… contradiction …

I love being alone.

Still, instead of sitting in the silence I might have enjoyed the past few days on this rare occasion when I was the only one occupying this house, I swirled and ran and chased my proverbial tale (and I do, in fact, mean to say TALE and not TAIL) in a mad frenzy of avoidance. I cleaned, I found excuses to go here or there, to do this or that, always something making it impossible for me to just sit down and be silent; always one last thing I had to accomplish before I could really enjoy the solitude.

Until last night.

I ran out of things to do. And I had read the New York Times from cover to cover. And I accidentally found myself simply sitting. In silence.

And, it all hit me.

I’m not sure what “it all” is, but, without my really being consciously involved in the process, tears started to pour down my cheeks. Soon, I was shaking with small sobbings. I felt exhausted to the very center of my being.

This – for lack of a better word – “vision” came at me, or, rather, planted itself in my head, or, maybe, blossomed from my experience of being – WHATEVER – it was there, of a sudden, in the moment, then seared like acid etch into me and would not go away:

A circle, like a planet, so, an orb, but it was made of millions of circles, these lines, all interconnected to become something solid. And I KNEW it was me; and the SOLID thing was what others saw, but each saw the solid according to the few individual lines, little pieces of the arc they knew, and so knew nothing of the whole. But, I didn’t know it either, couldn’t know it, would never know it, but at the same time I realized the impossibility of grasping and seeing it all, I also was OBSESSED unto TORTURE with the NEED to explore and count and map and follow every single one of the millions of paths within it that made the whole, and this HUNGER to be able to EXPLAIN them, to EXPLORE them, to DESCRIBE them adequately – and the worst part of this vision – it was choking me, binding me, taunting me, I was lost in it, drowning in myselves, unable to find purchase to evolve, revolve, remove myself from the trap of me.

What I realized was that three days alone is not enough. I think, perhaps, I am meant to become some version of contemplative monk; following those paths of the planet of me until I can make sense of this confusion of circles.

Or, at least, stop crying.

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