The blade of grass was alone. Together, they were alone…

““The blade of grass was alone. Together, they were alone. They were alone together. The ground of the Realm was alone. The blade of grass was alone with the ground. Words flowed within him, arguments, changing shape and meaning, having no meaning. He gave them up only after a tremendous, jerking pain swept him. “I am in love with words,” Michael said. “They are my horse. I ride them, use them. But I can never kill them. Even if I cannot use words to get where I am going.” The realization of his dependence was enough. His aloneness suddenly became apparent, without words, truth, meaning or thought. The only way one can truly be alone is to be at one with everything, everybody... The entire universe, having only one voice. All the faces of creation, alone. Michael became aware of what he had been doing when he performed the small tricks the Crane Women had taught him. “To be alone is to be difficult to spot.” He could improve on that. “Aloneness means isolation from needs.” He could last indefinitely without food or water. “I only fight shadows. If I am alone, there is no enemy to fight.” And ultimately, no need to fight. “It is crazy to fight when you are alone.” He put down the blade of grass and looked up at the multitude of stars. Biri had helped him build this structure piece by piece, carefully. Now it began to collapse. The whole thing was ridiculous. How could he ever believe such””

— Greg Bear