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.
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.