Find Phoenix at http://amazon.com/author/phoenix_rises

Enjoy the poem.

I guess I had thought I wasn’t good enough.

Maybe because I have feelings

I don’t understand.

And who understands themselves today?

I try to imagine if I was different.

But I don’t like this.

I guess in that way

I can allow myself.

To be different.

I can tell the truth anyway.

I can be different.

If I’ll be accepted,

or just left in the volatile confusion of

a world that makes me feel

stuck. Cold ice heart frigid.

And yet,

I move forward.

Pick myself up.

I tell myself,

if, maybe a little kiss, anyway,

or anything meaningful,

anything I’ll care about,

I’ll like you, probably,

or instead, I’ll just think of

when I was a kid again,

and didn’t know who I was,

but if it’s possible to fall in love,

I really want to.

If the key is to wait for the truth,

you’ll wait a long time.

Truth is hard.

I don’t communicate

raw emotions

and the monologue of the tormented thoughts,

I’m honest,

and truth is nothing to me

without decency.


It’s like

a kind of sad song you listen to a lot.

A sad scene in a show.

Did you think I’d be someone special,

or was it just

the empty promises

and broken hearts

and sad songs.

I don’t want to freeze myself in such cold loss again,

I’m myself again.

To feel love is a huge responsibility.

I don’t know what it means.

I don’t know what any of it means.

But I will nonetheless 

seek the truth. Honest!

I’m not such a kid anymore.

I’m a man.

Maybe I’d want anything different,

or nothing at all.

To feel love

will still break your heart. Always.

My phrases and sentiments can’t protect me from this.

Yet I move forward.

To love anyway.

Because I need to.

I love myself today.


Enjoy the poem. Find Phoenix at https://www.amazon.com/Phoenix/e/B00QEL41LS

I derail

thought of (implicit Hell)

made a place

to be and see

to think of no reality 


indifferent or apathetic

risk took

or just another dead spirit




bitter blood

unstable soul

too cold

I invent an entire reality in my head

to break

my own rhythms and my

corrupted systems

trying to imagine

but feeling too much

of my own


sweet words and song that

makes me feel



sweet song 

I can’t philosophize through

my own create


creative lies


want something anyway

without knowing why


bitter blood

feud with

a corrupting flood


guitar chord

thoughts as black as my

false god


the words I want to                           split down the middle


I don’t care

I don’t care anymore

spark of divinity made

to be dark like

the corruption of 

spirited insight

bitter bitter

free flight










sensitive to nothing and

cold spirit and

dead spirited response 

do I say anything again

or just 



never held


and this bitter bitter blood 

sweet song 

a flood

I just want to feel at home


a brutal shade of poem:

I’ve lost track again.

The Unlimited (from Griffin Feathers)

Find Phoenix at http://amazon.com/author/phoenix_rises

Enjoy this excerpt from Phoenix’s novel Griffin Feathers. Enjoy the YouTube reading below.

Like I said before, English class was the time when me and my friends could all be together. Ever since we’d worked it out with The Punk, things had been a lot smoother, and a lot more enjoyable.

            Which, naturally, would be perfect, for more than one reason. But definitely because I was sure that things were going to heal if The Punk kept doing what he was doing.

            We were all sitting outside, enjoying each other’s company. Maxwell was telling a joke, and making us laugh a million miles an hour, and it was perfect. I honestly couldn’t ask for more.

            Then the bell rang, signaling for us to get to class.

            Maxwell finished his joke as we walked toward the class, and then we all sat down together. I felt as though nothing could tear us apart. Our friendship was unlimited, our care for each other endless. It felt good.

            Ms. Burns went to the front of the class, and said, “All right, you guys, you trouble makers, you punks, you hoodlums … today we’re going to talk about a theory of literature that’s been floating around recently.”

            Ms. Burns paused. I looked around and saw that all of us were at the edge of our seats, which made me smile. We loved anything Ms. Burns taught. We loved the mystery. How could we not? She was intelligent and savvy. She was awesome, to put it bluntly. She was good with kids.

