Sometimes the truth can be actively dug out of the corners of events with an old screwdriver plunged into the gravel and weeds, and sometimes a truth condenses on the cold day, having escaped the boiling chaos of ideas and emotions.
My search for truth, my truth, a sense of who and what, is the purpose of this blog. I foolishly supposed that if I stood in the garden or sat on the sofa thoughtfully stroking my chin and staring into the middle distance, that I would somehow arrive at this truth through sheer effort and this would provide direction. And satisfaction. And pleasure.
It doesn't work. It may work for French philosophers clamping their pipe between their teeth with concentration, or Ancient Greek philosophers staring into the middle distance, but it doesn't work for me. What seems to help is to go through cold-sweat agonies of indecision followed by a distraction. Some time afterwards, usually during some mundane act like walking through the supermarket carpark, a sweeping wave of realisation will pick me up and take me Dorothy-like into a world that looks different. I aim to capture these moments and in doing so begin to make some sense of what is going on.
