I cannot explain much. I struggle with my words. When I think I have reached something, I realise I am regurgitating wise and dead men. The further I go, the more I fall, but the stronger I have become. I believe I have reached something. I have had moments of clarity. I have had moments of despair, the hope for a total silence. Forgive the personal tone, the "I thinks" and the "I believes", but I have yet to seriously discuss the idea that occupies my mind for the most of the day. I am willing to admit that. It drives everything I do and yet I rarely speak about it. It's all contained in the head.
Auden came close to how I feel in 'The Labyrinth':
The centre that I cannot find
Is known to my Unconscious Mind;
I have no reason to despair
Because I am already there.
It is an individual thing. To explain is to spoil. I read too much. I mediate very little. We can only go on journeys, around the world and around our mind, and realise that the end is just the beginning. That's TS Eliot. I am regurgitating again.
What do I know? I don't know. Or I did. I find study humbling. I am not a smart man. I have long realised that. Above average, sure, but I have met people who grasp concepts and ideas far quicker than I have ever done. I know people who fit-in and get on with life far easier than I am able to. I wouldn't be on this site otherwise. But I am glad to be where I am at, thinking. There's always something to be done.
I love life. I love God. I love this site. The gifts I have been given, that I have worked on, that's great. I am grateful, not to something higher, not to unknown forces, not to my ego, but strictly to God. That's as far as I will go- for now.