Eremition

I was writing a piece recently about how I need to be alone to become myself again. I wrote about how most interactions require a degree of effort that solitude relieves, and how I cannot find a way to most honestly convey myself outside of my head. These thoughts, along with the compounding memory of many hurtful misinterpretations, caused me to retreat for a while. In this period, I examined the ways in which my relationships were causing me so much displeasure. I felt that I may have been creating all the drama in my head. That it wasn’t other people, but I who needed to make a change. I began to realize that everything I did and said was a diluted version of myself, an attempt to convey a half-truth within. And how could I express this? I became distracted as a dog outside my window chased its tail in maddening circles until it ran out of breath and fell to the ground, panting and exhausted. I continued to write for quite some time, until I too dropped the pen, cramping and unsatisfied. I decided to go outside. On my walk, I experienced a staggering breath, a pause between forces. In this harmony I witnessed a simple face of God, an urging to accept the magnificent contradictions.