alone

how tempting 

it is to 

blame others

for the 

loneliness 

of life 

when in 

fact 

it is no 

ones 

fault, 

not 

even 

your 

own 

to live 

honestly 

requires 

one 

to 

acknowledge 

that 

mere

existence

is an 

unavoidably 

and inherently 

lonely 

reality

to be 

truly 

in tune

with 

our 

truest 

selves

and 

our

own  

inner 

experience

is to 

know 

the 

tragic 

truth 

of the 

inherit 

aloneness of 

all things

this 

truth 

is 

whispered

to me 

in 

the 

obscure 

places

the place 

where 

my wound

seeps 

the place 

where 

my contusion 

aches 

the place 

where 

my grief

nauseates 

the place 

where 

my fear 

bullies 

the place 

where 

my shame 

shadows 

the place 

where 

my heart 

yearns

these 

places 

impart

the tragic 

reality  

that 

no one 

can experience 

my experience 

for me 

no one 

can fully 

understand 

what it is 

to exist 

as I do  

no one 

can fix 

my feelings 

no one 

can resolve 

my torment 

no one

can save 

me from 

my suffering 

and thereby 

no one 

can alleviate

my  

aloneness  

and yet – 

how 

surprising 

and strange 

that

here 

in the 

empty 

cavernous 

loneliness 

of my 

sheer 

inner 

experience

that I

discover 

the

tender 

echos 

of 

true 

solidarity 

beginning to

emerge

from 

within the   

darkness

what 

paradox 

is this 

that

somehow  

we are 

never 

less alone 

then 

when 

we 

are 

all 

alone 

what 

contradiction 

is this 

that 

the loneliness 

which 

suspends 

each of us 

in the 

shapeless 

void

of mystery  

is the

precise 

place 

we come 

to understand 

the 

existence

of everything 

what 

strange 

wisdom 

is this 

that 

perhaps 

the truest  

connections 

are formed  

only 

on the 

other side 

of confronting 

our own 

inescapable 

aloneness 

for there 

is where 

we 

stand in

solidarity 

with the 

loneliness 

of all 

things

see – 

while 

no 

one 

can 

experience 

my experience 

for me, 

I nevertheless 

intimately 

know 

the experience 

of loneliness 

that 

accompanies  

that 

in-experienceable 

experience 

and therein  

lies 

my 

capacity   

to 

share

in the 

experience 

of everything. 

may 

I not,

therefore, 

see my 

loneliness 

as something 

to resolve, 

for 

such 

effort 

is merely 

an 

exercise of 

futility 

whose 

only outcome 

is certain 

disappointment –

rather

may I 

see 

my loneliness 

as 

a gift 

wherein 

I can 

intimately 

understand 

and stand 

in solidarity 

with 

the loneliness 

of all things 

and 

maybe 

in so doing 

I discover 

I am 

in fact 

never 

alone 

in my 

aloneness.