Sometimes one of life's accidents -- misfortune, a deeply moving encounter -- rattles the relatively factitious and solid edifice that a human being has built up for the comfort of his existence. Shaken to what he believes to be his roots, he is burned for an instant by the fire of a question, a doubt: who am I? why am I living? where am I going? At this moment of reality, he thinks. But such moments are almost always exceptional and accidental, particularly for the specialized men conditioned by social attitudes, withdrawn into vicious circles in the shadows of their consciousness that our modern civilization produces in abundance. But the edifices semblance of balance is rarely compromised in a serious way. For the question who am I, civil status, first names, last names, positions, professions, titles, ranks, social circles, mirrors, ambitions, vanities and laziness are there to give the pretense of an answer. If the person is of a slightly speculative nature, his little internal philosophy also keeps answers to these rattling questions -- brilliant, consoling or approximative answers -- in reserve. And man, that phantom vessel, sets off again under his illusory rigging on the waves of this world where, at times, a real vessel leaves its wake.
This is my blogchalk: United States, Oklahoma, Tulsa, Midtown, English, Austin Gilbert, Male, 26-30, computer science, photography.