Epic

"Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns
driven time and again off course, once he had plundered
the hallowed heights of Troy.
Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds,
many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea,
fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home.
But he could not save them from disaster, hard as he strove—
the recklessness of their own ways destroyed them all,
the blind fools, they devoured the cattle of the Sun
and the Sungod blotted out the day of their return.
Launch out on his story, Muse, daughter of Zeus,
start from where you will—sing for our time too."

~Homer, The Odyssey 

   "Loneliness," as the song says, "is such a sad affair." And how right she was. I appreciate the feeling of being lonely, and empathize on a deep and fundamental level those who feel so. For solitude is at right angles with the natural lifestyle of our species - we are a gregarious, social animal. And without[meaningful] contact with another human,there is no enrichment,no discourse, and no comfort. We are the forlorn and burning Odysseus, restless for want of Ithaca.

   I say this because, if one is not interacting with anyone who cares to listen, then it is as if one is not even part of this world. For all other people know, we may very well be dead. A similar notion is touched on in the classic question: if a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, did it make a sound? Of course it did, as common sense would tell us, but how can we be sure? This is why to be alone is to be separate from the world, and it is a tragic condition.

   It is to my displeasure to tell you, my readers who don't already know (if there are any), that I have the misfortune of existing so. I prefer not to discuss the circumstances of my odyssey, because it is an unpleasant discussion to say the least, but I know the feeling of being alone and far from home. I feel this way even when standing in a crowd, because these are not my people. I feel it when with friends, because these friends, however excellent, cannot replace those dearest to me - my old friends back home. I find it impossible not to miss my family, and to my despair I find myself forgetting the memories and the connection I have with them.

   As I wander further emotionally from my Ithaca, I am burdened also by the longing for a Penelope of my own. There are many beautiful syrens in this place, but I am deaf to their song. I know they are not my people. They don't understand me. They will have nothing to do with me. This reminds me of how wonderful the women of my native Colorado are. Free as the sky, solid as the mountains, and as fluid and changing as the mighty river. All of these things, and yet ... simple and unpretentious. 

   To lie in surrender beside such a creature in a warm house, deep in conversation, and intertwined in embrace - this is my oasis. It is this image that tempers the blade that is loneliness. It stabs the wanting heart at its time of greatest ambition, and leaves an empty sensation in the chest.

   These are all fine words. They are artful and expressive, but they cannot do justice to the plain misery of the lonely man. I am here. And everyone else is there. This is my curse and my sad song. But I hope that those reading this understand, and in fact I'm sure most can relate. We are all lonely sometimes - and some of us are lonely all the time. But I think if we as a species were better at connecting with each other, the evil of loneliness would be abated, and we may see the shores of Ithaca sooner, and find our kingdom less altered.