Edgeselfedge

Out on the edge of something that only really has a notional edge – a fuzzy signal where matter becomes a theory about physics; becomes a physical phenomenon to be experienced; an undelineated territory.

Sometimes the geography of a place maps the internal geography of the person terminating their journey in what seems to be an arrival but could just as easily be considered a departure. Relative positional orientation, or some such terminology that puts a pin in the abstract of the map.

You turn a map into a pathway, into a choice, into a forward line pushed on the crest of a wave. And what does it become when the territory is mapped? A shape that is recognised. Is it a shape that is known? One that is named? Not necessarily. This is not native territory.

In the days, weeks, months, and years that follow after arrival, the place you have arrived is shaped by you, and you are shaped by it. Some days you wonder if you have travelled to the edge of everything known just to arrive in the centre of the mystery of yourself. You are the only country you are ever exploring, because the place you land and the place you name is a mirror of yourself, that you buildby thinking on it. Sharkey, self aware, has found himself sat on a bench by a pond at the end of the universe.

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