If you can leave loneliness at the door, there are days when solitude can feel like a bright dream. Your aloneness takes on a sort of thrum: something reverberant. Resentfulness has to be let go of first though, especially the secret, hoarded kind. You have to find a way to stop thinking you're owed something.
If you can do that, it all gets very quiet; it all gets very full. But not full of you, that's the thing. For once, you get right out of the way. The world pours in to fill the space you're usually so determined to fill to the edges and there, there now, you begin to see what's really there.
I don't think madness would feel this quiet. I don't think mysticism would feel this ordinary. And so, somehow, you slip between the two, unnoticed and undemanding.
It's a good place to find if you can. Here, for a while at least, you get to be nothing but you, watching the crows in the trees.
You get to be that simple and that extraordinary.