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I abandoned everyone.
I therefore felt abandoned.
Because I was.

I became solitary. Like a hermit.

Solitude is lonely. It’s supposed to be. But sometimes the loneliness is felt so severely like a cold fog seeping into the marrow of your bones.


But solitude and loneliness are not the same thing.

Solitude is being alone.
Loneliness is feeling alone.

I know loneliness. It is my breath.

I know solitude. It is my lungs.

There is something very foreboding about this solitude, something at once scary and serene. It is both threatening and promising at the same time.

Like any wilderness.
Like any desert.

When you are in this solitude I know you will feel it.
You will feel like you are on an adventure, but a dangerous one.
You will be fully aware of its risks.

Yes, solitude threatens both life and death.
Because this is where we meet wild animals and demons.
This is where we meet our fiercest temptations.

But I learned to trust it. For it is in this solitude, this wilderness,
where I become most myself. All by myself. Alone. Me.

And I become one with the universe.

I breathed in all of it… I took it all in… the All of it…
and the All became me and I became it.
So I sat on this solitary swing, and the solitude embraced my loneliness,
and consoled it.

If you’d like to own all of my Sophia drawings, which include the story behind each one, you can buy my book, The Liberation of Sophia here

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