Brother,

As it turns out, shadows follow you to the other side of the world. I’m on an island called Nusa Penida, just outside of Bali. It is everything I imagined a tropical paradise to be. It is sparsely populated and extremely undeveloped. It is ripe with vegetation, humidity, lizards, and palm trees. The air smells of salt, and I swear I can taste it in my shower water. I rode a motor bike, with nearly failing rear-brakes, down an insanely steep road to a place called Crystal Bay last night. The sunset views and vibes were stunning and easily dwarfed anything I saw in Bali, and there were hardly any people there. Unlike Bali, there are more locals than backpackers on Nusa Penida. The roads are two lane but essentially the equivalent of one lane in the states. The fucking roosters never shut up, the ants never stop gyrating, and the tide ceaselessly crashes against the cliffs and shore like the endless nagging of an unfulfilled wife.

Right, shadows. I have felt very alone the last few days. Which isn’t typical for me. Solitude is something that I revel in. I tend to find that the sound of my soul sings loudest, clearest, and truest when it echoes into its own mirror. It is in the solitude of self that my walls and boundaries dissipate, and I find myself unfurling. I am perfect. I am whole. I am enlightened. I am God. But, as is natural for humanity, what good is my beauty if I am unable to share it with others and also experience their beauty, and therefore our mutual compersion? So, it is after a time of introspective reflection, personal intention, and reestablished connection that I wish to strive forth from my echo chamber of masturbatory selfhood and venture into the coves of communal boundary and consideration. TL:DR, after I’m alone for awhile, and I feel myself again, I want to be social. It is then that I find that my carapace of self-perfection is softened by the empathy of sociality. What worked for me, alone, does not work for me with others. For who I am when I am in retreat, is not who I am when I am in exodus.

So then, I must die. I must shed the husk that is not of service to my companions and don the regalia of a human. This is when much of the real work and true service begins. When I am alone, I can lie to myself much more easily. The perfection, the enlightenment, God, it can all very well be a contrivance, a delusion. These perceptions are corroded almost instantaneously upon interacting with other humans. In this sense, it seems that sociality is a form of practice for determining what works best and what what doesn’t. If a particular feeling, perception, or way of being is untenable in the climate of brotherhood, then most likely, it must be revised, reformed, or even removed. If one is unwilling to be honest with themselves as to the apparent fact that they are socially inconsiderate of themselves and others, then they are, in fact, a narcissist.

The goal is to craft a working version of the self and being that is tenable in solitude and in extroversion, as well as being anchored, principally, in service, compassion, community, and joy. It is in exploration of this subjective-objective narrative that I find much wisdom. Previously, at the dawn of my awakening, I spent most of my spiritual life in separation, communing with my sense of God. But, several years later, I find myself much more experienced and grounded, and thus I see the path of karma yoga (service) much more clearly. Bhakti yoga (devotion) will forever be integrated in my way, but now I see that a smile and a hug has tenfold more potential and importance than a prayer. Damn, I could really use right both about now.

Forever Pensive,

Dillan