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Even in a crowded hotel, we inhabit an inner room whose key we can never hand over to anyone else. You see, while spreading the wings of Aletheosophia—a philosophy rooted in lived experience—I have made internal observations that revealed a few oddities to my mind’s eye. I believe this hotel room analogy is far better than using a "prison" to illustrate our lifelong solitude.

Have you ever wondered why this is? Why is it that almost every app on our phones has a SHARE button? We are surrounded by family, friends, and colleagues—and yet! And yet, we are lonely. Why are we led to believe that "shared experience" is a factual reality, when in truth, only one person can ever truly experience anything: the experiencer themselves.

Isn't it madness, for instance, that there is no physical pain—and this is just as true for emotional pain—that could be handed over, even for a second, like an iPhone? "Could you hold my phone for a sec? Thanks." When you try to explain your pain to a doctor, do they truly understand it? Don't even get me started on emotional heartache! How utterly untransferable it is. Madness.

It is obvious that a human being has no experience more solitary than their own pain. But what about this very sentence you are reading right now? Regardless of the fact that I wrote it and you are reading it, this sentence is a visual system of forms we call letters. When one looks at it, they encounter its meaning. Its individual meaning and interpretation are just as "solitary" as a matter of musical taste. No matter which sense we consider, that sense has only one beneficiary; I don't need to tell you who that is.

Since I stopped using my head for suffering through panic attacks and started using it for clear thinking, do you know what I realized? I assume not, since you aren't a mind reader—and see? Both my thoughts and my pains have only one witness: me. Just as I was the only one walking through hell during those 15 years of panic attacks.

By the way, I realized that the "solitary" experience of our thoughts is a form of perception, just like sensing a sunset through sight. So, alongside hearing, seeing, touching, and tasting, thinking can also be the direction of my attention. I will write much more about our human senses later, according to my observations—Aletheosophically speaking.

Solitude applies to desires as well. We can, of course, desire things for our loved ones—that is true! But if I think deeper, every desire in our lives still has only one subject: the person who is doing the desiring. This is independent of the object, goal, or essence of the desire. There is no human desire with multiple owners at once; and I’m not talking about coincidences here. "I want peace," "I want to eat/drink," "I want you"—these express desires that are naturally commonplace. But the wanter’s want is an individual want.

Life lived through experience is a solo career; there is, so to speak, no other kind of life. There is only life lived through experience. It seems like a lonely journey. And the loneliness and uniqueness of this journey are perhaps most evident when we give an "experience report." You know, when you get into the swing of sharing a story, only to realize from the questions asked how little actually reached the listener (present company excepted). It’s hard enough to put an experience into words. To do it with literary grace is an art in itself. The point is, a report of an experience is as far from the experience itself as Timbuktu is from Jerusalem.

Have you ever felt it a challenge to recount an experience? Have you felt that it’s not so easy to say what you feel? Have you had difficulties clarifying exactly what you meant to someone else? Sometimes more can be "said" without words—not to mention the arts.

I used to hear it often: "You are alone." And is it true? Not only is it true and real, but it is an inescapable fact. This is solitude. It is the order of life and its inevitable drama all at once. The experience is mine alone, whether I have millions of followers on social media or just a few on Facebook. I don’t just exist as me, I remain me, even if I were a celebrity.

Is the "experience-space" offered by life then a prison? I’d call it a throne. A place where you can rule your life as a king or queen. "Toilet-solitude"—where even the king goes alone, as the saying goes—refers more to the practical and temporary isolation of our fellow humans. Privacy is more of a "fear-shield," much like the comfort zone. However, the solitude of experience is a birthright. A fact.

If there is no one physically around you right now, only this sentence you are reading, let me be the first to "hold your hand" so you aren't alone. See? Somehow, we have never truly been able to make peace with the fact of our solitude. Not you, not me, nor anyone else. Whether it is cloudless joy or mourning, the experience has only one spectator: the "I" experiencing the experience. Him, and only Him.

Based on hundreds of hours of close observation, I would frame it in the language of Aletheosophia like this: The experience of life, from birth to death, is a fundamental state of biological and psychological solitude. At the same time, what we call free will—though a complex notion—manifests as a subjective freedom that we navigate throughout our lives. Our desires remain internal, private data points—matters of the "first-person" that no one else can access. The capacity for responsibility arises from the clarity of one's own insight, derived entirely from the quality of one's lived experience.

Isn't it a remarkable fact of our neurology that our inner world is essentially a closed system? The same applies to everything we feel. It belongs to the subject, and the subject alone. When we reflect on this inherent privacy, we realize a profound truth: we are not "alone" in the sense of being lonely or abandoned; rather, we are simply acknowledging the fact that the most fundamental qualities of consciousness cannot be experienced by a committee.