I’m the outsider who finds home in wander, in a passing stranger, in a movement. I feel most stable on a shaken foundation, on an unstable ground and uncertainty. I feel secure in every question mark, in every skeptical image and abstract art. I feel decisive in confusion. I feel clarity within vagueness and mystery. I feel black in colors. I feel instruments in lyrics, and lyrics in a melody. I feel forgiveness in sins. I feel geometry in churches, and God in geometry.
To settle down is to be frozen, and to roam around is to be within movements. To believe is to blaspheme, and to blaspheme is to find God. To answer is to raise a question, and to question is to build up endless doubts.
I never belong, I never believe, I just sensually feel. Within me, I compose madness, wilderness, and philosophies. I observe the whole and its details in no time. I’m everything and nothing, all at once.
I never desire to find a meaning, I just desperately and eagerly enjoy presence, that is effortlessly accompanied by raw and organic observations, reflections, and meditations. And that only adds up more wonders to my questions.