popularized it in 2015 in her book, The Joy of Missing Out: Finding Balance in a Wired World. 

All throughout history, women, perhaps in an act of self-preservation and creative renewal, have sought solitude to find that still point. There are some truly remarkable women who stand out, who found their still point. 

May Sarton, the beloved and acclaimed poet and novelist who documented her intentional retreat to the coast of Maine. She treasured her solitude! In her Journal of a Solitude, May explored her need to be alone, to confront herself, heal from within, and cultivate her creativity. 

Mary Oliver, the prize-winning American poet about whom I have written here. She found deep meaning, grounding, in her daily solitary walks in wild areas and forests. Mary had a deep reverence and respect for nature, which always fueled her writing. 

Virginia Woolf, the pioneering author who argued that a woman must have money and a private space, all her own, to write freely. She claimed it to be a cornerstone of female independence in her famous book, A Room of One’s Own. 

Marjorie Hillis, the Vogue editor in 1936, published a bestseller, Live Alone and Like It. Marjorie transformed the narrative of the “spinster” and encouraged women to be fierce in claiming their independence, enjoy their own company, love life, and revel in all the benefits and joys of single life. 

Risa Mickenberg, a conceptual artist and filmmaker, champions the lifestyle of a hermit. She created a network of women who have reclaimed their female aloneness, spurring traditional social demands and cultivating detachment. It has become a secret society in New York, and centers on independent thought, introspection, and deep personal exploration.

While not a member of a secret society, I treasure my solitude and stillness. It is a work in progress, as I have to catch myself for feeling guilty or always rushing…but the process is working. I find my still point in my home, which is my sanctuary, and in nature. The backyard is my church. My prayer and hope is that through the words found here, you might find a way to your own still point.

An Invitation to Stillness

In silence, the heart remembers its own rhythm. 

Each breath arrives as a gentle blessing, 

each exhale a quiet surrender to all that may now be released.

The birds sing without audience. 

Leaves dance without applause. 

The river flows without destination. 

And somehow, their simple way of being becomes an invitation,

an invitation to stillness.

Sit here.

Notice how the morning unfolds. 

How sunlight finds forgotten corners. 

How shadows soften. 

How life, in its effortless wisdom, continues to bloom.

There is a holiness in this ordinary moment: 

the warmth of air upon your skin, 

the fragrance of earth after rain, 

the distant echo of laughter, 

the quiet miracle of your own breathing.

Rest here long enough, and the boundaries begin to dissolve. 

You are no longer separate 

from the breeze that touches your face, 

the tree that reaches toward the heavens, 

or the infinite sky that holds them both.

There is nothing missing. 

Nothing to chase. 

Nothing to prove.

Only this moment, 

whole, 

vast

and quietly radiant.  Mary Anne Byrne