We cannot know that we are illuminated by a great light simply by looking up into the sky. But if we lower our heads and look down at our feet, we can clearly see the long, dark shadow that stretches out from us. We know that the darker and blacker that shadow is, the brighter is the light that shines upon us. Thus, we have been told to look at our own dark shadows [within].
Just as each new seed requires a period of gestation -- a time of deep silence and solitude -- so, too, we need such seasons. "Someone wrote me recently and asked if it wasn't frustrating to have exterior solitude interrupted. Well, you learn to live out of your interior solitude. And perhaps this is one of the keys to living in the madness, the telescoping demands and resulting exhaustion of our society: to explore our own interior solitude and learn not only to be afraid of it but to live out if its self-discipline, its limitless resources and deep silence. Solitude is like a tea ceremony, the celebration of life in all its homely movements taken out of time -- the wonder of the commonplace, the mystery of ordinary life ... Solitude is being poured-out-through. We evolve toward simplicity. We dwell in the Word."