Becoming a nihilist

It is not possible to ever fully return from a solitary venture into the deep desert. The mountains, yes. The sea, maybe - unless we go very far off-shore, and, of course, alone. But the desert, far off road, alone and past the point we neither see nor hear the others. No, we cannot ever fully return from such adventure. Something of us always remains out there. Well, the something lost is not really out there, it's simply removed from us and lost the moment it goes away. The something evaporates away into space like water spilt upon hot sand which we think sinks into the place, but which really simply disappears before our eyes and is gone as vapor. That is what happens to some part of us way out there alone in the desert. We become less. There is less of us ever to move forward. And nothing comes in to replace what is lost—it is lost forever. And such a blessing is the absence. I can hardly share with you the experience. You would have to lose it for yourself to really know.

Notes from my muse

I always find something in Siberia that isn’t really there - words. I can arrive with a seemingly empty mind, and then depart with an abundance of ideas and notions I could likely find nowhere else. The words have some small pedigree of the desert, though clearly they’re made of something else. I’m pretty sure they were, and are, never there; and appear only by virtue of the effort I’ve made to find them.


Going Alone was begun by Kurt Bell in an effort to help others understand and manage  the recognition of the apparent indifference of the universe to our well being, happiness or even our existence, and to find ways to make a good life in spite of this fact.

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© by Kurt Bell