on solitude borne up by all souls

Were it not for the kindness of strangers, friends, and loved ones (human and not), I could not imagine my own existence.

The self, it seems to me, readily and daily fissures the bounds of body and soul in which we presume ourselves to be singular and individual, apart from any others while here, and it so easily flows into all that is around (and within) us. Porous we are, spirits taking fire from beings we may never know, bodies and minds connected to all that is at depths we cannot fathom or touch.

There is something deeply comforting about feeling one’s self alone amidst such an ancient and enduring gathering, for our solitude is sheltered and made verdant by all the souls who have ever—or will ever—exist. When we feel ourselves most alone, we most fully join these legions.



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