When the darkness comes to me in the heart, I write to myself so that I may understand my own experiences.  It is my poetry to me, and my prayers.

It goes like this:

To be alone is the most horrible of all things. To be alone there is no comfort, no one to wipe tears, no one to brag to, no one to speak to, no one to give to, no one to hold, no one to honor, no one to wish for, no one to withhold from speaking, no one who wants you, no one who wishes you well, no one who wants you to be happy, no one who needs you, no one to touch you, no one to open to, no one to cherish, no one to behold and dream for, no one who even known that you are… that you breathe, that you’re in pain, that you are suffering, that you are weak, that you are torn, that you are brave, that you are thoughtful, that you are kind, that you are dreaming, that you love them, that you wish for their happiness, that you would die to protect them.

To be alone is to face oneself, to see the defects, to know the dirty truths, to feel the awful pain, to be in silence, to be in horror, to feel fear, to discover the reasons, to wish for something you will never know.

To be alone one must be strong, one must honor themselves, one must cherished themselves, one must love themselves, one must find their own courage, one must become willing to die to oneself, and to be borne new to their soul.

To be alone is so devastating. It is heartbreaking, it is mortifying, it is earth shattering, it is perfect in its hell, and it does not lie to you.

To be alone is nothing new, yet we hide from our truth.  I am alone.  I have always been alone.  I have always known isolation.  My friends come to me for help, and where is my help?  My family comes to me to share themselves, but what do I have to share? Our community looks to us all for direction, but where is my director?

Those I love come to me for my love, but who loves me?  Who can answer my questions?  And who can open my heart?  Who can break my own seal? And who has the power to know me?

Though I speak from my very depths it is not heard or accepted. Though I give of my very life, it is not seen.  Though I share from my own experience it is not believed.  Though I have bled for others, they don’t even know. Though I have given all that for which I seek… though I have given all that for which I love… though I have given all that for which I desire… it eludes me evermore.

So I surrender, I stop, and I speak of nothing.  For what is to be gained by futility?  And where is the honor in this?  Is this all that I am?  Is there nothing more?

And with this very little candle, this very little light, I still present it to all so that they may know me as best I can muster.  For what do I have but my love for others?  And what do I know but my care for others?  And what has been withheld from me I wish to give to others, for that is all I seek to know myself.

I share each day my ideas of life, and I offer my thoughts and my heart without question.  And I do not curse others for their ways or their temper.  For I know all manner of pain, all manner of sorrow, all manner of wrath, and all manner of hopelessness.

And I open my heart to you so that you may find peace within yourself, that you may know grace, that you may know serenity, that you may know joy. For in these my simple works are my moments of understanding that come to me.  I truly have been given so very much in this life, yet I am alone.

I do not speak to people’s feelings, but rather to them. For my peace and my love had demanded a very heavy price.  It has been the price of total isolation, and total loss, and total death of my self-importance.  I have known utter powerlessness, to discover true power and freedom.  And I know of the hidden sorrows of man intimately.

May you give yourself mercy, and give yourself love, and give yourself acceptance. You have always offered me the truth, I know you, and I find you all to be beautiful, and worth living for.

Ryan o0o