Reaching into the Fog

It is always our condition. It is never avoidable. As you move into the fog, you begin to make out the details of what had once seemed impenetrable, and enjoy a moment’s relief from the nervous sense of being lost in your isolation. Then, however, if you are honest, you realize that these newly defined near details merely mask a new set of distant obscurities awaiting your perplexed vision. You have two choices here, the same two with which you have been faced so many times before: Cleave to the clear details before you, deliberately lowering your eyes to evade the inevitable plunge back into nervous isolation; or reach out your many branches into that vast, seemingly (actually?) unending expanse of dim outlines and ever-receding silence. The first choice entails stability, safety, comfort, the pleasure of illusion and the paralysis of false contentment — in other words, non-life. The second choice entails discomfort, confusion, unfulfilled longing, and the vaguely dreadful but nevertheless enticing awareness of the Eternal Unknown — that is to say, life.

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