Notes on Being Alone
For some, being alone is the quickening sting that strikes the center of the heart with an icy frost. Paralyzed in fear they grab the nearest body to set themselves back on fire. For me, I’m like a mouse nibbling on cheese. Scared I hide in my cave and when the daylight permits I sneak out to grab whatever morsel I can manage. However, a life lived in solitude is a courageous path. It is in the depths of solitude that creates the souls ability to harvest inner freedom. A life without a place of restitution, that is, a life without lonely compassion can become easily self-destructive.
I don’t mind being alone. In fact, being alone allows me the inner-exploration to define a clear path for myself. To expand my current understanding of the inconceivable world I see before me. Tongue-tied and washed away by the current of the moons gravitational pull. Being alone reminds me of the only opinion that truly matters in this world: my own.
In solitude, we can slowly unravel the illusionary thread of our inner turmoil and discover at the end of the spool our own self. In solitude we can hear the voice of our heart and see the center of our frustration. It’s in the depths of our isolation that we can recognize our worth is not attached to our current usefulness. We realize in the center of the self is the flowing gift of love. That the one thing we all have in common is the gift of light and love.
In solitude we are given the opportunities to grow tall like the sturdy tree in the rooted grounds of the cemetery. We are free of inner-dependencies and what it means to be found in this world. We care little about the opinions or others and more about the exploration of ourselves. Being alone is a gift. A quiet understanding that is as rare as rubies and as vital as the air itself.