            “There’s a theory floating around,” Ms. Burns began, “about the unlimited text and the limited text. I’m going to talk mostly about the unlimited text, but it would probably be helpful to know about the limited text, so you have a source of comparison.”

            I looked at my friends, and saw that they were still at the edge of their seats. Even The Punk was, and he never got that excited about this stuff.

            “There is a novel called The Street Kid, which tells the story of Phoenix.”

            “Yeah, that’s my world,” Maxwell said proudly.

            “I would say,” Ms. Burns continued, acknowledging Maxwell with a nod, “that that is a limited text. It’s a limited text because, if you look at the writing, it’s very … I don’t want to say convoluted, but … mentally complicated. And that’s not even including the actual structure of the novel, which is indeed complex, what with the way that stream of consciousness thoughts mix in with stream of consciousness narrative in interrupting and seamless ways, which I imagine would be difficult to follow, the way the thoughts meander. But the novel follows the viewpoint of Phoenix, who is split in many ways, and complicated, because he can’t even figure out what reality and fiction is. He can’t figure out, who he is. Not to mention the fairly large cast of characters that are probably hard to follow, and even the writing itself, which is a little … elevated. Those elements make up the limited text. Essentially, a limited text is anything that is complex in certain ways, whether it’s the language, the plot, etc. etc. Are you guys following me so far?”

            “Loud and clear,” Maxwell said.

            “Now, anyway, the unlimited text, would be … oh, I would say, a story kind of like: Griffin’s story.”

            I wasn’t sure what to think of this. I lived in an unlimited text? I wanted Ms. Burns to continue, all of this was extremely fascinating.

            “An unlimited text is a text that is extra good with characterization, where you can practically imagine the characters as living real lives. Unlimited texts carry a large degree of innocence with them, and a little bit of heartache. Usually, unlimited texts are narrated by a kid, but not always, and they are usually stronger in first person, to capture the immediacy of the character, but not always. Plenty a good unlimited text has been written in third person.”

            “Why does it have to be good at characterization?” The Punk asked.

            “Because the characters are what make the story. They are the story. In the limited text, that aspect can be experimented with a little bit. Characters can simply be caricatures, or metaphors, or symbols, and the like. Not always, but they can be. An unlimited text has succeeded if you can see a character you’re reading about walking around in your mind, and walking around in the supposedly fictional space they occupy. The goal of the unlimited is fully realized if you see them walking around in the real world.”

            I absorbed all of this information, like water to a dry sponge. I was fascinated by the idea of the limited and unlimited text.

            “In contrast to the limited text, the unlimited text seeks to be simple. Not necessarily as simple as possible, and not necessarily in the sense that it has no complexity at all … but, it’s still simple. And it has to be simple, if it’s trying to describe child-like things, innocent things, kid things. But that doesn’t mean the unlimited text isn’t complex in other ways. It’s complex in the sense that it constantly has to remind the reader that they are reading about an innocent kid, or reading about innocence, or just reading about something that’s … awesome. It’s a text that puts humans in a positive light, showing off the vulnerabilities of the average person.”

            “Following that logic,” Maxwell said, “I should be in an unlimited text.”

            “Why do you say that?” Ms. Burns asked.

            “Because that’s all Phoenix’s world is about, is about that vulnerability. You see it in Phoenix, and you see it in other characters. I know I have an innocent side to me, will always have that side, and so just because I’m in a language-rich, language-complex, world, doesn’t mean that I’m also not in an unlimited text.”

            “I see your point,” Ms. Burns said, “and I’m not even going to disagree with you. But for the sake of understanding the stark contrast between the two, try to see The Street Kid as a limited text, and Griffin’s world, or Griffin Feathers, as an unlimited text.”

            I could see what Ms. Burns was trying to do. Not stick something as being one way or the other, but showing that by looking at things a certain way, we could understand unique things about the world, and about literature.

            I felt excited, at the prospect that I was living in an unlimited text. I liked to think that I was with innocent people. Good people. There was something comforting about that. And it seemed to be the case, in many ways. My friends were innocent. Even The Punk had an innocent side … perhaps one harder to describe, but it was still there.

