“Oh, was there ever sailor free to choose,
That didn’t settle somewhere near the sea?”
Rudyard Kipling
I’ve tried hard to find a sort of niche from which to emerge from, but the thing keeps eluding me. When I attempt to rest on academic thinking and writing, I find a creative surge emerging within it – ruining the edifice from its foundations. When I try to find space within my creativity, my philosophical tendencies emerge and create such great hurdles and wind breaks so as to almost choke the continuity of my minds processes. When I return to reason and Logic, faith emerges and overturns all the senses of certainty from which I first embarked. Finally I find myself a sailor on a boat in a raging sea with no land or light house in sight.
I suppose this is what I get for trying to express myself as a sense making sentient. The most annoying part of it all is that my heart always knew that my place of rest wouldn’t be in any sort of rooted position. Rather that I emerge in routes through different anchors. Rhizomic then my expression will be: peppered with different windows into each of the various places I try to call home: Complex, Intricate, Beautiful, Designed.
It's Complicated 