The Rich Vegetarian

An Examined Life

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Tag: solitude (page 1 of 5)

Home Alone

I always thought that to be home meant to be alone. For, when you are truly home, you are utterly by yourself. No friend or lover, parent or a child, soulmate, pet, not even God… well, at least how we like to define God. No, S/H/e/It isn’t there either.

To be home means to be entirely and utterly by oneself.

I, for one, never had an issue with that.

Even as a child, I liked spending the long hours by myself. Books were the next best option. My sister and my mother were great companions too. Perhaps because they liked their space and quiet as well. So there we were, left to our individual wiles and devices (not the electronic type), utterly happy (or not), pottering around in our own little worlds.

There have been quiet evenings when I have wondered if company would be the antidote to that dull, brooding feeling. But no, not really, I don’t think so. I am not sure if that gnawing restlessness would have been fixed by people and conversation. Yes, there have been times when I have desired for people and conversation, deep and light. I have wanted for bright, warm lights, good home-cooked food, a warm corner to curl in, a cozy ride home with P.

But most evenings, home is alone and alone is home, and it feels perfect and abundant.

Freedom/Isolation

A balloon flies free, untethered by a strong hand,
It isn’t too different for a mind that likes solitude
The days are long, the moments flow along nicely

It is quiet and spacey

No voice beckons, no company calls.

It feels nice, then quiet, then too silent,

and I often think: when does the notion of freedom bleed into isolation?
When does the feeling of warm comfort become a strain?

The quiet space starts collapsing within,
Then the only sound is the silent one, that feels loud and blaring and deafening.

I wonder: what about the future? Will it be quiet too?

Is this my personality, a bad mood, a time-of-the-month? A hormonal shift, a moon cycle play?

And then it begins again, another day, another evening by the window, wandering in half-thought, half-soliloquy, full-___.