Maybe to be truly alive emerges from the momentary revelations we never even knew we had. It’s not in the knowing, it’s in the being. To know is to reduce our very own feelings into analytical data. We are not machines, we are quirky little star beings naturally comprised of infinite nuances, many of which we will never even realize in our own self. I once thought the essential point in life was to ‘know the/my self,’ and at that time in my life maybe that was the point, but I’m finding now that knowing is just a perfectly straight road with an endless dead end. Knowing, or the sense of knowing, removed what made me vitally human. To live in a sense of knowing is tempting: it gives you an immensely comfortable sense of stability but at the price of stagnating the rivers of openness, curiosity, imagination, deep feelings. So, give me back the confusing roundabouts and the small winding mountain roads, let me get lost in the feelings of being human.