An old flame once told me I was too solitary when I spoke of the need for alone time in the woods and how much I relished being by myself.
She understood to an extent but didn’t quite get the depth of it. She called me her lone wolf.
Maybe it has to do with being born deaf into a world of total silence. When I was fitted for hearing aids a couple years later, mom would write in her journals how I still dwelled in my own worlds, lost in oceans of imagination.
Whatever the cause, it’s deeply ingrained within.
I wasn’t a social outcast and I had my good share of friends. Most honored my penchant for solitary time even if they didn’t always get it.
Wanting to be alone didn’t mean I didn’t value their companionship. It’s like love… Just because I love something or someone else doesn’t mean I love you any less.
Going nomadic a couple years ago was the ultimate plunge into aloneness. I would go weeks without communication, virtually disappearing into the ether.
It was where I found my true joy, being all alone in the wilderness. And knowing I was never alone all along.
It’s where my self melted away into the trees, rivers, mountains, and clouds. There was nothing left of me — I lost my true nature and became nature. An embrace of the beloved. It was ecstatic.
It was meant to be. Embracing aloneness into a merging of soul with nature and immortal beloved.
We all have paths to follow that bring us ever closer to our own divinity, our souls. To the great loves of our lives.
Mine is to walk the trails of solitude and get lost in all that is.
Your lone wolf