Society

"The soul seeks its own society," Emily Dickinson wrote. Which, when I first read as a sixteen-year-old, I interpreted as a kind of punishment, as if the obvious result of introspection was solitude, or worse--isolation.

But now, as a 55-year-old, I read very differently.

I recently read "The Gift of Not Belonging" by Dr. Rami Kaminski, where he distinguishes between "belonging" and "connection". He writes that we can have individual connections with people and not feel a sense of belonging within groups. I am one of these "otroverts"--the name Dr. Kaminski gives to those who thrive in one-on-one connections but struggle in groups. Reading this book has been liberating.

I now read Dickinson's words as an invitation to self-love. To a trust myself and my intuition and my needs and how to meet them. I read these words as a validation of self and a release from the need for approval, permission, validation or to belong. It was in this spirit that I wrote this poem:

Belonging

When my kids were little, one of

their favorite books was about

a baby bird searching for her mother.

Are you my mother?

the baby bird would ask of the kitten

and dog and cow. My kids and I would

act out all the animal sounds, they

particularly loved the loud cow mooooooo.

I find myself thinking of this today,

walking on the Tel Aviv boardwalk.

Late morning, still summer, clusters

of friends play volleyball, kids lathered

in sunscreen build sandcastles, surfers

catch whatever waves they can. Catching

the last days of vacation. It’s one big

party, boom boxes play pop, old

Russians in quartets, a folk singer with

a guitar. And me, feeling the same sun

and yet—not. I walk like the little

bird. I listen to Shostakovich

in my ears—sharp, ambiguous, sarcastic.

Sounds that say here we are having

our own celebration, inside, in the

cacophony of a late summer morning.

Have a beautiful week--whoever you are, however you are--and I hope that we all can find our way to the society of our soul.