In a moment of quiet solitude

There are days when you walk alone, then there are days when you walk all alone. Believe me being alone is not some function of distance. It has nothing to do with people. People think it is something that you can easily remedy, walk over to a friend's place and you aren't alone. I wish it were that simple. Being alone has more to do with time or even with reality. You can be all alone in a high swinging party, but you come back to your room and then dance to your music ( Summertime by Ira Gershwin ) and you do feel conencted to the world in general. Being alone is being alone. You can be alone in time, alone in space or all alone in the high reaches of your mind when you sit and think and think and no one, just no one, can even begin to understand what you are thinking about, or even less know how you feel.

Then there are days, when the loneliness sits on you comfortably. Everyone has those moments when we wake up and would like those five minutes, all to ourselves, to compose our thoughts, to think about the day, a period for introspection. Then there are days, when you think and think and then you need to come down from those high mountains and you want to talk, not because you are bored but to anchor yourself to reality.

Thought does cause loneliness. Thought is supposed to be encouraged by solitude, quiet and contemplation but I think solitude and quiet are the direct by products of thought. To think, is to be alone. Believe me, it is. To think, is to question. To question is to be alone. It may not seem obvious, but thinkers are always alone. They are ringbearers.

I somedays don't believe in reality at all. Reality after all is nothing but a very very thinly stretched set of conventions that describe my existence. Somedays, I think and I edge closer to breaching that thin skin, that is invisible to most people, but against which I bounce everyday. Somedays I think I am close to flying through that thick skin to what lays beyond. But then I look back at that gravity well. It's warm there, ever bustling, and there is life, ever eternal, content, existent, but of thought I see not a sign.

I am outwards bound now. I think therefore I am like one of the stars. I may shine brightly, I may cause others to wonder about what I do, even provoke a few others to think, but I lie far away from all others. I have an infinity in which to think. I am alone.

I hide in my mind. It's my last defense, albeit not a good one, but somewhere where I can rest, where this reality that is defined, does not exist. I see only possibilities. Some of them are good. I see planets. No, not planets, but binary stars. Each orbitting the other, wary but at peace, frentic yet sedate, a dance defined by no one except those that decide to dance. I am the sun. I shall nurture, I shall provide. I have an infinity in which to think. But I am not alone.