On Solitude (or On Being Alone)

Today is the first day of the new year. I spent the new years eve alone, working, thinking, planning, in the solitude of my den, my study, my room, sharing company with only my thoughts, my books, and my pen.

The only way to escape isolation is to create an internal world filled with landscapes carved from the peaks and valleys of every fear and desire, so that the contours of feeling sweep away mindless perspective and place me in the infinite presence of divine being.

The heart twists the angst of living, while the eyes glaze the perceptions with sweet dreams, and paint gray worlds with colors of endless hope.

The battle lies in embracing the eternal sunshine of that spotless mind, or venturing into the dark corners of shared reality consummating communion with others.

That private world is breathlessly beautiful, endlessly bright, but forever alone, save the presence of enduring truth, which is less an object to be grasped than a state of being to be lived.

Socializing, through whatever medium or platform available, seems like an inappropriate replacement, however satisfying, precisely because of its temporality.

But the ideals made manifest in my dreams remain as bright stars each moment my eyes turn inward.

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