journey into mystery

In roughly a little more than a week from now, or ten days, I'll be returning to New York, to try and advance in my quest. This is the first time I can remember not feeling thrilled. I am a bit afraid actually. It's reached almost an existential dread at points. In past days there was merely the compulsion to go, the compulsion to see if I could recover my eyesight, that drove me forward. 

This is the first time I'm not looking forward to it. Why is this? Not sure. The path feels much like isolation to some extent. It is said that there are two types of pain: the pain that hurts, and the pain that alters. It's more than likely I'll have to relive both, to get where I need to be.

Whatever happens at the end of it, I won't be the same. But isn't that what I've always been reaching for?

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