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We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. -TSE



When do we stop?

When is the point at which we have seen enough – learned enough, know enough?

The point to which we refer for the rest of our life.


Perhaps it is like childhood and summers: blissful oblivion, seemingly endless; too fast, over too soon.


They say youth is wasted on the young.

What do you say?

Are we invincible?

Such promise – us and the world.

And why not.

But at what cost?


In the end, is it a black hole? Insatiable? Unsatisfying.

Do you give thanks for what you have now?


What then?

To watch and wait for waves lapping at the shore, bringing what it may?

Or dive in and swim, searching in an an endless ocean.


A knitted garment – made with care, beautiful. Slowly unraveled with age

Until we are but a flat line on a screen. A monotone sound we know all too well.


Finished books with the chapters ripped out, scattered in the wind.

To know how it started; how it ends – and spend the rest of our lives searching for lost pages, trying to make sense of our story.



[But we always knew the ending. And the way. I hope you find it.]