Fragments Of Perpetual Change

In middle age, I reach the crossroads of question. I seek the answers to how I arrived at my current attitude and disposition. As I row across the river in search of these answers, the evidence begins to flow freely past my oars. While kicking the canoe away from the shore and back out into the current, I begin my stroll through the forest of self-preservation. My innate capacity for survival leads me to find these answers securely within myself. All of us have traveled through our own journey seeking the reasons for why we are wired in this way. I question all of it. My answers are bleeding and lost in fragments of perpetual change. Modern philosophy cannot hear us.