So he fled to Egypt again. Then to Libya. Then to Sicily. To Dalmatia, To Cyprus. Finally, to some "more deserted spot nearby." He just wanted to be left alone. It took one of his followers three years to find him once. Three years. All Hilarion wanted to do was lead a simple life, eat a few locusts, maybe some honey at the holidays, and pray. He's like the Thomas Pynchon of saints.
I understand the desire to be left alone. I think I've previously written a post or two about being a hermit. Aside from a small group of friends, I could easily give up being a part of the throng of humanity. Right now, as I sit at my desk typing, there are one or two people around me. I have my earbuds firmly in my ears, my iPod blasting Christmas music to drown out the voices. Oh, and my back is to everyone. I think they get the message: LEAVE ME ALONE.
Don't get me wrong. I can kick back with the best of 'em. This morning, however, I'm craving solitude. I want to be Hilarion is some deserted spot. Alone. With a good book and some Bailey's Irish Cream mixed with hot chocolate.
Book Saint Marty a ticket to Cyprus.
For that long boat ride to Cyprus |
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