Loneliness

I write on loneliness, as it is the feeling most akin to my being right now. If I was happy, I would talk about flowers. But right now, I see a dark, empty, night sky, with a few stars to accompany my soul. Where It sits, is a blank hill. Underneath me, I see the dirt of society, covered in the facades of electric white light. Because this world is guided by artificial lights and artificial joys. Its inhabitants are powered by endless desires, which lead them to unbounded ignorance. But when everyone is blind, everyone believes they can see. And to this person, if you point out another way, they would push you away sooner than open their eyes. Because if they did, they would be lonely too, like myself. They would cry a thousand tears, die a million deaths. Transformation is nothing but a shedding into the original state. Oneness cannot be achieved by the scattered mind, and is there any number more lonelier than One?

So I have been pushed, nay, I have cornered myself into this singular hill. I must clear out something, I am not happy, because I see the state of ignorance surrounding me. But I am not sad, because I see the glimmers of true light. The sparkle of a few shining stars is greater than a thousand electric light bulbs, in my humbled opinion. And my opinion is indeed humbled, for in my shedding, I have lost all identity, all ego, all pride. I am no one, but a friend of the stars, my companions remain the wind, whose songs offers me greater treasures than all the pointless base this world provides. So I cry, because I sit alone with a beautiful red rose, and my tears await other eyes to see. Oh, blessed are we, if only we could see.