            “But one thing you need to understand about the unlimited text is that it’s evasive,” Ms. Burns continued.

            “What do you mean?” Maxwell said.

            “What do I mean?” Ms. Burns paused, and went to her bookshelf and pulled out a copy of The Street Kid. She said, “The problem with limited texts is that they are tangible. Maybe not mentally, because of how complex they are, but … literally. So, Maxwell, you could very well say that I’m holding this book, right?”

            Maxwell nodded.

            “An unlimited text is exactly the opposite. Limited texts seek to be real by being as super-intelligent as possible, as complex as they can possibly be. The unlimited seeks to get people to feel. But feel what? Rather, it seems that while the unlimited text can possess technical, structural, even experimental traits, things that are indeed mechanical, like good characterization, they also seek to capture the unlimited. They seek to capture a feeling that has a mind of its own. It’s too simple to say that an unlimited text is just about innocence. And while that’s true, it seems that the unlimited text is something that is ultimately intangible, the way it needs to be. But it is something that makes you feel good about humanity, for various reasons, of course, and depending on the text … but they do actually exist in that way, if that makes sense.”

            Maxwell jumped to his feet. “I get it!”

            “What do you get, Maxwell, dear?” Ms. Burns asked.

            “I see why it has to be intangible, Miss,” Maxwell said.

            “Would you like to explain for the class?” Ms. Burns said.

            Maxwell nodded his head, and began: “The unlimited is, in some ways, though this is an oversimplification, is … love. And true love for another human being, is … intangible. The unlimited text isn’t about showing off how smart you are, but showing the reader, or reflecting in the reader, things like love. Empathy. Compassion. Kindness. Kid-ness. Perhaps even to the point of pain. And that’s why I think The Street Kid is also an unlimited text, though it will probably be pigeonholed forever as a limited text, a mere cerebral exercise. Though Phoenix is a real person.”

            “Well, certainly no disagreement from me,” Ms. Burns said. “Crazily enough, I think I agree with you, about the unlimited, and why it’s more of an idea that can be felt, an emotion that can be appreciated, rather than just words on a page that create a particular effect.”

            I definitely appreciated Maxwell’s take on the unlimited text, and I had to admit, it made a lot of sense to me. The unlimited was something that could only be felt, not intuited rationally.

            Painter had something to say about exactly that: “It reminds me a little bit of Eastern, ancient Chinese philosophy.”

            “In what ways, Painter?” Ms. Burns asked.

            “In the sense that we shouldn’t always intuit our world around us through the logical means. That’s why I think art is so important, because it doesn’t always have to be about logic. It can be, to the point of murder, even, but it doesn’t always have to be that way. Sometimes it can get you to simply feel, and I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

            “Very astute observation, Painter,” Ms. Burns said. “And I think your reference to Chinese philosophy is very relevant here.”

            “But it is its own thing, though,” Painter clarified. “It has to be. I’ve never heard of this unlimited theory, anywhere. But it’s fascinating.”

            “Well, it doesn’t get taught a lot,” Ms. Burns said, “but I thought you guys might like some literary theory with your literature. And that is actually the assignment. What I’d like all of you to do is go to your local library and find books that fit into the unlimited and limited category. You don’t have to read the whole book, just pick up a few books and read a passage or two, and if it seems to go one way or the other, note it. Your assignment is to find one limited text and one unlimited text, and write why it makes you feel that way.”

            It didn’t sound like too hard of an assignment, and I had to admit, I definitely wanted to go and look and see if I could find the limited and unlimited in literature. I thought the dichotomy between the two texts was interesting, and I could write a whole paper about that, if I wanted to.

            I decided I would leave such a task to Painter, since he was the brilliant analyst of these things.

            “So I guess that’s why the text is considered limited,” Painter said. “Because, we are limited by what we try to pinpoint as tangible. Intelligence can ultimately only go so far, but emotion … that can go a million different ways.”

            “Yes, definitely, Painter, that … I agree with for sure,” Ms. Burns said. “Personally, I like unlimited texts better, but I of course appreciate the beauty of the limited text. Writers like Shakespeare probably wouldn’t have the same weight if they weren’t limited, of course.”

