Are We Alone?
No, dear child, we are not alone. Dismissing the breath of extraterrestrial life and the far off promises of other galaxies--even the
gaze of higher beings; here on this Earth, I know for a fact that we are not alone. When we are physically isolated from the
shadow of human life, or even when we feel removed in the busiest rooms, our soul seems to wander towards such a hollow and
hopeless term. But, ah, how deceiving the soul may be!
Delve into the mind of the young man wearing a navy sweatshirt and propped hastily against the subway wall. Hear the repetition
of "Hey Jude" over and over stolen from the cab driver's radio that morning, the meaning of the words melding into the hollow
creases laid as caulking between other thoughts; John Lennon's alto a soundtrack to the feet passing by. See the angry gestures
of his landlord and the dewy gurgling of his cousin's newborn whom he held last Friday, the "I love you", a slippery cadence falling
from his girlfriend's lips. He is not alone. In his mind he always has company and with this motley and ever-changing crew he is
always conversing--being influenced and thinking of ways in which to influence.
Was Nelson Mandela alone in his dark cell? No. Perhaps there was the guiding voice of a god, but more than that there was the
suffering of others, their cries for help, in the form of memories and thoughts. While his body grew thin and his ears accustomed
to the monotonous sounds of prison routine, perhaps a vision of the starved woman in his neighborhood--child in her arms,
bracelets slipping from her knobby ankles, a face speckled with mud and dust and a general loss of hope--is what kept his mind
alive with feverous purpose for eighteen long and lonely years.
Oh! But what about the lone child, raised by wolves and hidden away from human influence? The reclusive mountain monk? Are
they alone? After all, they have been little swayed by the theories of society. Again, this is not always a defining measure of being
alone. When the thoughts of others and memories of instances replay themselves in the mind, and influence actions, a being can
no longer be labeled as solitary for there are other forces at work. In the mind of such a child it is the whine of his canine brothers,
the twist of the field grass and the action of his mother, lucid and swift, as she takes down woodland prey. From this he
remembers, studies and learns. For the mountain monk, it is the humid breath of morning tea or the imagined visage of his God.
Both minds retain and communicate with these thoughts, and for this, they remain in company.
There are many definitions of "alone"--many of which act upon the assumption that a person must be solitary, abandoned by
people, objects or an overall sense of belonging. Even if we take this assumption at face value, we still may foster an argument:
Internal thoughts and movements of a person borrow from the world around them--there is little we know straight from the womb.
Because of this we take information, voices, theories, gestures, tones from our environment and retain them as thoughts and
memories. Who and what we make from these is one basic form of company. In among our homework assignments and "to do
lists" there are living, breathing memories alive and ready to be interacted with, even shared. Perhaps it is a weak excuse for real
human touch, a laughable definition for those that claim that interaction with responsive beings is the only salvation from
"aloneness"; but for me, it is an authentic sort of companionship, even connectedness. Have you never lain in bed at night
thinking about a person, their furrowed brow, the bow in their lip, or the movement of their eyes as they yell? Smile? Embrace?
Do you remember their touch (angry or soft)? Their tone? And do you ever hear yourself yelling, cooing, giggling back?
You are not alone.
