Do we all appreciate sufficiently the gift of moments of solitude?
They provide pause for reflection. We scurry all day through a maze of routine. Note is supplanted by rote. Whence, then, reflection? Wonderment? Self-examination? Growth? Penitence?
When I was in the Israeli Army, my mates all scorned guard duty. I always embraced it. It was cold in those hills of Dotan (where I trained for 60 days), right near where Joseph had been sold. How can we avoid mistakes like that in our own time if we don't flex our brains beyond reflex?
Indeed I'll never forget (I promise I'm not making this up) as a teenager staying up late at night to watch Tomorrow with Tom Snyder on NBC. His guest was Xaviera Hollander and she was telling him how much she loved solitude. I kid you not.
And then, of course, there is this piquant item, the proximate cause of these pensees.
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