Sometimes I feel as if I could easily and gladly return to the shore from which I had so resolutely departed. I have grown weary of rationalizing. The waves of reason seem to no longer give me as much joy as they did before. What more, I am shivering alone in this indifferent cold. The mist that surrounds me is disquieting. Though it bears in itself surprises, it is nevertheless disquieting, just as uncertainty always is. And the shore, it appears so warm, and its residents so insouciant. Have I gravely mistaken the freedom of the vast ocean for comfort and happiness? I am beginning to think so.
But there is something standing in the way of my return: a caveat by who led me into the ocean in the first place. He warns: “one day your pride will bend and your will break, and you will cry out, “I am alone!”.. there are emotions that seek to kill the solitary.“ Thus by returning, it would seem as if I were giving up, relenting to the exact challenge which I was determined to succumb.
Yet, on the other hand, I am confounded by the question of what end I am seeking – what is the point of sailing out into the ocean and proclaiming myself a free-spirit? What is the point of truth, or at least what reason perceives to be the truth? Would it not be infinitely easier for me to remain on the shore, to remain ignorant of the finitude of the shore and the infinity of the ocean, and just sink into the tepid sand? Should it all be a mirage, it would still please me more than this tiresome rowing of paddles.
So why don’t I return to the shore?