The Restorative Art of Hiding

 “Hiding leaves life to itself, to become more of itself.”

- David Whyte, Consolations

For the past several weeks, my morning routine has included an unusual addition: reading Robert Fitzgerald’s gorgeous translation of The Odyssey. It’s my first time reading it, and I’ve been struck with the beauty of the language and the depth of feeling.

Of the many stunning verses describing the hero Odysseus’s famous - and trial-laden - homeward journey, one in particular has stuck with me: a passage about hiding as a form of restoration and healing.

In this passage, Odysseus has just endured many terrible days at sea, several of which he has been shipwrecked, clinging to a remnant of the ship and fighting for his life. After finally washing up on a beach and dragging himself - alive but battered - to sleep beneath a few trees, he realizes he could die from the night’s cold. Seeing a great heap of leaves beneath the trees, he’s overjoyed; they will insulate him enough to make it through the night. He burrows down into them, exhausted and grieving for the home he’s been unsuccessfully trying to get back to for so many years. The narrator then moves toward metaphor before turning back to Odysseus:

“A man in a distant field, no hearthfires near,

will hide a fresh brand in his bed of embers

to keep a spark alive for the next day;

so in the leaves Odysseus hid himself,

while over him Athena showered sleep

that his distress should end, and soon, soon.

In quiet sleep she sealed his cherished eyes.” 

If you’ve ever built a fire, you know that small pieces of burning wood can be kept alive for many hours by burying them in ash, long after the visible fire has gone out. Odysseus is a fire nearly gone out, but there’s something still burning inside of him. He keeps body and spirit alive by burrowing into the leaves, by actively choosing, in this most tender of moments, to hide.

We tend to think of hiding as something negative: we speak pejoratively of “hiding from responsibility” or “hiding from our fears”. It’s true that hiding can be harmful when it cuts us off from life’s vitality or it’s an end unto itself. But hiding can also be an incredibly skillful act of allowing ourselves to recoup when life has simply felt like too much - whether that’s from surviving a shipwreck or simply from having a challenging day at work. Mentally and physically, hiding can be a life-replenishing break.

What I love about this passage - and about what it suggests for skillful hiding - is that such an act allows for healing to naturally occur, no striving necessary. Athena, the goddess who’s been helping Odysseus along his journey, sees his distressed state and arrives to offer comfort, sleep, and peace. Though we’re probably not expecting Athena to show up, help - in the form of a calmer mind, looser breathing, or simply feeling a little more rested - does naturally arrive when we find a safe place, drop our defenses to the extent that feels good to us, and burrow in for awhile.

Somatically, I find that the need for nourishing forms of hiding shows up a lot in the work I do with other sensitives. As sensitive people in particular, we carry a powerful inner fire, but it can feel worn down to a small flicker by how intensely we experience life. Allowing ourselves to physically hide or cover our bodies can be immensely restorative. (See below for a guided practice on this.)

Like Odysseus in his years-long journey home, so many of us are experiencing upheaval & anguish right now, whether that’s tremendous in scale or small but impactful. As the leaves turn, my prayer for you is that you’ll find ways to allow yourself to creatively hide when you need it and to receive in that hiding all the deep restoration your body and soul are looking for.