Loneliness. We've all experienced it at some point. On the playground, when everyone ran off to play with someone else. At home, when it was only you and no siblings. When everyone was playing a video game and there weren't enough controllers. We've all been there.
As a paranormal investigator, I've spent my life researching unusual phenomena and revealing what I've learned to mankind. I was completely blind-sided by what I learned about loneliness. While recovering from a failed marriage, I spent a few months traveling through Cambodia. My goal was to find inner peace while learning what I could from the buddhist monks.
I found something, but not inner peace.
The monk I visited lived in a little house at the end of a long, winding road. The trees along it helped to close it in and shut everything else out. I knocked and entered to find him sitting by the fire stirring a pot of soup.
He did not speak to me for some time. Rather than dragging enlightenment out of him, I decided I would be the better pilgrim and wait for him to bring enlightenment to me. After a few minutes of poking at the soup, he removed it from the coals and shoveled it into two wooden bowls, one of which he handed me. We ate together in silence.
After our meal, he stoked the coals and added more wood. He brought me a forest green sleeping bag, bowed politely and went away. I decided to sleep by the fire, but I tossed and turned. I felt a bit uneasy, being in a strange place, the warmth on my front and the chill at my back. The endorphins from my adventure out of doors had started wearing off, and I felt the sadness seeping back in.
I got up and sat with my back to the fire and faced off with the darkness. I was startled when the monk came out of his room carrying a lamp. "Trouble sleeping?" He spoke for the first time. When I nodded he started going around the room lighting candles. There were quite a lot of them. He encouraged me to help him. When we finished the room positively glowed. In that light I was surprised to discover my eyes growing heavy.
I expressed my astonishment at the sudden change in my mood. The monk listened and then said, "There is a cloud of loneliness around you. When you entered I could smell it. The little creatures must love you."
"Huh?!" I analyzed his face but saw no explanation there.
"The lonely follow you."
I looked around pensively. The room was empty. Thinking that he must be playing in the realm of metaphor I said, "I did just get out of a bad marriage. Maybe that's why I seem lonely, because I am."
The monk shook his head. "You are not lonely. You are affected by the little creatures swarming around you. That is what makes you feel what you feel. They are spooked when humans gather in groups of more than two or three. When you are alone, that is when they seek you out, because they're attracted to your body heat."
"Let me get this straight. You're saying there are little creatures around us making me feel lonely?" I was starting to wonder if this particular monk might be a little past his prime. His hair was grey and his skin wrinkled. Maybe age had affected his mind, too.
"Yes, although right now they're loitering along the perimeter because of all the fires. Plenty warm, don't need our body heat when there's so many fires around." He moved to sit on the couch and I followed.
"Can you point one out to me?" I asked warily, afraid of being rude.
He smiled then. "They are invisible. I thought you would have figured that out by now. "
"I guess I'm not that bright," I placated. "If they are invisible, how do you know they are there?"
The monk thought for a while. "You do not see the wind, but you feel it move. This is how I know they are there. I was very industrious today. I spent time tending the plants in my garden, and I carried stones to build a wall around the chicken coop. I meditated for several hours, but in all that time I did not once experience loneliness."
"Are you saying you live up here all by yourself and you never get lonely?" I asked incredulously.
"I do feel it sometimes, but I had not felt it today until you came into my home. There must have been a swarm of them with you because the loneliness hit me hard. I know the creatures are there because being around another human doesn't usually affect me like that."
He was silent for a while. "I will get a blanket and join you by the fire. Our proximity will discourage them from returning." I crawled into my sleeping bag, and felt a soft tugging at the top of my eyelids. I wondered what creature might be tickling my corneas. He came back a few minutes later and lay on the couch.
"How do the creatures make us feel lonely?" I asked quietly.
"They don't make you feel anything." He snorted gruffly. "There's a reason why you can sometimes be alone without feeling lonely. That means they had a proper dinner. When they eat the wrong thing though..." he trailed off. "They fart. Nasty farts. That's what you're sensing when you feel lonely. You're smelling them."
"That's gross." I wasn't sure what else to say.
"True," he conceded. "Still, it should bring you comfort. Whenever you feel the loneliest, that is when you have the most friends."
We drifted off to sleep, not a whiff of loneliness left in the air. I spent the next few days with the monk. We engaged in many activities, mostly having to do with his garden, and not once did that feeling of loneliness find us during the day. Asahi, the monk, had little to say, and neither did I. My body engaged in manual labor, but my mind was busy hunting the Lonely.
At night the critters would come around and we'd smell them but Asahi would light candles and the cloud would dissipate.
Two nights after my arrival we were preparing to sleep after a long day of gardening. "Do you think there are creatures out there that make us feel happy?" I asked.
Asahi shrugged. "I've hunted for such beasts for many years, but never found any." After a moment, "I theorize that we are the creature that makes happiness, and there are dozens of other creatures who feed on it."
"Maybe that's why it's so hard for us to keep it." I thought out loud.
Asahi didn't say anything for a few minutes. I thought he might have fallen asleep. Then he said, "We let others take it, and forget that we can make more."
I spent five days with Asahi. On the last night of my stay, I asked him if we could leave the candles unlit and the fire low. He smiled. "You're not afraid of being alone?"
"No." I replied. "I won't be."
