Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength

“Every weirdo in the world is on my wavelength.”
― Thomas Pynchon

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It’s a rather lovely experience to connect with someone else on a subtle level. It’s a communion of being, no need to say or do anything, the communication is there, effortless and easy.

You feel at home with them and they with you. You can be yourselves, as is. No need to explain… ah, such sweetness in that!

For me that usually happens when I meet a weirdo, because I am a weirdo.

A real weirdo.

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“THE EDGE, there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.”
― Hunter S. Thompson

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The other day you asked – When was the last time you felt really, truly lonely?

I considered answering, but then I figured you probably weren’t listening and were not interested in my answer or any answer. You were talking to fill a void, not to connect with another. Your question was a barrier, a wall to protect you from falling into the abyss, not a bridge over it to reach the other side where I am, where others are.

That’s when I feel what we humans call ‘lonely’. When I realise that I am just a ghost, a wisp, a shadow, a nothing or a something which is not me to someone else.

They’re talking at me, not with me. This conversation is a monologue, not a dialogue.

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“Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?”
― Haruki Murakami

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The one thing which perhaps makes me feel loneliness in its rawness is when I realise that someone is talking and not listening to themselves.

Not listening to me is one thing, it’s a mild form of lonely on the loneliness scale, I am listening and therefore I am not alone. And besides, it’s quite a common occurrence for others not to listen, it’s not even personal for the most part, they can’t hear you over the noise inside their own heads, so expecting them to listen is asking for more than they can give and do. Unless you say what they want to hear, then suddenly their ears have eyes and are open.

But to see a soul who is lonely, lonely in this world full of people, and also lonely within themselves is an unbearable thing to witness.

To be cut off from yourself… such pain can’t be described.

In those moments I long for a lack of empathy on my part. I don’t want to feel what the other is feeling, perceive what another is perceiving, understand their innermost experience.

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“Remember: the time you feel lonely is the time you most need to be by yourself. Life’s cruelest irony.”
― Douglas Coupland

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If you are lonely when you are with yourself…

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“No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were: any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.”
― John Donne

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Those who are cut of from themselves seek to repair that severing through others, and the pain rises, seering, stark, visceral disconnection, because no one can give to you what you don’t give to yourself. They can offer it but you’ll reject it, just as you have rejected it within.

It’s the rule of thirds on a personal level. All you can see is one third, the rest is a blur, not in focus, and not really there. And that one third becomes a whole which has forgotten that it is but a fraction of an entire picture – it thinks it is the whole picture and the picture is finished.

Sometimes the missing piece of the puzzle thinks it is the whole puzzle, perhaps that’s why it went missing.

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“All great and precious things are lonely.”
― John Steinbeck

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It doesn’t want to find its place, for doing so means losing itself in the whole… and it fears what that might mean.

Fragments don’t see themselves as fragments.

Nor do they see the whole as a welcoming home.

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“A human being without the proper empathy or feeling is the same as an android built so as to lack it, either by design or mistake. We mean, basically, someone who does not care about the fate which his fellow living creatures fall victim to; he stands detached, a spectator, acting out by his indifference John Donne’s theorem that ‘No man is an island,’ but giving that theorem a twist: that which is a mental and a moral island is not a man.”
― Philip K. Dick