The Library that doesn't count

i have hundreds of books. Shelves stacked in rows, 32 compartments by approximately 15 books each, like a grid that promises structure but never delivers it. i have thousands of PDFs, collected late at night, downloaded with urgency, as if i might need them all tomorrow. i have written over 3000 musical sketches—fragments of something that almost existed, but never fully became. And still, i feel like i know nothing. Not in a poetic way. Not as a metaphor. i mean it literally. i start somewhere - astronomy, history, harmony, mathematics - and within minutes it branches into ten other directions. Every answer opens another question, every concept connects to something larger, and i can't stop following the connections. It feels wrong to stop. It feels irresponsible to not understand the next layer.

So i continue. i read, i collect, i start, i sketch, i open tabs, i create systems, i try to organize the chaos into something that resembles knowledge. But nothing closes. Nothing finishes. Everything remains in motion, like a machine that cannot be turned off. And the more i gather, the less it feels like i have. There is no point where i can say: this is enough. This, i understand. This, i know. Instead, there is only expansion. And somewhere inside that expansion, i disappeared. Not in the sense of being gone. i am still there. Small. Concise. Reduced to something almost point-like, but constant. A presence that does not expand with the rest, that does not fragment, that does not try to follow every path at once. It stays. Hidden, but protected.

There has always been this part of me - a quiet center that i can return to, even when everything else multiplies beyond control. It does not need to understand everything. It does not need to follow every connection. It simply is. And somehow, i trust it. Not as a decision, but as something that has always been there. A kind of alignment with whatever this is - this movement, this expansion, this endless unfolding of knowledge and questions. Something that could be called the universe, for lack of a better word. i move through it, or it moves through me. i can't fully tell the difference. The waves of knowing come and go - sometimes overwhelming, sometimes almost unbearable in their intensity - but that small, constant part remains untouched. It does not try to hold the waves. It lets them pass. And maybe that is how i am still here. Not as the one who understands everything, but as the one who continues to be enlightened by his own curiocity.