I’m not sure how I ended up alone, it was not my intention. I think I got here in the service of truth. Truth over glamour, truth over lies, truth – more than codependency. It only looks so cosy in other people’s lives.
There once was a tribe. The tribe fell away. Some were diverted by suburbia, others got jobs, some became mayors and music stars, others drowned in dysfunctional relationships beneath single parenting. Not so many made it through, and we are scattered now across continents. My global gypsy freedom proved too vast and here I am, tribeless and free.
I chose to serve self-servers. I poured so much into counsel and assistance of those who stabbed me in the back, or eventually pretended I did not exist. So here I am in limbo, not existing for anyone but myself. Celebrating aloneness.
Here I am not bound by housework, or anyone else’s ideas. Here I choose the next step in each moment – the whirled my palate to carve an identity within. A secret identity. No one else knows me. No one judges me, for I pass briefly through their projections and away. Back to me. Sovereignty alone serves freedom.
Most full moons I miss them. Whomever it was I sat around fires with on full moons, singing. So many. So many not here anymore. Just the pristine clarity of me and moon. No contrivances under her cold light. She sees me live and die alone.
Simplicity. That’s what I craved. Just me and the moonlight. The fecund and fetid ties and tides of human interactions, gooey relational projections, any responsibility to others dystopias… I sought to be free of that confusing mess. There was nowhere I could find a foothold in that slippery slop.
So I slipped into aloneness, almost before I knew it, yet… as one profound teacher told me… this is the path. A lonely one.
Oh path… oh moonlit sea. I have nothing to do, no one to explain to. Sharp, clear, completely unseen…
This is what it is to be free.