My life is a journey into and in the wild – in the sense of unbounded and uncharted.
It’s a journey into the wild, into unchartered territory, since I don’t know the future.
It’s a journey in the wild, since what’s here is unbounded by any of my ideas, and if I am honest, it’s uncharted even if I tell myself otherwise.
What’s here – this life, as anything else – is formed by the wild, and it is the wild. It’s uncharted, untouched by any of our attempts to chart it.
The only way it appears chartered, known and tamed, is when I tell myself it’s so, when I take my words and images of reality as real, solid and true.
Reality is unbounded by any of my ideas about it.
Life lives its own life.
Life may say it’s this human being, it knows what’s going on here, and it has a pretty good idea of what will happen in the future. It may say it’s in control. That too is life expressing itself in an unbounded way. That too is life being uncharted, untouched and unlimited by any of my ideas about it.
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Our lives are a journey into and in the wild.
It’s a journey into the wild, into unchartered territory, since we don’t know the future.
It’s a journey in the wild, since what’s here is unbounded by any of our ideas, and if we are honest, we
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Life may say it’s this human being, it knows what’s going on here, and it has a pretty good idea of what will happen in the future. It may say it’s in control. And that too is life being unbounded. That too – life telling itself those things – is life living in and entering what’s uncharted.