That ache, that is a fundamental direction in our soul. That original sense, that, before all sensing forms gestalts within us… knows… a route. An anamnesis. The path from here… to where and who we originate with.

Pathfinding. In an impossible storm. Of half-remembered urgencies and revelations. The first moment in sunlight. The first time we saw and touched our mother. Yet more I will not say, for silence is its nature. And no words will ever reveal it.