Mystical motor forest

When I was a boy, enquiring about The Zohar, the mystical book of Kabbalah, I was warned not to venture too far, it was compared to a forest, deep and dark.

You go too far, you will lose your way and never return.

It was risking a step into madness.

Haruki Murakami has a similar theme in some of his novels, the hazards of an odyssey.

I only partially heeded the rabbi’s warnings and leafed through the leather-bound tomes.

None of it ever made sense.

I guess the trees were too closely packed, or, I never found the entrance.

This morning’s blog was about my struggles with cars.

All I want is to get from A to B, from nursing home A to B in relative comfort; I like to listen to podcasts and audiobooks. Satnav is important.

Fin.

I have fallen into a forest of fuel type, ignition, transition, hire-purchase and rental, automatic and manual, Korean, Chinese and Japanese manufacture, colours of the rainbow.

Modern-man tends to chop-down the trees.

That is one way of removing the mystery.

Or the risk.

I’ve never been much of a tree-chopper.