A poem by eighth-century Chinese poet Meng Hao-jan speaks of “depths of quiet” that suggest more than silence or equanimity. Meng was a hermit, and like most hermits, the visit to or by a kindred spirit could be satisfying but also disturbing. Returning from a visit to an old friend stirs in Meng Hao-jan a sense of loneliness that disrupts the continuity of his cherished and taken-for-granted “depths of quiet.” Instead, Meng aches for friendship “morning after morning,” so that he must now consciously distract himself with the same routines that he once merged unconsciously into his daily life.
The poem reveals the pathos of solitude and the complexity of the hermit psychology. Contrary to stereotype, the poem suggests that eremitical life is not a series of peak experiences but time and emotion eked out and spread out as if on a table for the soul to contemplate without adornment. The hermit is not invincibly cold-hearted or aloof. After all, some hermits have been married or lived in lavrae near their fellow human beings. The last line of the poem reads:
I should know by now —
sufficient to be nurturing isolate depths of quiet,
to be home again,
my old garden gate closed.