It was at around 2:00 a.m. on New Year’s Day. I’d been watching a few shows online as the clock gently ticked past midnight, silently ushering in the new year. According to our current calendar system, the year is now 2020, which sounds very futuristic. But it’s here. I’m still here. I wonder why…
Author: Trance
Artist. Writer. Truth seeker.
It feels true to me that we write primarily for ourselves, whether it’s poetry, prose, a script for stage or screen, lyrics for music or text for commercial copy. We are ultimately the ones to satiate and to fulfil; we will read it (repeatedly), listen to it (a lot), or be subject to its repercussions once released out into the world.
I’ve made an awful lot of incorrect assumptions about women in my lifetime.
Maybe it’s just that time of year again, but I find that existential curiosities abound in the darker, shorter days of wintertime. I look at the world, and see that the majority of the dominant species seem intent on self-termination, while an increasingly awake and aware collective is emerging that might save us all from ourselves. I wonder, where do I fit in to all this? Why am I here? Who am I… really?
Observing people and listening to their earnest conversations is a subtle way to get the pulse of a community, and a limited, but general sense of where the broader collective is currently at — with regard to conscious awareness, beliefs, moral consensus, cultural values and ideologies. It’s just information, but I invariably find it to be telling. There is always more to what’s merely said or shared, and I find it fascinating.