The word “solitude” implies being alone, but although we can perhaps imagine being in a reclusive physical environment where no other people are present, we are still appearing in the midst of consciousness, extending everywhere and including everything as consciousness, eternally alone with itself, before and after any big bang, slight whimper, delighted giggle, or poignant sigh.
Imagine being aware of everything that has ever happened, and everyone who has ever existed, down to the most miniscule and intimate detail. No secrets, nothing to hide, nothing to exclude. The whole parade of time itself is happening in a single cognizant moment, a moment in which everyone is aware of everything, with no gaps, no interruptions, just one sweet moment stretching in all directions simultaneously, like a vast ocean without any shore . . .
just one impossible moment with no beginning nor end, a nowhere space in which nothing rises up to separate itself, and yet brightly pulsates with numberless unique gleams of light, shimmering like diamond facets, collectively representing the flashing thought forms of every linked mind manifesting instantaneously — one mind with no solidity, just pin points in a web of light, a swarm of fire flies dancing madly in the air on a warm summer night . . .
and perhaps a soft hum, barely audible, so delicious and entrancing, floating by now on a velvety breeze as we recline luxuriously on a petal, a leaf . . . and it is nothing really — a passing daydream, a life, an inhalation, exhalation.
We are curious. From the womb of our solitude we follow that breeze, that seductive music, and in so doing we tumble through countless experiences, countless lives of joy and terror and pleasure and pain, so many adventures we could never explain, until at last we find ourselves here, here where we have always been . . .
Yes, it was a dream, a dream all along, and so we dance, madly like fire flies, and this is all before and after any big bang, slight whimper, delighted giggle, or poignant sigh . . .