Blinking Lights and Other Things

Where are we.  No matter how much someone believes to know, they really have no clue.  Maybe it’s even the ones who think they know the most are the most lost.  The most removed and stranded.  I imagine my life sometimes as a buzzing pool of possibilities and excitement.  Infinite people forever flooding in and out of my consciousness, all opportunities.  Look out my window, there are hundreds of lives, stories, opportunities, friendships, lovers, mentors, criminals, enemies.  You walk down the street and sweep past all the faces.  They could all be every one of those things.  We go through life thinking that we know what we want.  More, what we need.  When really we have no idea.  We know we want to find love.  We want him to be strong, beautiful, exciting, spontaneous, passionate, ambitious, caring.  But we know we can’t get that.  We still try.  Hope.  We know we can’t get it, but we hope, and end up getting something more logical.  That is what we want.  Someone who you can rely on, and mutually support.  You stop.  You stop the thinking.  It is there you have reached it.  That is not what you want.  You return to the sea of faces and realize you must be alone to be happy.  The sea of faces is your only solitude.  Your only escape from responsibility, understanding, and categorization. Your only way out.  To live as a free agent.  Roaming till you find what you want.  But you don’t.  Nobody ever does.  But you think that’s the closest you will ever get.  No association or bodies.  Thoughts and free movement.  A collection of energy imprinting yourself on the lives of others as they to you.  What if everyone lived in that way?  It wouldn’t be alluring.  It wouldn’t be special.  The only way it works is if you feel stranded and alone yourself.  Alone in this feeling and thought: free.  There is a beauty in loneliness, the night.  I may have a love affair with it.  It pains me and causes me so much hurt, but it has remained my only constant reminder of myself.  It abuses me.  It calls me names, and leaves me in the dirt.  It is closest to me.  It knows me the best.  The place no one else understands.  My safety.  Safety from being understood or known.  I often imagine this place in a number of ways, but my fear in describing is that it will be understood.  That someone will discover it and take it for themselves, steal my only constant.  Then I will be left with nothing.  But nonetheless, I shall describe it because attempting to understand it myself leave me a bit more satiated.  New York City in the night.  Walking down the streets, busy or not.  The rain glazing over the concrete definitions.  Though you are amongst millions, you are the only one there.  You exist alone.  Nobody knows of your existence.  You are invisible.  You observe the lives of the world, and it gives you satisfaction feeling separate, above.  Like a spirit.  Then you come to the realization that you are just as insignificant as those specimen you observe, then come back down to your comfortable melancholy.  Or space.  You look at photos of deep space and think of something so great.  So much greater than anything any human can understand or see.  You would truly be alone.  Alone with that pure greater thing.  The thing that composes us all.  That is the ultimate safety.  You are then content, separate and removed from all those other dots of energy.  Then you come back down and realize, every other dot wishes for the same honor.  Once again, back to your comfortable melancholy.  We are all alone and lost.  Others fool themselves.  But the ones who recognize how valuable being alone is, and love, appreciate being a free flowing cell, understand how great of a human they are, even though, they know that they aren’t and can never be.  Because after all, they’re the lost ones.