The Black Stone

It was an out-of-body experience. He saw himself. Really old. Wrinkled.  Hunched. Alone. On a marooned white-sand island in the middle of the sea – deep and blue.

There was nothing on the island except for a black rock. He sat in front of that rock.  Speaking to that rock; telling it his life story. Ways and means of his existence; context of his choices.

As the story concluded, the old man, taking a deep breath and gazing the surroundings, lay on the beach to rest in peace. The soul travelled from the body to the rock. It woke him up. It was 4am. It was a dream. He had had this dream before.

As he reflected on that quiet morning why he has this recurring dream, it became clear to him that he has this innate desire to be loved deeply. To have someone with whom he can share everything, and who shares everything with him. A person with whom he does not have any ‘best kept secrets.’

He had found that person. At least he thought he did. It wasn’t meant to be. So now he just resigned to sharing his story widely to be loved widely.

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