Buildings; they bounce your thoughts back to you. No peaceful pondering, no blustery sweeping up of the tangled questions that enwrap your consciousness, no thundering anger at your audacity to actually think you are the centre.

Every now and then, bricks and mortar whisper the tales of history and it is beautifully articulated / but / there’s is no match for the secrets held by the great oak.

The haunting utterances of 500 years old knowledge carried upon the rustlings of leaves and the gentle snap of twigs. If you listen hard enough, listen from the essential core that lies hidden behind every ego, every socially constructed exterior, lies waiting to be found, to be activated.

Lying within while existing elsewhere, unknown, far and near.

Nature/ Nurture/ Nutrition.

But instead the self concerns itself with buildings.