As a paranormal investigator, I've spent my life researching unusual phenomena and revealing what I've learned to mankind. I was completely blind-sided by what I learned about loneliness. While recovering from a failed marriage, I spent a few months traveling through Cambodia. My goal was to find inner peace while learning what I could from the buddhist monks.
I found something, but not inner peace.
The monk I visited lived in a little house at the end of a long, winding road. The trees along it helped to close it in and shut everything else out. I knocked and entered to find him sitting by the fire stirring a pot of soup.
He did not speak to me for some time. Rather than dragging enlightenment out of him, I decided I would be the better pilgrim and wait for him to bring enlightenment to me. After a few minutes of poking at the soup, he removed it from the coals and shoveled it into two wooden bowls, one of which he handed me. We ate together in silence.
After our meal, he stoked the coals and added more wood. He brought me a forest green sleeping bag, bowed politely and went away. I decided to sleep by the fire, but I tossed and turned. I felt a bit uneasy, being in a strange place, the warmth on my front and the chill at my back. The endorphins from my adventure out of doors had started wearing off, and I felt the sadness seeping back in.
I got up and sat with my back to the fire and faced off with the darkness. I was startled when the monk came out of his room carrying a lamp. "Trouble sleeping?" He spoke for the first time. When I nodded he started going around the room lighting candles. There were quite a lot of them. He encouraged me to help him. When we finished the room positively glowed. In that light I was surprised to discover my eyes growing heavy.
I expressed my astonishment at the sudden change in my mood. The monk listened and then said, "There is a cloud of loneliness around you. When you entered I could smell it. The little creatures must love you."
"Huh?!" I analyzed his face but saw no explanation there.
"The lonely follow you."
I looked around pensively. The room was empty. Thinking that he must be playing in the realm of metaphor I said, "I did just get out of a bad marriage. Maybe that's why I seem lonely, because I am."
The monk shook his head. "You are not lonely. You are affected by the little creatures swarming around you. That is what makes you feel what you feel. They are spooked when humans gather in groups of more than two or three. When you are alone, that is when they seek you out, because they're attracted to your body heat."
"Let me get this straight. You're saying there are little creatures around us making me feel lonely?" I was starting to wonder if this particular monk might be a little past his prime. His hair was grey and his skin wrinkled. Maybe age had affected his mind, too.
"Yes, although right now they're loitering along the perimeter because of all the fires. Plenty warm, don't need our body heat when there's so many fires around." He moved to sit on the couch and I followed.
"Can you point one out to me?" I asked warily, afraid of being rude.
He smiled then. "They are invisible. I thought you would have figured that out by now. "
"I guess I'm not that bright," I placated. "If they are invisible, how do you know they are there?"
The monk thought for a while. "You do not see the wind, but you feel it move. This is how I know they are there. I was very industrious today. I spent time tending the plants in my garden, and I carried stones to build a wall around the chicken coop. I meditated for several hours, but in all that time I did not once experience loneliness."
"Are you saying you live up here all by yourself and you never get lonely?" I asked incredulously.
"I do feel it sometimes, but I had not felt it today until you came into my home. There must have been a swarm of them with you because the loneliness hit me hard. I know the creatures are there because being around another human doesn't usually affect me like that."
He was silent for a while. "I will get a blanket and join you by the fire. Our proximity will discourage them from returning." I crawled into my sleeping bag, and felt a soft tugging at the top of my eyelids. I wondered what creature might be tickling my corneas. He came back a few minutes later and lay on the couch.
"How do the creatures make us feel lonely?" I asked quietly.
"They don't make you feel anything." He snorted gruffly. "There's a reason why you can sometimes be alone without feeling lonely. That means they had a proper dinner. When they eat the wrong thing though..." he trailed off. "They fart. Nasty farts. That's what you're sensing when you feel lonely. You're smelling them."
"That's gross." I wasn't sure what else to say.
"True," he conceded. "Still, it should bring you comfort. Whenever you feel the loneliest, that is when you have the most friends."
We drifted off to sleep, not a whiff of loneliness left in the air. I spent the next few days with the monk. We engaged in many activities, mostly having to do with his garden, and not once did that feeling of loneliness find us during the day. Asahi, the monk, had little to say, and neither did I. My body engaged in manual labor, but my mind was busy hunting the Lonely.
At night the critters would come around and we'd smell them but Asahi would light candles and the cloud would dissipate.
Two nights after my arrival we were preparing to sleep after a long day of gardening. "Do you think there are creatures out there that make us feel happy?" I asked.
Asahi shrugged. "I've hunted for such beasts for many years, but never found any." After a moment, "I theorize that we are the creature that makes happiness, and there are dozens of other creatures who feed on it."
"Maybe that's why it's so hard for us to keep it." I thought out loud.
Asahi didn't say anything for a few minutes. I thought he might have fallen asleep. Then he said, "We let others take it, and forget that we can make more."
I spent five days with Asahi. On the last night of my stay, I asked him if we could leave the candles unlit and the fire low. He smiled. "You're not afraid of being alone?"
"No." I replied. "I won't be."
Loneliness: The Farts of a Household Pest
Reviewed by Samantha Jayne Frost
on
May 17, 2018
Rating:
Reviewed by Samantha Jayne Frost
on
May 17, 2018
Rating:
