I’ve been thinking about seclusion. In my last readings the word has been occasionaly appearing, both with praise and despair. It seems that what for some is a benefit, for others is just a conviction. I guees it depends strongly on a matter of choice, meaning that if you choose to be in seclusion, it could be Heaven, but if it’s imposed on you. Well, that’s obvious.
For my part, however, I’ve seen it as a matter of choice. It’s just my way of life, and it’s always been like that. A hideaway. A place where nobody could do no harm. Here, alone, inside. That’s the main reason why there’s always frost in the window: been secluded inside myself gives my outside a frosty appearance, as if it had no life in it. So my other being has been called cold, aloof, alien, crazy, egotist…whatever was in fashion at the moment. But they don’t know that that’s not me. It’s just a cocoon. I’m still here, inside, alone, safe. Secluded, in one word.
The thing is that, sometimes, I live it with joy, but lately it has become more and more of a burden. And I don’t know why. I am comfortable here, looking, waiting, learning. And I do not understand why I feel somewhat inprisoned right now. There´s no use in going out. There’s nothing in the outside that I cannot get with little effort from the inside. And then again…there’s some unidentified longing that I can avoid.
Seclusion, then. Not an option, but…