A Different Kind of Love

The cool dampness seeping through the cotton of my khaki shorts was somewhat soothing. I stared out into the orange-blue-purple-pink painting that was the dawn of night, sipping the sweet sadness that stung my eyes. Immense beauty often pierced me that way...even more so, the unbeckoned solitude.

Waves were rolling over me, through me. I was powerless to do anything but let them. Not the wet waves of the ocean surf, but the overwhelming tide of my own self-pity. It wasn't't the first time I had drunk from this cup, with its bittersweet flavor. Alone, I sat watching the sad beauty mirroring my soul: multi hued, vivid, with more than a hint of darkness.

Experiencing such beauty in solitude was the norm for me. It first pried open the unwilling door of my consciousness, and parked itself on the couch of my daily existence when the notion fell on me that I was experiencing life in a way no one else did. I was far too young to know, or even to care, that probably every being on the planet was slapped by that discovery at some point.

Even after I figured that out, I still couldn't deny the knowledge deep within me that it didn't have to be that way. I couldn't lose the knowing that we could share our experiences of being on the planet at a level most people didn't even seem to know existed.

There were those who seemed to share this knowing and we'd try. But the efforts invariable evolved into sad attempts to hold on to anything to keep positive sharing afloat amidst sinking hopes, drowning desires. The sea of fear, roiled with too much doubt, too little awareness, and far too heavy egos. I felt like I existed on a different plane altogether. Potential life-enhancing experiences abounded, yet so beyond my reach. My latest attempt had been more of the same, and here I was experiencing a piece of life's beauty alone again.