230719 - Loneliness - Morning

Thank god for writing. Today I’m feeling heavily discouraged. Lonely. It’s just words, gestures, symbols. Nothing beyond them. I acknowledge this heavy feeling, this melancholy, emotion. The acknowledgement comes with an expectation. The expectation that the emotion will fade. But it doesn’t. Still here. It’s like sitting in a dark cloud. They say running away is worse. Sometimes I’m not so sure. These writings are all I have, at times like this. This and a deep desire for connection. But sometimes the hope just isn’t shining that bright. Maybe it’s all the electrical outages because of the monsoon. Once again I find myself lost. I just don’t see the point, at times. When I feel sad, I want to do something to stop myself from being sad. I want to understand my sadness, where it comes from, how to make it go away. Why? This is not the meaning of letting go. But being with it hurts. So badly. I don’t want to close up to it any longer. I don’t want to deny. Everything I miss, all my longings, are just a mirage. An illusion. They’ve never been. Again, homeless. I miss home. The physical place. But when I was there I longed for truth. As I sit here, with it staring me in the face, I just don’t know. I’ve gone too far. Now it’s all uprooted. They say ignorance is bliss. If only I’d trusted their advice. What’s the point? I pretend to write for myself. In certain ways I am. But still I wish for my words to be read, to be heard, to be seen. To create a connection. To help someone else. But more than anything, to justify all that I’ve been through. To give an outlet to all of this. For someone to share my truth. Yet deep down I know they never can. Alone we are born. Alone we die. My words are not words, I see that now. They’re an attempt to paint an emotion. That’s their only value. A frequency, a resonance, that will carry this feeling across space and time and touch another. It’s my very Being I’m trying to pour down on these pages. Its imperfection is nothing but the reflection of Truth.