Some isolated ground. No light. No preparations. Nothing to draw away. A soul bare.
The world brims with agitation, cacophony, busily munching stillness and serenity, gobbling up humanity. But there is a spirit in man; and the breath of the Almighty makes him keen.
The real man is impelled by the Father's work; his heart fixated on that kingdom beyond. He yearns for the sweet stillness of place with no veils, no pretense, to laugh and moan and weep and holler, of intimate and peculiar prayer with the Father of spirits. It is here he hears the secret out workings of the Lord and the subtle mysteries of the eschaton. It is here that he receives instructions of his role in the holy drama.
The world may abhor solitude. The true disciple should want to drink it to the full.