Words

Words, the opiate of a dying race. I've prayed to a God nobody believes in, so you can imagine how startling it is when He gets things done.

It always begins the same way. Tiresome at best. People making wild claims about being all alone in the world. So alone that their mournful cries have to interrupt my otherwise peaceful sojourn through a day's commute. The same people who, if they were ever confronted with any real prospect of isolation would bang their heads.

What a thing, to consider a moment in time, to witness the precise event that separated the concept of loneliness and solitude. To not only drown out the blustering activity of the tribe around you, but to lament it. And so here we all are, surrounded by endless canyons of noise and people, one stacked upon another, fooling ourselves into thinking that half a metre of drywall can actually insulate us from the buzzing mechanics of the consciousness next door.

Careful! Don't meditate to quietly lest your neighbours think you dead.

The pairing of the animal world. The cruel, killing joke of creating a natural emptiness in some hollowed out organ deep within the chest. A cavity yearning not to be filled, but merely to be acknowledged by the same in another. Notsomuch companionship as mutual, shared loneliness.

We all, a billion writhing articulations of the same tired consciousness each reaching frantically for a different piece of the same truth. We all, creating music so grand, weaving fabric so complex that it begs the energy of another. We all, convinced that ours is the real perception, immune to the baser subjectivity suffered by so many others stumbling through this reality.

And still, the sweet smell of sleep as it pours out over the night sky, through all of the thunderous starlight of a trillion naked civilizations all reaching toward home. Toward the only thing it cannot fabricate with all of the accumulated warmth of a barely begun universe. Love. Every last thought taking comfort in the slow, churning return to Godliness. To wholeness. Love. The inscrutable desire to eliminate boundaries. To reabsorb the entirety of the universe into the singular existence from whence it all came. An entire cosmic diaspora reaching out to itself.

Words. Fleeting, irresolute creatures designed to translate an endless array of interpretations of the same idea back again to the One that birthed it.

There is peace, only when we remember where we came from. Where we're going.