I am a firm believer that all great wisdom and truths are found when one goes inward and listens.
Most people in the world believe that solitude is synonymous with depression, but this is simply not true. In a state of solitude, momentum is slowed down, and may even be halted altogether. When momentum is slowed, one is forced to purely exist with him or herself in each given moment.
For some, this can be maddening. For others, it can be the most liberating experience of their lifetime. I experienced both of these reactions.
After living thirteen consecutive years in a fast momentum where I had no time to stop and listen, my first few months of solitude forced all my repressed emotions to erupt. Thirteen years of turmoil began to bubble to the surface, and I was, for the first time in my life, forced to look myself in the eyes and deal with all that I was unhappy with.
And I did.
It was painful, and wonderful, and heartbreaking, and breathtaking, and frustrating.
Despite my momentum being slowed to a crawl, my life began to gradually get better, until it became incredibly beautiful. The best part was nothing about my life had changed. I was, physically, in the exact same place I had been in when I entered my state of solitude. The only difference was that I was living through my heart, instead of my ego.
The following poem is a representation of the turmoil I experienced in those first few formative months of silence, and the sudden realization I discovered which changed my life:
I sit across from her
The fire crackles in between us,
A gecko scuttles over my shoes,
But only my subconscious
The sun has set behind the sand dunes
A chill ripples through my bones
I grasp the blanket closer
She is turned away,
Wearing a wispy cotton shirt
And some old faded jeans.
“I thought it would be different,”
She is silent.
“I’m very lost,”
She is silent.
Does she not hear me?
The fire burns on
Do I need to be louder?
The embers dance
Do I need to do more?
Her gaze is fixed
On the silhouetted mountains in the distance,
I kick the sand,
I know she can hear me
I know she listens
Why the f*ck does she not speak?
Maybe she hates me
Maybe she thinks I’m a failure
Maybe she likes screwing with my mind—
Maybe it’s good sport
Her silence is more meaningful
Than her words could ever convey
The language she would speak
Would fall on deaf ears anyway
And prove worthless
For the lessons I’m meant to learn tonight.
So, I am lost
Maybe lost is not a state of being
Or an emotion
Or a place
Or something that can be categorized
Maybe it just is
Maybe I just…am.
Is exactly what I need to be.
I look back up at her
She is still looking away
Her gaze ever fixed on the horizon
But the way her cheek is raised
Ever so slightly
Tells me she may be smiling.
~ A Conversation Between My Soul and My Ego.
Author: Ashton Juliette
Image: Deviantart/Sarick Banana
Editor: Callie Rushton