Curiosity kills me…

The more I learn, or – rather – the more that this world unveils itself to me through experience and reflective consideration, the less I understand and the less I know. It is always this way – learning aligns to discovering how little you truly know; a little like how love seems to always accompany loss in ways that might hardly appear fair but there it is, unexpected – the parallel around and by which our life is bound.

We can live in bliss and superficial ignorance of the world, wilfully brushing aside the nagging doubts of our intelligence and wisdom to simply and unreflectively inhabit the hollow shell of (a) belief that people wrap, security blanket-like, around their minds and their lives – or we can open our eyes and in risking all for a glimpse of infinity (or love) we can understand that we never will understand, that knowing and unknowing are two-sides of the same essential symbolic and epistemological abstraction that is our life.

Someone very dear to me, very far away, once told me that I should not overthink things, that there is a joy in simplicity that brings happiness, a peace beyond the sweet, melancholy labyrinth of choice and knowledge. I wish I could turn the clock back and embrace a life without worry or loss but I really don’t think anyone knows – or ever can know – how.

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