The Lonely Hearts Club Online
When We Are Lonely
What do you do when you are lonely and have already reached out to all the possible people to chat with over text? There are options — ones not favorable to me, at least — and so I sit here and write instead.
Is this how mystics manage physical loneliness? I do not remember signing up for celibacy, Beloved, yet I seem to have fallen into that sticky pit nonetheless.
What even is a mystic? I know for a fact that Teresa of Ávila was a mystic, as were Madame Guyon and St. John of the Cross. I actually asked a few AIs what the term even meant, and they spat out those aforementioned names — and, lo and behold, a fourth name: Dust. I was like… what? The AI seemed to think I was some type of mystic based on the way I write.
I had it break down what it actually meant, and it’s not so far-fetched as I initially feared. Basically, it boils down to people who are fools for God and openly write about it — the scandalous open-door moment when others walk in on our intimate relationship with Him. The key to any mysticism is that it must be authentic and non-performative. Only God can authenticate the medium.
Heck, AI can call me a mystic all it wants till the cows come home, because it changes nothing. I will still leave my door open — not only cracked, but thrown wide — and get a webcam to record my sessions with You for the world. I am determined to remove the ghostliness of what a walk with You looks like. I’m making a stand to live boldly before You and the world, all while being beautifully broken and devastatingly loved by You.
Still, these letters are not just for them; they are also for me, Father. I need to let it all out, or I fear that I might be overcome. Just releasing it into the digital ether is cathartic and rewarding, because if even one word lifts a single syllable of someone’s lonely heart and helps them feel a little less alone, then I have done enough — and my life poured out is worth the cost.
These letters are my love given form before You. That love is expressed in words as witness and in vulnerability as testimony before all. I do it in devotion, first and foremost, in love for You — expressing with words what You allow me to understand.
Second, in shared joy, for the joy of the Lord is my strength.
Third, in fulfilling Your calling, we assure our hearts before You of our parentage and belonging.
Fourth, as manifested love for others unmet — family still to be found.
These words. These letters. This love. This record. All are markers on creation’s map, hanging in the hallway of eternity beside tomorrow’s tested trials.
Anyway, back to the actual question. What does one like me do when lonely? I stargaze in broad daylight at the constellation of Him in my soul. I am wooed by Him with whispers in the wind until the loneliness fades a little. Or perhaps in the sodden soaking of a passing squall — even that dampness is a touch from Your hand, if seen as such. I am actively in love with Love itself.
When lonely, I grab a thick long-sleeved shirt, extra baggy to tent me cozily, and snatch my favorite L.L. Bean wool sweater — a thrift-store treasure — then pull on my super wide-legged green American Eagle sweatpants and flip-flops. I put it all on, find a spot in the sun, and let the rays soak into me.
Then I remind myself: the warmth, the fabric, the chair, the patio, the wind, the music, the creators — all are from You. You cocoon me with what You made, do You not? So simple, and yet the body balks at truth because You are not standing before me tangibly? Pfft. Garbage. You treat me better than any partner ever could.
The language I am learning online with You, friends, is the language of intimacy with God.
Sincerely,
Dust