sometimes I get all wistful about forest paths and the unloved tracks of forgotten intent. often that's because I'm wondering where my dog is. equally often it's because I wonder where my god is. which is to mean that I can't begin to describe the realisation of paths less travelled whether I consider them in terms of dog or god. there's no difference. all there is is the relic of some lost spark of curiosity manifest in the loose dirt and leaves of time.
for clarity, I don't believe in a god. sometimes I don't believe in my dog. but I do believe that these manifestations of chaotic traversals that scar this earth have more to do with synchronicity than we might imagine. those pathways in the forest are both the magic and the mundane. the structured and the intangible. the mirror and the well. the loved. the unloved. but above all, inextricable and beautiful. for every half-trodden pathway, there exists a sense of the terrible and wonderful history of the moments that make that path place. place where you, I, my dog, and an epoch of experiences come together in the half-light and a half-glance as we pass through time and wonder; what if?
whereupon someone's jack russell jumps at the leg of time itself and the moment is lost in an apology and a god biscuit. but, just before that, as time stands still at the branch of life, where instinct begets choice and all history collides, we're faced with the overwhelming sense that not taking that path might be to deny ourselves reward. reward for curiosity. reward for courage. reward for conviction. if we don't take that path now, we're just another part of someone's else's tomorrow. the tomorrow where they, their dog, and an epoch of experiences come together in the half-light and a half-glance as they pass through time and wonder; what if?
but the truth about these paths is that you can't find these paths if you look for these paths. for they exist only in the blind spots of consciousness. you can only see them if you look away. and then only if you're in the right place. at the right time. and only if the path is looking for you. and there's a raven on an oak tree reciting the autobiography of edgar allen poe. or something. the point is, as we move through time and space on the bark and boards of our earthly existence, our sense of place is as much to do with the predictability of the path as it with the beauty of the unknown. and seizing the unknown may be our only chance to be lost to the forest forever.
there's no parallel with findability or discoverability here, much as I'd like to bring it to a conclusion that has something vaguely to do with signposting and waymarking and user experience, it's just something that's occurred to me and I wrote some words about. maybe I could draw a parallel to information architecture or something. maybe not.