Every time I doubt where I am/what I am doing in life, something brings me back to my senses. And then I realize that I am choosing this path for a specific, certain, concrete reason.
There are infinite paths in life. To Borges, life/existence was a garden of infinitely forking paths. There are an infinite number of paths I could have chosen in life...but I chose this one. And I intend to follow this path until there is a compelling reason to leave it. I've left so many things in my life half completed or unfulfilled entirely. Not this.
I'll be here until I can close my eyes and watch the stars explode.
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1 comment:
oh, borges. i have not read that name enough lately.
PM, thanks always for your thoughts. i don't tell you that enough. you prod me out of stale-thinking and into honest discomfort.
also, i think, maybe, we might live purposefully without knowing exactly what purpose our wheres and whens and hows have. after all, if we are not borges' infinite, and in fact, cannot hold or look upon it without total horror and bewilderment, it makes sense that we won't see the completion/fulfillment of many of our actions/words/relationships in our lifetime. isn't that what the best authors must have thought, anyway? writing toward an unforseeable audience.
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