Solitude is something you refine and develop and create. And again, I think crucially, it has to do with refining our ethical intelligence. It has to do with refining our capacity to see where our impulses are coming from, to what extent those impulses are just driven by conditioning and habit and fear, and to what extent we can somehow open up a nonreactive space within us from which we can respond to the world — respond to our own needs, too, but in a way that’s not driven by familiar habit patterns, which are often rooted in attachment and fear and other things. So solitude, the practice of solitude, is the practice of creating an inward autonomy within ourselves, an inward freedom from the power of these overwhelming thoughts and emotions.
I am past the idea of idealizing dystopia. Past the idea of romanticizing cyberpunk brutality.
Now I want regeneration. For every soul. Every body. Every piece of consciousness that inhabits this Earth. Even technology needs regeneration from the sick narrative of endless extraction.
We need a deep rest, and then a deep period of regeneration.
You can fall silent. You can close yourself in, shut yourself off. Then you don't have to play roles, show any faces, or make false gestures. Or so you thought. But reality is bloody-minded. Your hiding place isn't watertight. Life seeps in everything. You're forced to react. I understand your keeping silent, your immobility. That you've placed this lack of will into a fantastic system. I understand. I admire you. You should go on with this until it's played out, until it's no longer interesting. Then you can leave it, just as you've left your other parts one by one.
| Ingmar Bergman