Solitude

Monk by the Sea by Caspar David Friedrich

Solitude, I like that word.

It evokes in me a sense of calm, a vision of trees swaying gently in the breeze under a fully lit moon on a warm summer's night. The stars in the heavens lazily twinkle while the river, in no hurry to reach her lake, ambles along, winking and glinting at the moon, as though a bride showing off her new silver-laced dress. The heady fragrance of jasmine crowns her tresses and the chirps of crickets form her anklet bells.

To this solitude of my mind I retreat, closing the doors to the world behind me. I sit on a rock where the lichens have laid a carpet for me and I wonder, I wonder in my palace garden, oh how beautiful and blessed this life. A life that is loved and has nothing to lament, nothing to be fixed. It had known and have immensely received only the kindest of words, smiles and gratitude. I wonder why me? Why can't my life always be like this? I desire my lips would only speak the sweetest of words, my hands would always be stretched out in offer, my heart filled with unconditional love and my mind with the fairest of thoughts. I wonder if this is truly me or is it me when seen from the outside, through the palace window. Only in solitude that I can be true to myself, while I may be what I want others to see when in company. It is only in solitude that my masks are thrown away and I see my skin. I thanked my solitude that it kept me company this night and not made me lorn or lonely. 

A thought then appeared and it appeared like a drop of rain, suddenly on a clear night sky taking one by surprise, small from afar, seemingly unthreatening, but then the sky darkens and soon follows the torrent, a monsoon deluge, like pearls, soft but strong, bursting from a velvet bag that could no longer hold any more treasures and has given away under its own weight. The river swells with tears, for the lovely night has ended, and it no longer ambles, but twists and turns, hurries away to find shelter from the blitz, her dress is limp, the jasmine lay scattered on the grass and the crickets on her anklets have fallen quiet. I wonder at this new solitude, the quiet that the torrent has brought, the calm after the storm.

A departing thunderclap echoed in the void and the soul listened and I wondered, about the boy who lay unsought, unfound, unkissed, untouched, unembraced, his mind unread, his hand unheld. Those tears unshed and the solitude of nights unshared.