            We talked about the two different texts, the binary, for a few more minutes, and then the bell rang.

            I knew that now we needed to go our separate ways, to go to our next class, but The Punk caught me off guard when he came up to me and said, “I think that was why I felt uncomfortable by you at first, Griffin.”           

            “What do you mean?” I asked, not sure what The Punk was talking about.

            “I saw power in the limited text, in having the most brains, in having the strongest brawn and might … but you, my friend, are a walking unlimited text, and I think I was intimidated by that brilliance. There is brilliance in the unlimited text, you know, even if the goal is more about the beauty of simplicity. And I think that just wasn’t appreciated by me.”

            “Well, thank you, Punk,” I said.

            I must say, this compliment caught me off guard. I knew that The Punk was changing, becoming nicer, but this compliment was still very kind-hearted.

            “I think I was trying to turn Kip into a limited text, because I felt like a limited text myself,” The Punk continued. “But I don’t want to do that anymore. I can’t say I won’t stop smoking, but I won’t smoke around Kip anymore. Hopefully he’ll get the message.”

            I felt enormously relieved at this, and smiled at The Punk. “That would be amazing, my good friend.”

            “It’s the least I can do. I’m starting to repent from my ways, realizing how much chaos and unneeded destruction I’ve caused. I think a little bit is inevitable. I’m an anarchist libertarian for a reason, you know. But, on the same token, I should have respected your guys’s unlimited nature more. Painter is so unlimited he could probably paint the whole world. And that’s just Painter. All of you are unique in your various ways, and it’s incredible. That’s all I wanted to say.”

            Then before I could say anything, The Punk was off.


Find Phoenix at http://Amazon.com/author/phoenix_rises

the world dictated its own story I couldn’t see it—

reality a dead (his)tory how anyone lives at all seems to baffle paranoia-


a, like a different shade of narrative;

I forget often how easily the path I take goes how superficial and so reality is a paranoid sleep deep deep paranoid death


-a – is not an easy pattern to categorize (-d)

(sometimes it will suck then)

and sometimes language itself collapses into a-n infinite space

I thought that I imagined something else but it wasn’t so easily what I imagined paranoid-d-d paranoi


I forgot that my pattern


was trashed— by my thoughts the things I can’t change the words I forget to speak in such senses )it’ll just be the suffering of hard days 

(and hard nights it’s an empty road

but it’s usually a- the same -d thing (-d) like an unstructured pattern screaming PARANOIAA METAL and the truly dangerous reality of the unheard note where I forgot most of it anyway I don’t know why I did the same



paranoia)s structuredpatternchaotic



Ex Nihilo (An Essay)

Find Phoenix at http://amazon.com/author/phoenix_rises

Enjoy the essay.

I tried something.

I tried to write for a company. I was hoping to write science essays, as well as create content for marketing purposes, but this did not work out. I was met with a lot of resistance along the way, and the people at the company kept putting it aside, to the point to where it finally fell through the cracks. There just wasn’t enough interest in it.

I don’t know what kind of writer I am, but I can definitely be a writer who writes many things. I suppose that could include, writing science. Even though my writing is often very personal, and my essays themselves tend to be autobiographical in nature, I was still very excited at the prospect of writing science pieces, and learning a new skill in the world that I have trouble navigating: the workforce.

It really bothered me at first, that this wasn’t going to work out. I really wanted it to, I was looking forward to it, I thought that everything would work out the way that I planned. But that didn’t happen. Covid derailed the plan twice, along with the inherent resistance to the project by staff. While I am more or less accustomed to what happened now, it was hard for me at first, and my mood dipped significantly as I struggled with the reality of the situation.

Science is a very interesting field of study. It is hard to do science, whenever you don’t understand math, or when you’re not in the lab, or when you haven’t had formal training, though I read up on scioence in the best way that I can, I look up certain topics, and I explore them, in reading, in writing, and otherwise.

I read about cosmology, one of my favorite topics in science, in two books recently: A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking, and A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson. In a world that defies us to explain it, that dares us to try to find the truth, everything that happened at my job, is very timely. It is unfortunate, but it is reality, and the truth is unfortunately hard to come by.

