No safe port is safe forever. No path or resolution can be expected to last long enough as we need them to. Tasty quintessences will wear out, and zephyr winds will soon change to other mysterious, exotic and appealing grounds. It’s a pattern repeated long enough to be seen as an equation.
There seems to be no place perpetually safe for me where I can always find peace for my soul to rest. No, I can never find a place that makes me truly feel sheltered and protected. Invading waves can get everywhere, and there will always be a fall, wherever I go.
This inconstancy is probably the only constant I can have. It’s a constant quest for finding inspiration and strength until they drain out. And then we’ll have next generations falling, and next ones searching for new winds and new edges and keep the motion going.
This nomad style might be truly exhausting, but then again I can now remember that finding peace will mean the end of this quest, and then this conflict between peace and development keeps raging inside me. It’s as if, in the end, I am secretly enjoying all of this without being truly conscious of it.