Lessons in Solitude

Hello all,

It’s been difficult.

So, I appreciate you taking the time to read.

First, before I begin, I want to give a shout out to all those folks who are struggling today or have been struggling. The challenges of the world can incite us to dismiss ourselves from our own family table and believe that we can handle matters ourselves. Please, whatever you go through, you know you’re not alone, you know there is a place at the table for you when you come back.

This is only the beginning of week three. I have stayed in seven cities and three countries. Time has not gone fast, nor slow; no time has gone no where, but I have left time, or rather, disregarded the illusion of time. As the sun sets, I seem to walk backwards and indefinitely stay a spot in the sun. It is not immortality, rather the feeling of being incorporeal: flighted, invisible, nonadhesive, believing that I-will-come-back-to-life-one-day-but-for-now-that-feeling-has-been-only-found-in-the-dreams-of-my-night.

Traveling alone, in a region where I have been both self-subjected to solitude and, because of my intimidation of language, my lack of relateability to people, and my perpetual vagrancy, I’ve been made complacent into solitude. At times, I go days without saying more than a few words. Sadly, though time does certainly move, everyday seems the same as everyday feels the same. I blame my lack of courage to try to engage people. But when I refer to becoming complacent into solitude, I mean what good will talking do for me? I will just leave again What good will trying to relate with a person or pour into a person? I will just leave again.

Because of which, my dreams revolve around usually two things,

1. I dream of getting lost on a map, turning around, retracing my steps.

2. I dream of being home. My family home, surrounding by people I know. We laugh, we talk, we feel. And in every dream I have the grounded sensation of being supported and towards the end, the sorrowful recognition that I must be leaving, or have to leave.

In times of struggle, I have come to recognize the places that are missing. The challenge is identifying what it takes to fill those voids. I have found much of what makes my life difficult. While this sounds terribly depressing, it is also incredibly important to recognize for myself. To always keep myself in check of what my life needs.

The first being the need for companionship.

Connection is made by forming relations (I touch on this in my other write-up about touch, intimacy, and travel) with the people in relation to the place. People have asked me how is Europe. I cannot say. There are no words. It is a vacuum here, words or thoughts are projected and hardly leave my lips. There is no echo, so I’m not even sure if I even spoke. How can I relate these thoughts and feelings if there is no one to hear them? But when with another person, an invested individual, there lies air for emission and reception. This is brcause they give you that space, they offer it up so that it may be shared. Yes, I am not alone, there are people, lots of people, but they are only untapped, shelled cavities. I do not know them, and by ever on the go, I do not know if I wish to know them.

The second being connection to a place.

A city is made by stringing people together with their singing of their lives and, at times, conflicting harmonies to create discords of emotional rubbage. The cities are nice. Indeed, they are beautiful. But without any emotional attachment to a person or place, these cities just become another landscape, hard and impermeable. Like it would be in a dream, I see them but cannot interact with them.

The third being the transition.

I must give up another part of myself as I travel from place to place. The process of moving entails the moving of energy, the selling of all your things, and the reinvestment of another house, people, or place. When someone moves for such a long time, the result may be that person becomes emotionally impoverished. When someone have not been able to invest in a person or place, love and be loved, then what left do they have to give? For myself, the interest in conversation becomes shorter and shorter.

But then there is this bit of hope that lingers only so bright as the few stars above the city. And like those stars, it is undying, though they can be clouded by the weather. It is the belief that all lessons unfold over time but can only be learned by walking through Mystery. “Still, time is young” has become my mantra. When walking through solitude, I have to trust the hell that I am going through this process for a reason. Trust, just trust. As Saint Charbel had told me in spirit (read, Letter of Miracles), “why are you so impatient?” I will not be weighed down. This is just a small time for a much larger epiphany. Still, time is so young to truly know.

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