To be honest, cosmology doesn’t really make sense to me. I obviously don’t understand the math behind it, and I don’t understand how we came out of nothing, somehow. There had to be nothing at first, right? The Creation story is very important in Christian religion, and many people have made use of it to provide purpose and explanations for our existence. Likewise, people turn to the explanations of cosmology, to try to understand why we are here, and where we came from. I suppose with my interest in the truth, I want the explanations of science to help make sense of things, but I don’t see the truth of cosmology to be at odds with the deeply held religious beliefs people may have, and this is because I am not attached to either point of view. In other words, I’m skeptical enough that I don’t attach value or personal significance to what either narrative implies. I care about the truth, but I’m not attached to any explanation, for this reason. Indeed, I’m skeptical enough of the implications of what either cosmology or religion ultimately mean for human life. It is, rather, about the exploration of it. I’m curious.

But how is it, that we came into existence, then? I have heard that there may have been a universe before us that collapsed. This was the way that our universe came into existence. I don’t understand the explanations for this, but they are interesting nonetheless.

The point, though, is that nothing came into existence ex nihilo. It seems as though the universe as we know it was crammed into a very small pocket of existence at the beginning, for lack of a better word, and it seems as though the universe began to expand at an amazing speed, what I’ve heard called the singularity, or what we perceive as the Big Bang.

There are a lot of implications to this. How is it that the universe came into existence, whenever it seems as though there was nothing there to begin with? How did the universe start in such a small point, to become the giant, expanding universe that we know today? I find the discussion interesting, but I don’t get caught up on the stakes of such questions, strictly because I am detached and I find them worth exploring, no matter where the conclusions lead.

It is interesting to me that for some people, creation stories make more sense, because it explains the first cause, as we know from the philosophy of Thomas Aquinas and other theologians.

What I would say, regardless of these explanations, is that I won’t be able to contribute the way that I was hoping to at the company, but when we barely know what anything is in the first place, maybe none of that ultimately matters, at least the way that I at first thought that it did. To have all of the particles in existence jammed together in a tight spot before the universe was born, is really a baffling picture of the way that things are, and if that is where I once was, being made stardust myself, maybe the things that I want are important, but just a little bit less important, in that it matters to me, but maybe not so much to the universe, or all the other particles floating out there in the universe. Maybe what is more important, is focusing on the beauty and curiosity that I try to foster for myself, because I find it to be valuable.

Whatever the case, somehow I am here, living in a world of matter and the world that once exploded into existence with the singularity. Somehow I am here, billions of years later, and that seems like a tremendous opportunity, especially when I don’t really understand cosmology, and where I’m doing everything that I can to make sense of my life and the lives of the people around me. It really puts things into perspective to remember that the universe exists at all, with such strange initial conditions.

To me that is what it has always been about, though. I am a very curious person, and I just want to explore. That was why I was hoping to write essays on science, among other topics, because I thought it might be useful to the type of place in which I was working. I could help illuminate scientific topics, with an interesting narrative voice, and I could contribute to the understanding of science. But it seems to me that the meaning can still be found, even with the failure, because science is an interesting way of approaching the world, even if we don’t always understand it, and I can explore it. There is a way in which the idea that existence seems counterintuitive and paradoxical, makes me highly interested in the truth, in deriving explanations for how we came into existence and why we are here.

Ultimately, no one really knows why we are here, at least in terms of valence or value, which is why we find much comfort in religion or science, or sometimes both. And I am really caught in a spell by this notion of things coming into existence ex nihilo. What is it about our logic, that we always have to be able to explain things? What is it about our logic, that we have to be one hundred percent certain of the explanations of the world? Me, personally, I am okay with ambiguity, and realizing that I don’t have a lot of the answers that I would like to have. I don’t need to order my logic so much, that I understand perfectly the scientific explanations of our existence, though it’s important I understand the basics. It seems to me that there is a lot of potential with thinking about our lives, when realizing that even though there are scientific explanations for our existence, they aren’t immediately intuitive to most people, and that there is a little bit of the distance from the truth, not just because science itself requires a certain type of rigor, but also because we are divorced from the beginning of time, we can’t really observe it, except of course, by observing the Cosmic Background Radiation, by observing so far into the universe with our technology, that we are actually observing the beginning of time itself. What a fascinating concept. Our logic doesn’t require an explanation of ex nihilo processes, just an eager enthusiasm and interest in the universe itself, as the place we live in.

