The fear of solitude...

Written at 3:30 A.M. on the 10th day of my 1995 trip to Ko Phangan, a barely-developed island off the coast of Thailand.

The fear of solitude arises from the fear of death. The ignominy of clutching one's heart, and collapsing semiconscious, hand outstretched before the locked door in a solitary room, makes us ever more avidly search for companionship to mitigate that ignoble end. To be found rotted away in your bungalow, eyes open and skin the color of last week's milk.

    So do solitary travellers tempt fate. To cruise alone across America is to tease death but a little, since one can count on common health standards, emergency teams, English-speaking residents and doctors, and the quality of thousands of hospitals. Here, bereft of any companions on this tropical island 3 hours by boat from the coast of a barely-developed country, death's hollow echo becomes ever more perceptible in these nightlong winds.

    How necessary this is if one is to truly jump further into life. Forward into life means a step closer to the day one dies, and that knowledge brings fear, extinguished only by the comforts brought by the presence of other flesh making its way towards the same end.

    Now I know why the dogs on the beach curl up when they are tired next to solitary humans. To close one's eyes and sleep is to become vulnerable, open to unseen death. Even the briefest, most meaningless companion offers that tiny piece of shelter which sustains us until the next time we close our eyes to sleep. How comforting it is to embrace the hot flesh of another being, to press one's ear against another's chest, listening to the throbs and belches of continued existence.