jericks

What I love are ideas.

Thick, rich, meaty ideas that envelope and consume me. Ideas into which I can disappear.

Expansive ideas that spill out and flow through other ideas; not so much interconnecting as intertwining, interweaving, breathing in tandem as a nascent life.

Sometimes, these unions manifest as puzzles, with distinct elements that join in startling ways to reveal the unseen.

Other times, they present as hearty broths whose ingredients dissolve and recombine to form something wholly new and unique.

These ideas do not sit inert on a shelf; they live as evolving narratives. They are stories. And stories about stories.

They course through history, unbound by time, racing anagrammatically up and down the ages—future and past, now and always.

These ideas that I love surge in the veins of the cosmos and nourish the mind of creation.

They are too great to be contained, and yet they are written into every cell, every atom of existence.

Someday, I will give myself over to them. Not just my time and thoughts and moods, but all that I am. All I am borrowing from the universe to sustain this temporary, fractured artifact will be reabsorbed, and I myself will become but an idea.

For now, however, I will continue this courtship. Tantalizing obsession, exhilarating vocation, quintessential pursuit.

I chase what I love. What I love are ideas.