Indeed, as I’m saying, realizing that nothing can come from nothing, I am a little bit more laid back with trying to explain everything. Maybe I’m not really supposed to know the way that things are, the mysterious order of the universe, and of society. I don’t understand systems of power and capital, I don’t understand the confusing elements of physics and biology, or what allows a corporation or business to run, but I know enough to be able to get by, to be able to communicate my ideas, and the things that are important to me. I am indeed fascinated by cosmology, because it tells me that there is no telling what is actually possible. It seems as though there had to be an extra spark to existence, for us to really be here, and it does indeed make everything that I would ever imagine as being important, still just a little bit less significant. And definitely not in a bad way. Just in that I can have the deeper perspective. I’m here, somehow, against all the odds, and I want to make the best of it. I don’t think that I came, really, from out nothing. There’s substance to my existence.

The Unknown (An Essay)

Find Phoenix at http://amazon.com/author/phoenix_rises


Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about the unknown.

Often, I don’t know what to expect, in life. I don’t know what is going to happen. I don’t know what I should do. There is the known, which we understand pretty well, and it is helpful when we can predict what is going on around us. But there is also the complexity of the unknown, the things that we will never know, or that we don’t know at this point in time.

I like the idea of exploring the unknown, in whatever capacity we can, though it is not something that I’d want to do all the time, because of its demanding nature. I like my comforts. I don’t have to worry too much about my basic needs, and I am able to spend time with the people in my life who bring so much meaning. I am able to wrestle with the unknown when I am writing, but the unknown is not the only thing that I am engaging with when I am writing, because of the predictability of writing itself. Writing, then, is a more structured place to think about the unknown.

Jordan Peterson describes that our bodies are primed to prepare for the unknown. This is a very interesting idea and discovery, because it means that we unconsciously and biologically prepare for unknown encounters. It is really a remarkable thing to think about, and if true, it means that we have a deeper connection to the unknown then we would ever even realize. Being primed for this kind of experience means that it’s more accessible to us, and it allows us to explore.

Personally, I like discovering new things, and I often force myself to go into difficult intellectual territory. I do this, because I want to understand the world better, whether I am reading books, talking with other people, doing research, or just sitting in an armchair and thinking. This seems to be a good process to me for exploring the unknown, because it is structured, and relatively safe, even if I am challenging myself, too. But I like challenging myself, because I want to know what exists out there, I like getting out of my comfort zone. I don’t like getting out of my comfort zone with everything in life, but there are many things that I do like to do because it challenges me, and I’m always pushing my boundaries to see what new things I can explore.

But what does the unknown actually entail? According to psychoanalysts, the unknown would be the unconscious mind and unconscious processes, which perhaps might even include the id, because these parts are unknown to us, and are often submerged in mystery. This might also include, in Jungian terms, the shadow and the collective unconscious. There are parts to our mind that we aren’t even aware of, which is a very deep thing to keep in mind. We don’t always know why the mind operates the way that it does. I have heard for a long time that we really don’t even know that much about the brain, which means one of the very basic ways in which humans function, is completely unmapped territory. This means we don’t even understand most of who we are and the processes that influence us.

These are very interesting ideas, with very rich implications. Does this mean that I don’t understand the unknown in my own psyche? Does it mean that I don’t understand my own process, that I don’t understand myself? That I don’t have control over evolutionary processes and my own biology? Certainly that is what it seems sometimes, and that is a very interesting idea, to think that we are not in complete control of our existence, of our bodies and minds.

