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THE SOLITUDINOUS SOLITUDE


MCVDK
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T H E   S O L I T U D I N O U S   S O L I T U D E

 

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[x]

 

In the silence of my solitude my mind is free to dream,

To contemplate the things that were, that are, and those that might have been.

While a life yet still to come which I have never seen seems tentative at best

Stirring up a future hope from which I never rest.

For memory is part of life and dreams of future speak,

But in the now my soul resides in a body strong and weak.

 

In my body works the weakest frailty of men and it may lay me low

To steal away the freedom we call life as we daily come and go.

When we do and say the things that make us what we are

Naked truth in action, unblemished or with scar.

Where we seek the touch of love's forgiving soft caress

The refuge of all lives set free of loneliness.

 

My mind can see so clearly in the still and rest of peace

The many deeds of men that daily never cease,

The good, the bad, the selfish and societal conformed.

But I must contemplate my life since the day that I was born.

For I am far from blameless in so many varied ways,

And shall be ever still until my dying days.

 

Even in my solitude with secrets I don't share

I need to know that somewhere close there's someone who does care.

I crave to feel that comfort of someone holding hands

Secure within the knowledge that there's nought I can't withstand.

Grateful for the one who sees me in my need, for we are all the same

When finally The Reaper comes to make his mournful claim.

 

 “The Sanctuary of Solitude” by Reginald Reid

 

[x]

 


 

“We have lost our mind, ne?”

 

“Well, ti, maybe, not sure, probably, seems likely to be honest, but, hmph.”

 

“How do we fix this then?”

 

“Well, hmph, well, maybe we stop eating these mushrooms to start.”

“Okay, and then?”

 

“We return to civilizatio-nnnnn-n?”

“Why?”

 

“To be around people, y’know? Might be good for the old mind.”

 

“What do we mean, we are ne alone-” 

 

Around the druid laid a desolate wasteland of an olden woodland. He was alone, entirely alone. Alone with the voices which rested in his head. Alone with his thoughts and his thoughts alone. 

 

                                           Alone.                      

                                                            Alone.

Alone. 

 

And yet oft the druid wondered to himself - for he was still yet alone - if solitude was so bad? For solitude had been part of his life for most of his life and his life had lasted a while. Surely, if a life lived elsewhere of life and the life lived had been adequate, then life lived in solitude was no bad life to live? And yet, yet, the olden druid, and even elder mali’ame, continued to wonder on the life which had been lived for centuries; would life lived contrarily have been more than adequate?

 

Oft did the druid wonder on the word solitude. Solitude; lonesomeness; isolation. Synonyms of solitude yet never entirely the same. What was solitude truly? He knew solitude was to be alone and alone the druid was, yet solitude also hinted towards the woodlands. What is the woodland if not an isolated - and yet oh’ so peaceful - area of land filled with trees and blossoms, with animals and insectoids. Who could be alone when surrounded by this? Who could be alone when one was closer than ever to a landscape which reeked of life.

 

And oft did the druid wonder then, what did he do on his lonesome. He was the Tempest Druid. Tempest. Tempest.. Tempest… He had this Totem, yet felt no connection to the word. He had been what the Tempest should be. He had been violent and fast. He had been a warrior. He had been a fighter. He was as the tempest wind is. He was what the Tempest is supposed to be. He was. He was.. He was… Yet if one were then are they still? 

 

He recalled one night to himself - for he was still yet alone - of the earth and the wind. He recalled the shake of the trees. He recalled the motion of the canopies. He recalled the tempest wind above his own and yet the druid stood still. Unmoved by the wind. Unmoved by the thought. Unmoved by his Totem. He recalled his content in his place. He recalled his lack of desire to move. His lack of desire to act. His lack of desire to fight. He was satisfied in the wilds. He was satisfied with his solitude. 

 

And so the druid decided; solitude was not so bad. Yet lack thereof was not either. He found a Balance needed to be there. He found the thoughts of yore to return once more. A Balance, indeed, of Balance knew the druid. 

 

So did the druid then decide; solitude can be found even in civilization. For his mind had run wild. And yet solitude remained. He found solitude of mind and solitude of soul. He found his own in the midst of the solitude alone. He knew solitude would always be there even if civilization would start to ensnare; for the druid knew in certainty that solitude would be found anywhere. So the druid decided on a fact most true. Solitude was solitude even when without. For the solitude of mind was always there anyhow. 

 

And the druid would start to tread through the woodland then - his direction aimed for civilisation. He would head to society once more and yet knew one aspect was not as before. 

 

He did leave his solitudinous solitude behind yet on his way - the druid became

                                                                                         BROTHER SOLITUDE.

 

 

The Tempest Druid no more.

 

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