Today the mind dwells on change. The mechanics of change is admittedly fascinating, no matter how hard we try to resist it. It is much like salt dissolving in water. The water makes the vainest of attempts to allow the grains to sink to the bottom intact. But they diminish, melt and vanish without a trace. Appearances may defy the truth. But the water stands changed for good, its pristine form so starkly violated. Change really is the only true permanence. For when the change is complete and you look back, the past seems so unlikely and almost wrong.
Solitude was something I thought I understood, although I vacillated between love and hate for it. Now I face a new solitude I never sought. It is the kind I cannot mourn with cryptic elegies or immortalize with heartbreaking verse. Books cannot banish it, the sea cannot snatch it, there is no distraction from it. It is still solitude, albeit a changed one.
"Detachment is a virtue," I always philosophized. The day has come when it seems like a necessity and I find I'm one virtue short. Maybe I lost it in a euphoric journey, maybe it is hiding, maybe it is masquerading. The detachment I feel today is a mere impostor that cannot numb me to the reproach I feel or eclipse the devious deceptions of the world.
I look back and rightly see a past so ludicrous. I wonder if I am beginning to love this solitude criss-crossed with dear memories. I wonder if I ever want to find that cold detachment again.