But the unknown is metaphorical as well. When we are charting unmapped intellectual territory, it isn’t like we are moving through a literal space, where we’re able to explore what is actually there. But it is still interesting to think about the intellectual world as possessing places that people don’t go to, where if you do go to them, it is a complicated process. It seems to me that this includes the big questions: what is the meaning of life, what is the divine, how should we live, what should we do, what is in the universe, what is death, what is life, what is the nature of evil, what are people capable of, what is possible, etc. Obviously people ask these questions in a variety of ways, but sometimes we limit ourselves from answering these questions, because we are afraid to know the truth. It seems to me that being afraid of the truth is an understandable response, because it is part of the unknown, and maybe there is a part of us that would rather not know what the truth is, because it protects us in some way. With all of the complicated processes of history, biology, evolution, and culture, we can’t easily know what all of this means and where we actually came from. It seems that there are a lot of unknown processes that are constantly shaping us, and this is a very powerful thing to realize. It doesn’t make immediate sense, and it takes quite a bit of exploration. And even when you explore it, it doesn’t mean that you’re going to find the truth. What I’ve mentioned, then, is really unmapped territory, it is the unknown.

I don’t how I feel about this process. On the one hand, it is pretty important that we still strive for the truth, even if it is difficult to understand and hard to attain. On the other hand, sometimes it is good to just go home after work and play video games or watch a show, and not think about everything. Why spend so much time searching for the answer to things that you can’t easily explain, and that are not immediately intuitive or known? Why spend so much time exploring something that may not even have a decent payoff, in the end? The unknown is a scary place, and asking difficult questions, is itself very difficult. And a lot of these questions that we ask ourselves, are not easy to answer. They are certainly worth exploring, but they are not easy to understand or to find the answer to, and this is important to keep in mind, because it means we may be searching for a long time. In that sense, maybe it is better to not expect any kind of immediate answer to things, and to realize that we don’t always have to explore, we can just allow ourselves to live.

But I really like the unknown, I like exploring, and I am usually okay with a little bit of ambiguity and difficulty, so long as it brings me closer to the truth. There are times where I wonder if I want to continually explore the world, or if I want to stop and give myself space, but I am always tilting towards exploration, because I find it so interesting. Because I like exploring, and because I like finding out new things, the unknown, and at least a certain capacity, the unknown does not intimidate me. I am looking for the truth, because the truth is important to me, and the truth is good for living the best life you can, and navigating through difficult terrain. So I have to keep in mind that there is an answer out there, for many things, and while there may not be an answer to everything, I can continue to explore.

Life is chaotic. There is no denying this. Life is a difficult thing to wrap your head around, because it doesn’t often follow your expectations. But there is a beauty in this, and it makes sense that life doesn’t usually conform to my expectations, because there is literally an entire universe out there that remains completely, or at least mostly, unexplored. I have a lot of respect for science and specifically astronomy in this way, because it is helping us understand the physical unknown, helping us understand the world around us, and the entire universe that swallows us up. It is a remarkable thing to think about.

Part of me is definitely okay with this chaos, although it doesn’t mean that I don’t struggle with its implications. Chaos happens because we are experiencing a process that we can’t explain, and because there are things that we may not immediately know what to do with. Chaos is interlinked with the unknown, because there are aspects of our reality I can’t explain, but that still affects my life. Death is another one of those processes, of both chaos in the unknown, and it seems to be pretty unavoidable, even if it influences us all of the time. The part of me that doesn’t mind chaos, acknowledges that I don’t usually like the unknown when it is chaotic and unpredictable, though, that is, of course, by definition, what chaos is. But chaos can also be a catalyst to continually discovering the world, to try to understand how it works, even if you can only understand it on an abstract level. Chaos forces you into the unknown by forcing you out of your comfort zone.

The unknown is definitely not immediately accessible, and it is constantly challenging us. This is the way that it is, and it is kind of a remarkable thing. There are many answers that we will not discover, but that doesn’t mean that we can continue to try to map the unknown, the parts of our psyche and of our lives that don’t reveal themselves under scrutiny. Exploring the unknown allows for new things to be discovered, it allows for breakthroughs. I think all of that is very powerful, as well as very interesting. So I welcome the unknown, even if I still respond to it sometimes with fear. These things are worth exploring, in my estimation, and that makes me excited about the possibilities.