They use words to describe them. Independent
**Solitary ** **Self reliant ** **Isolated **
Alone.
The people on the benches with their heads in books, newspapers, or in reality their phones. Black boxes that contain the sum of all human knowledge, and yet are used for further distancing of themselves from the surrounding world. In the phones, staring at LCD screens, glowing and flashing, grabbing our attention spans. Focus is dwindling, atrophied and withered like grapes left on a vine too long after harvest. Our ability to concentrate more and more is akin to the last strand of tissue on a tooth that has been exiled from the gums.
In the digital world it is totally and utterly impossible to be alone. Who is looking back at you looking through the screen? Who looks and deciphers what you do? Every keystroke, tap, search, watch, stream, message, secret, payment, everything you do and have done or will do is up for grabs. It is clear you can’t be alone here, yet this is where we sacrifice and pray to our new gods. Desperately trying to convince ourselves we haven’t changed and ruined what was our humanity. But even when in the world of 1s and 0s, where we are potentially most vulnerable and watched, we pretend we are alone. And who are we when alone?
So then we seek refuge away from screens, those of us brave enough to put them down. A desperate search for freedom from the parts we play and the masks we wear. Moments alone. No monitoring from behind the black screen, or others in the background and surrounding us. A moment to be alone. Ourselves and only ourselves. But yet, even on top of the highest and most secluded mountain, a plain vast and empty for miles around, or simply in a room, in a house with no living person around, another voice emerges.
One who knows is intimately, ultimately, totally. Who has seen all, knows all, perceives everything we do, think, want, hope, and aspire for. One who also knows everything we wish to forget, the mistakes, regrets, the demons hiding in unlockable closets, shames, fears, and all the worst parts of ourselves. You are never truly alone, you are always with yourself. The incessant voice in your ear, who, for better or worse will never leave your side. You can never be alone, for you are always with yourself. And they are never not watching you.
There, an irregularity! Could it be? I inspect closer with hope that I might glimpse a view. Finally the form resolves and my eyes allow me. The oblong eye, pearl and red marbled skin, dotted with cups like bubbles along your arms. The elation subsides as I realize you are hiding. Sadly, I then understand, you feel you have to disappear. I wish only to observe you. How do you see me? As an enemy or invader? Do I threaten your serenity? I cannot chose how I am seen. Certainly not when you are taught to fear those who look like me. Let your fears abate, fellow earthling, it is I who should be wary.
Through the water you glided, reminding me of sparrows flying. Before my eyes you mutate and are lost to me. Crooked horns ensconced your back. Among crevices and coral trim you found refuge. Please don’t lock yourself up too long. I yearn to play beneath the azure waves with you. If I saw the world from an octopuses eyes, what would I see? Would fear rule me, my elegance neglected? Or could beauty linger fellowship emerge? If only I could see through octopuses eyes.
The stars are dying. Slowly but surely. In a blaze of wonder we will never see, their magic ceases. But don’t tell them. We wouldn’t want their light to dim. But I am not a star, so I think on the secret the stars can’t know. I feel as though I dim when I remember I share the stars fate. But will it be a blaze of wonder? Or merely fade like the moon at dawn? Maybe the stars know the answers, all the answers, but are scared to burden us.
Am I myself? I fear my emotions betray all those of whom I may be composed.
I am my parents when anger engulfs me. I am my friends when in their company. I learned from my teachers the worth of myself, some taught me to work and achieve, others determined I was not worth the effort. I find myself curious in moments of solitude. Am I an individual? Have I been making my own choices and living a life for myself? Or rather, like the many shards of a broken mirror, reflections of all those I’ve met?
Which would I rather be the truth?
