Astronomically Alone

By Jazlyn Gaton, who lives in Westland, USA. Please read her article and leave your thoughts and comments below.

Many of us, as amiable playfellows, hold the honorary title of being another person’s friend, but how often do the collective of us act as a friend to our own selves when we are alone? As we actively view others in their raw 3D bodies and 4D minds, we forget we each have one of our own that we must also tend to. After all, as we are the one person that remains constant in our life, from our own Big Bang of birth to our later black hole of death, should not we all comprehend the sensuality of our own provided comfort? This fails to be the truth for every person, often missed by the unfeeling of self-nourishment or perhaps the desensitization from constant exposure, locking into complacency.

In start, as living people with each a heart and mind, we all matter in the more immense universe, as well as our own local, inhabited cliques of nature by the actualities of our beings. Although, we must not forget to believe that we each are all our own suns—the center of each of our own solar systems—with the amount of other units we interact with. We are not to exist under the entitlement of another sparse gravitational pull—another body—but for own selves. As the suns of our lives, we are each able to exist without the celestial objects that once were or are in our orbits; we are able to coruscate just as scintillating with or without their presences. Additionally, we may be the guiding lights for others, but our gleaming features are not shallow. We are not hollow. We are full of brilliance with our self-resilience. Even within the vast basin of space and spunk, there are billions of other stars—fostered into constellations that fill our worlds—but their brightness do not take away from our own. They shine their own light; we shine our own light. Our lights may, instead, add. Fundamentally, we, suns, can conjoin our experiences of illumination with others in our vicinities, but we each remain our separate unit—a singular star—our whole lifetime.

Here, at this rendezvous of radiation, it is plausible to tie in the concept of self-love. When that term of self-love is broken down, its sincere meaning exists as being able to provide comfort and care to yourself in the absence of others. That word of love, to some, is forgotten in its overuse: a pen run out of ink—one that is written with the last of its liquid to etch what the author wishes, but the tool eventually gives out. We throw that tool away; we throw that fool in favor of a duel that requires attention. For thought, Jean-Paul Sartre—a notorious French, Marxist philosopher, pioneering existentialism—once said: “If you are lonely when you’re alone, you are in bad company.” This reflects the humanistic essentiality to vitalize and foster the isolated you. The you who guides your actions from the inside out. The you under your skin and nails. The you you call me, but forget is worth more than those weekday IDs.

As much as how effortless it is to preach that all humans—all stars—should realize that their independent presences are each an enchanting light, it is more arduous to describe to everyone exactly how they, themselves, should effectively tackle their own process of self-nourishment. This con, however a hindrance, exists within reason of individualism. There is no right or ill method to conjure comfort in one’s own self suitable to all; it is the individualistic sense of just knowing that blooms the awaited fruition. Primarily, this process of sole self-love is a voyage into one’s own self, streamlining deeper than a verbal showcase as a star cannot be only performative with its beliefs. Optimally, one must first manifest their inner workings of words, thoughts, and emotions prior, so that they may find their own forms of action on the outside later. To elucidate, the lights of stars are simply not just the result of a snap of the fingers, but are the nuclear reactions, microscopically chemical at work, that allow each celestial body to illuminate their own surroundings. Even as we, stars, remain astronomically alone, we are all each amazingly ablaze, starting from our abysmal insides. Now, it is part of that aflame game to keep such an all-seeing attitude for millions of years to come until we burn out, shrinking into the shells of our stimulating existences.

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