Yesterday the man sat in a cave by firelight. He considered the bones on the ground - stories that had run their course and stories cut short. The light projected the frames of those bones and gave them form. He considered the marionettes and the puppeteer that moved them, that revealing light, and wondered, if that light reached through him what forms would be revealed on that stage, and what story would they tell. So, he moved towards that light and looked towards the shadow stage, and he watched and waited.
The man loves. He loves his mind, the way he experiences and interprets; he loves his heart, the way he feels and responds; he loves his eyes, the way he sees the world; he loves his ears, how he hears; he loves the story of his life, the bright joy and deep pain. The man would not trade his life for another. Any other life through any other eyes would not be so bright nor deep. What the man has in himself, he won’t find in someone else. The man has himself, and this is enough.
At first the man could not distinguish between the form of self and the bones - stories that had run their course and stories cut short. As the light searched the dark places in him, the man searched the light for what it revealed. He found death. Everything that started had an end, and everyone that came had left. Still, that marionette moved across the stage. Everything ended, but the self persisted, and he wondered what exactly that self was that lived on when everything else died. That shadow self moved between the bones and the man considered his own. He considered past relationships and wondered where he had been going that they could not go together, and whether he had arrived. He considered what he had done, for everything he was doing he was doing something else. As the light moved to and fro behind him, before him the bones formed and transformed, but the self persisted. He wondered if he had ever really been anywhere, doing anything with anyone.
The man is alone. He is not in the world, but in himself. He projects outward the world that is within, and this is the world that he experiences. Where he is, who he is with and what he is doing need not be, for he never leaves himself. What can be added to that which is full. The man has himself, and this is enough.
That marionette grew, away from the bones and reaching outwards, and the light grew small and dim behind the man. Then the light vanished, and that marionette, the bones and the shadow stage became one. The man sat in darkness.
Alone.
Self-sufficient. Self-willed. Self-righteous. Self-ish.