Loneliness was experienced as if it were a dull blade. Every blow that pierced the body caused tremors. In the heartbeat of the universe, alienation was sensed; in the ceaseless flow of time, bitterness was revealed. When the eyes closed at night, inevitable dark thoughts awakened. There was the stillness amid the perpetual motion of humankind, the screams echoing in pitch darkness, the lights of trusted houses flickering out one by one, and a self abandoned beneath the moonlight.
Abandonment is good—it always suggests that life must be clung to with greater effort. It whispers memories lost in time and nurtures deep thoughts. A desire to know, to know more, and to break away from the banality of humankind constantly arises; perhaps, for He, humankind was simply childish, for he had always viewed life through God’s eyes, as learned from books. Sometimes He reflects: “Like a forest with flourishing olive trees… why is everything so slow for me? Only for me?”
At times, a cry akin to that of Zarathustra is desired in the center of a square: “From worm to man…” Then, a thought emerges of being a fool—what is this self-admiration, this hatred for humanity? Why should the one alienated by humankind not be despised? Perhaps the blame should be sought within; after all, who else could bear it? Is it the Moon, which in our darkest hours does not hesitate to reveal the beauty of this faint light? Or the brilliant star that gives rise to everything on this planet, shapes our sense of aesthetics, and bestows life upon us? Could it be the trees—the embodiment of vitality in silence? Or even the concrete heaps, perennial symbols of asymmetry? Perhaps therein lies the solace to be sought—why must things always be perfect? Is there anything beautiful that can ever escape the clutches of humankind?
The declaration resounds: “I have become the subject of my own life; I need not be anyone else’s subject.” Perhaps that is why belonging is never felt. Encounters with those who claimed him as their subject have always proven to be a painful truth. Contemplations of how to shape one’s life ensue—perhaps, as always, it is too late. Suddenly, the urge to flee arises, to run without looking back, to a place where no one will ever know the one who struggles within. There are infinitely many places to go, yet the real problem is where to remain.
A thought occurred: was there boredom? No—boredom was unknown. That is the fundamental problem of humankind; they are all extremely bored. Nature was explained to them, and they grew bored; a living body was described, and boredom followed; the universe was recounted, and weariness ensued. Now, cheap thrills are craved and indulged in abundantly—and as long as these thrills remain new, blinking in forty different colors and incessantly beeping, it matters not how mundane or empty they are. Aren’t they all bored by it?
Now, now, now—even if a “now” could be grasped in the palm of a hand, it would fly off to distant realms, only for a new “now” to appear. Will those “nows” ever return? Each night, plans for new “nows” are made, yet one inevitably becomes lost amidst unforeseen “nows.” Within that awareness, one thing is clear: those “nows” have long since abandoned the one they once belonged to.
A deep breath was drawn… Could that thing called happiness ever provide continuity? “Happiness is the opposite of awareness,” was the thought. Might one have been happy had the presumed truths never been fully understood? Does knowing kill happiness? Then again, what is happiness? Is it to belittle the very things once feared? What was scorned was, in fact, the very notion of happiness. It was believed that when one is happy, thought is no longer desired—and without thought, progress cannot be made… yet was not the capacity for thought itself a product of having attained comfort?
Gazing at the dark sky, the dim bright points—dulled by humankind’s greed—reminded once more how far they were from the one who so longed for belonging. In that moment, utter loneliness prevailed. In a universe formed by coincidence, in galaxy clusters that assembled by coincidence, in a galaxy formed by coincidence, in a system formed by coincidence, on a planet formed by coincidence, in life that emerged by coincidence, from an ancestor that appeared by coincidence, it was decreed that the being was nothing more than a dust particle. He was an aesthetic dust particle—nothing more.
soli 