I sometimes have been overcome by a sense of my life stretching out around me like a vast plain of golden-yellow prairie grass, with small hills and ditches here and there but nothing obscured — everything visible and pulsing slightly in the breeze. This feeling arises from, yet stands out against, the general lostness and loneliness I feel. I am standing still in a place that is somewhat known to me, which holds minor surprises in multiple directions, but in which I am content to just stand. Here I am alone but maybe not so lonely.

Don’t let them convince you that this world is just what it seems, or that nothing is as it seems, or… I don’t know much, and I don’t have the language or concepts to say it but I know that there is more.

I feel the need to write, to tell a story, to give some sort of account, but I simply don’t have much to say. Perhaps the experience of just standing in a field, observing, feeling, is something that quells this restlessness for a bit.