Introspection

Solitude, music, writing, art, reason, and nature are joys which are undervalued by the unwise.  These virtues and pleasures of the intellect do not inflict upon me the insufferable patriarchy of civilization, with the worthless proving ground of its roles, its idiotic superstitions, its power plays, and its inevitable soul-killing violence. 

Every time I lie alone with a heart and a body aching for the short-lived pleasures of love, I remember the price I had to pay for it as a woman, and when my reason returns, am glad for the hours upon hours of pleasure I derive from interests and hobbies that only I, exclusively, am present to judge.  When I lie upon my favorite chair in hours of contemplation, nobody judges me, and when I sing off-key, nobody judges me; when I choose to compose lines of poetry which are ridiculous, nobody is there to scoff, and when I draw silly things, only the paper knows how deliciously I have wasted my time. 

The one and only redemption of all that suffering I carry with me is a beautiful child I can raise to be her own woman, and if there is anything on this earth that can redeem the burden, judgment, and secondary motives of men, that would be a child whose presence and spirit are a joy.

As for all other suffering, I drop that burden with more willingness than the worst and most selfish woman you can imagine.  No man is worth sacrifice, and nobody will dare to require me to prove myself ever again.  It is a profound waste of time far better spent on meaningless joys and creative pleasures that madden the halls of power and their worshipful followers.  If any man steps within my boundaries to extricate a pound of flesh and to tax my happiness again for his own sake, he will find his hook slung into a pond of leeches and serpents, and his fate upon crawling out and unwisely pressing the matter will be of his own making.  Now, it is not about what I can give, but what I can be given.  Since I do not have a face that can launch the war of Troy, or a shower of gifts and infinite expressions of generosity, I am accepting of my solitude as a permanent situation.

With the perspective of age and observation, I find that solitude is a greater pleasure than any desire for inclusion, for all inclusion brings me into a game, and I have no time for games when I could be creating worlds of beauty in my joyously idle mind.  

I could be asked why I have not spent time in better service to humanity, but I ask humanity, what better way to show the world that none of us are obligated to be anything other than happy.  This example is my service to humanity, and I am satisfied with it.