When I first started out as a journalist, I believed that papers flying across desks and endless phone calls would change the world. As time passed, I realized that it was not the noise that changed the world, but the simple truth that filtered through that noise. But that truth has a very heavy price tag: Loneliness.
Your falsities, “as if” I am far away from doings and sentences that have changed direction with the tip of a coin, I have never been near them. Whatever has happened to me, it is because I have never given up on the truth.
Once upon a time “crowded” Ever since I realized that those circles I called my surroundings were actually a big mirage, I retreated to that calm harbor within myself. My surroundings, which narrowed as I became more conscious, were actually the breathing space of my soul.
Bowing down to the market, power and interests is nowadays a “strategy” as if they were a journalist. However, the biggest capital for a journalist is not the numbers in his bank account, but the upright stance he sees when he looks in the mirror without averting his eyes. The biggest price paid by those who do not twist their words for money, who carry the truth like a shield, is to be ostracized from the dishonest crowds.
So, is it a loss? Not at all.
On the contrary, it is a purification. One becomes lighter as one gets rid of the artificial courtesies and self-interested friendships that cling to you. Yes, your table is sometimes quieter, but the food you eat becomes more delicious.
This process of loneliness sometimes weighs on our shoulders like a burden. At that point, my work became my cure. Just producing, just putting the truth on paper and getting lost in the meticulous discipline of my work... Every letter I write is like removing the scab of a wound and revealing the fresh tissue underneath.
I crown my individual solitude with a professional production. I escape from the cacophony of the outside world and take refuge in the safe harbor of words and news. Because I know that what makes a person human is not the applause of others, but the silent approval of his own conscience.
For a journalist “to be visible” almost as a condition of existence. But recently I realized that the biggest news is what is going on in one's own inner world.
That painful process called spiritual maturation is actually an art of diminishing. In the old days “why am I not here?” from every table I've ever been at. “I'm glad I'm not there” The more conscious one becomes, the more clearly one reads the intentions behind words, the calculations behind smiles. This is not a darkness, but rather a dazzling enlightenment. But this enlightenment leaves you alone because it disperses the foggy crowd around you.
This loneliness is not desolation; it is the honorable distance you put between you and falsehood. The soul now only wants to breathe the harsh but clean air of truth. It is the coming of age of the soul to realize that a comfort gained by bending and twisting is not as precious as an ordeal endured by standing upright.
So, how does one survive in this isolation? My answer is that I take refuge in my work. Writing news or reviewing a file is no longer just a profession, it is a form of spiritual healing. Every time my fingers touch the keyboard, I am cleansed from the dirty noise of the outside world. “why am I so lonely?” his question, “how can I be more useful?” question.
Producing has turned into a kind of meditation. My pen is like a needle that stitches the wounds of my soul; with each line I heal a little more. I exchange the mental fatigue caused by the dishonest crowds for the tired but peaceful sleep that comes with a clean text and honest research.
Maturity is the ability to be self-sufficient. At the point I have reached today, solitude is not a void for me, on the contrary, it is the area where I am the fullest. You can find that inner peace that money can't buy, only when you are by yourself and not ashamed of your reflection in the mirror.
Is it difficult? Of course it is. By nature, human beings want to be approved, to belong somewhere. But as the soul matures, it realizes that the safest belonging is to one's own conscience. I withdrew from the shop windows, dimmed the lights a bit; now, in that dim but real peace, I talk only to my work and myself.
The dignified solitude of truth is more sacred than any crowd of falsehood.
“The true maturity of the soul is not measured by where others see you, but by who you are in your own solitude.”
My retreat to this quiet harbor and my effort to heal only through my work is not to be thought to be watched with awe by everyone. On the contrary, although I have no interlocutors, there is one person who is disturbed by my presence. “malevolent choir” There is. It is a strange paradox: The more you remain silent, the louder they get, the more you focus on your own work, the more they work overtime to make you disappear.
Spiritual maturity has taught me this: Some people see the peaceful solitude you have attained and the unbowed way you stand as a mirror of their own failures. Your silence deciphers their noise; your honesty deciphers their falseness. That is why they try to erase even your shadow, even if you have no ties. These malicious wishes, trying to drown their darkness with your light, are actually the manifestation of the lowest level of the soul.
While they strive for my destruction, I am reborn every morning at my work. While they are consumed by negative energy, I am strengthened by the healing of truth. Because I know that the intense effort spent to destroy a person is actually a confession of how unshakable that person is. I have no answer for them, because we are not on the same plane. They are “destroy” and I'm trying “make it exist” for
In this state of spiritual maturity, I can only look at those malicious glances with pity. There is no greater helplessness than a soul that cannot find peace within itself attacking the peace of others. As I cling to my work, my pen and this noble solitude, all their destructive efforts turn into meaningless sounds that echo in the void of the universe and return to their owners.
“When people who have no authority over you pick on you, it is actually a record that you have won.”
To those who embrace the revolution of walking their own path;
With love