Lately, I have been getting bored of Instagram, and the net. It felt like a conundrum that does not make sense—but it exists, and it seems like the world is existing in a bubble threatening to explode anytime.
I have taken it upon myself to take a step back from the world with the intention to bask in a divergent form of attention: one that forces me to look inward. One that tells me, “Hey, if you must sit with a firework of thoughts, let them be yours”. In that sense, I preferred to sit with myself than with the noise of the world. Of course, I still keep in touch with some friends; however, I find myself wanting to delve into an innermost hobby: that of being alone—in other words: the art of “leave me alone”.
People tell me I sit with myself too much. I am no diplomatic gremlin, but I do have the tact to respond with a smile rather than a “Well, I can’t break my company for the displeasure of yours.” Although, this is entirely true: I have been finding people hard to digest, insufferable, and unable to hold space for a good conversation. I do not want the world around me to be ubiquitous, I want my own world to be so. I want to be present with myself; I want to speak to myself. A tedious task for the times we live in.
I want to sit with my books, my music, my ethereal world… I often wonder what will become of culture and language as people seem to diverge from libraries and rely on the regurgitations of the algorithm & co. We as a race are becoming accustomed to getting things instantly, while nature herself—out of whose womb we have come to life—takes all the time she needs. One thing I have been noticing on my long morning walks, is that nature has a deliberate way of preserving herself: an act of self-communion. In an overstimulated world, solitude is a heavily sought-after indulgence that many cannot afford. Nature doesn’t seem to care about what is happening on the outside; it moves forward, it seeks continuity—which I find her to execute quite too well.
One way for us humans to enter this world is through cultivating a culture of thought. A culture of excitement, as things unfold, gracefully, instead of rushing them like a fruit forced into precocious ripeness. A culture of awaiting and anticipation, where words like “mellow, soft, tender, care, patience, self-love, grace” are used.
I think, it is an act of generous courage to observe the world from the viewpoint of stillness. To be still in space and time. To not mind space and time. To just be. To exist. To be one and alone. I also think, if we see the world from this perspective, we would have a lot to say about it. We would not rush. We would bask in the certainty that everything comes to fruition under the sun and, as for that, we would not need to worry about how or when it will.
—R.