A Brook of Consciousness


Began as a ramble, became something more profound


Though I live in a world that is immeasurably vast (well, it is technically measurable, I suppose) and though I belong to a humanity that is infinity complex (that at least I can deem to be true) I often find it incredibly difficult to know what to write about.

So I guess I’ll write about that struggle, and see what comes of it.

That’s the beauty of this craft, I suppose. It really can take any form you wish of it. It really can fill any void you might decide to exist. Even if that void is real only in your head.

Voids like these exist in all of us. At least, all of us who are alone. These voids are not real. People are born alone. People die alone.

And yet, people spend all of their lives chasing other people, to fill a chasm that isn’t there. This is a choice. It’s such a sad thing, really. That we cannot feel complete, even when we are whole. Even when we possess all that we are, and all that we will ever be.

There is nothing missing when you are alone. There is no void. You are there, present, entire. And yet you are not. You yearn for another. You long for something you have never had. Or perhaps you have had it, once, and that makes the yearning all the worse.

I don’t blame you for yearning, or anyone. I do it too. Every day.

And so, hapless as a newborn lamb, I stumble onto what I want to write about.

Solitude is wonderful. It is natural. From solitude springs art, and direction, and the rawest truths of our race. Yet we run from it like a deadly virus. We flee from solitude like it is a predatory thing, and we are alone in the woods at night.

Or maybe we’re not running from being alone.

Maybe we’re running towards something. Maybe, like iron, we’re being drawn to an opposite polarity. Maybe we seek our magnet relentlessly. Maybe we cannot feel whole without it. Maybe the void, imagined or real, grows bigger every day we are alone.

Love is a magnetic pull. It is a greater force by far than that which pulls metal together, for we are people, not elements. We are flesh and blood and soul. Yet love ensnares us. Draws us. Pulls on the imagined void we all possess.

I wonder if metal aches as I ache. I wonder how it feels to cling to someone like a mussel on a rock. I wonder if the struggle of pulling two magnets apart says anything about humanity. About me.

Because I feel the same pull. I do. And I feel the void that comes with being alone. I tell myself that it isn’t real every single day, but that barely helps. It aches regardless. But it must be enough.

For now.

Maybe it’ll go away. Maybe when I find the magnet I’m being pulled towards.

I swear I’ll cling to her like a mussel to a rock, ignoring the sea breaking around us, and the saltwater on my face.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.