some art of discovering

Discoveries are the clouds in our sedentary lives. It could be about the soul, the nature of science, bacteria, mutant frogs, or the colour blue. They may happen when reading a book, engrossed in a conversation, bleeding in a fight, watching a death, expecting a birth, or a finding the chance to run away. We’ll find a discovery hanging off an ignored leaf, grab it and treasure it in an old cigar box. It may simply be the choice to stop everything and return to silence. At the beginning and at the end, it is a choice to search.

It begins from a dream.


Here is an extract from Lloyd Jones’ Mister Pip, a story of a little girl called Matilda and her teacher Pop-Eye. (pg 159)

Broken Dreams

The girl next to where I grew up used to sleepwalk. It was amazing how far she would get–still fast asleep. One time she paddled a canoe out to the reef, came in and went back to her sleeping mat. Or else you’d see her marching up the beach like she was late for church.

Once we found her in our house sitting up to the table, her eyes closed, while every other part of her suggested she was waiting to be brought a cold drink. I was going to wake her but my mum stopped me. What if she is dreaming….? Dreams are private, she said. And she is right. A dream is a story no one else will get to hear or read.

Thanks to dreams, in the history of the galaxy the world has been reinvented more often than there are stars.

The girl in our house though was probably just dreaming about jumping off the wharf–and that’s okay too.


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