I walk alone
The shadows in the valley
Misunderstood creature of the night
I bask in darkness
Void of light
The odd one out
I walk alone
I may enjoy the solitude, but I am definitely not a hermit. At least not just yet. I do get outside a couple times a week, just to get some exercise and enjoy the fresh air and get some much needed motivation. There really isn’t anywhere to go so I just walk around listening to music, letting the beats pulse with my steps. A couple minutes of shooting hoops gives me positive energy and a chance to really blow off some steam.
Creative things always are sparked in solitude. The freedom to express yourself without distractions is always a great thing. It is nearly impossible to get my thoughts together when there are so many people around and there is a lot of external noise. I can study better when I’m alone, as was evidenced by my failing grades when I tried to bring a social life into the situation and encountered distracting thoughts. But sometimes being around people produces much happier thoughts and there is the intentional and unintentional collaboration that goes on when I have another person discussing things back and forth with me.
Christopher Paolini, author of the bestselling novel Eragon and one of the youngest authors in history, has spent most of his life alone in the beautiful wilderness of Montana, writing fictional novels inspired by the breathtaking landscape that includes mountains and endless lakes. He was homeschooled at the age of 15 after having graduated high school.
Being in solitude is healthy for the mind because it relaxes and brings out good emotions. Good ideas are born in alone time. Even greater ideas are born when someone is alone for longer periods of time. You become one with yourself and discover some truly amazing things. Just don’t sink too much into it or you may go insane.
I was born to ride alone
The lone wolf in the desert
Not a word whispered to a fellow
Slimy moving lizard painted yellow
Beside myself, I wouldn’t ask for help
A social anomaly, the comfort of solitary
Choosing to go it alone, the silent buzzing drone
My horse galloping along for all the nights and days
Charging through Problem City, leaving myself amazed
But I was put on the rocks
Caught in a tough spot
Did not know what to do
Got caught in a sandstorm
Praying to just get through
When I fell out my steed
And got left there in ‘Zona
Sweltering in the heat, thinking it was ova
Like a coyote I cried for help
Miles and miles, just a faint dog yelp
When over the horizon came a charging sight
A man on a horse as dark as the night
He asked me if I was alright
I didn’t give me the satisfaction
But said “Help me out”
And so he did
And I rode along
And now knew the song
The one of a friend
The thing I’d been missing for so long
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “I Am a Rock.”
Is it easy for you to ask for help when you need it, or do you prefer to rely only on yourself? Why?
This is solitude to me. There is nothing around in the dark field and the trees are still and barren. While riding along on the highway a few nights ago, I noticed how beautiful the sky looked and was glad I had my camera phone with me, snapping a number of pictures as the car rushed on by. After a series of blurry pictures of no particular value, I finally got this one that captured this pink, purple, and blue canvas in fine detail. This picture seems so peaceful. There are no disturbances. As the cars on the highway rush by, people busy, busy with their lives, this field under a dreamy sky remains quiet and in solitude.
This is an even better example of solitude. The lone grave marking, a cross commemorating a war veteran of my town. The idea that no one else has been laid down to rest here is so poetic. The trees in the background against an all white sky paint an image of heaven for me. So tall and graceful. Solitude could not be described any better in my mind than having a cemetery all to oneself, undisturbed by other souls. There is always a cold, chilly feeling that goes through me whenever I walk by this. I can almost imagine the ghost of the war veteran rising up out of the grave, gliding over to the fence to speak to me, or just staring back at me from afar as I walk on by. The thought of walking into this field of peace and tranquility intrigues me. There are no sounds in this area except the soft whisper of the wind.
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