Our Man In Hiatus – Issue 11

We are here today, I think, in the Philosopher’s Cave, with who knows; it’s so dark. But, wait, there’s a reflection on the far wall. What is it? Is it my shadow, is it someone else’s presence I can only contemplate through the apparent evidence on the wall?
Or indeed, is my apprehension of the shadow merely insinuated by the hidden light and my wish to see someone other than myself on the wall, therefore alleviating the growing sense of utter isolation. Yet, this isolation has so much freedom in it. The limits of freedom are defined by how much we identify with attachments to others, especially the emotional and notional relatedness we feel in some hope of being with, or at least in relation to, other.
I am beginning to sense a physical presence in this half-light though I have not the urge to turn round and visually ascertain the nature of this mysterious other.
There’s a small jingling sound accompanying what feels like the approach of this figure.
“Tickets, please.”
Oh, it’s only the ticket inspector.

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