I reflect on the idea of contact with chaos. By chaos I do not mean disorder, but that domain which begins where the familiar world ceases to be clear. It is a brush with death, though not in its final sense, but in the transition — an entry into a state where one can feel something greater than what is available to the eyes, the hands, the senses.
The world in its essence is not obvious. It is built through infinite layers — physical and chemical laws, quarks, the cosmos, quantization, all that cannot be contained within ordinary categories. Approached closely, it is all experienced as chaos.
I wonder what means can allow us to touch this chaos. What can become a mediator: word, drawing, sound, presence itself. And what does this touch look like? It resembles a dream, that moment when supports vanish and you sense that you have entered a structure otherwise inaccessible, while remaining an ordinary human being confined to length, width, height, and time.
This movement is always risky: one may lose the boundary between self and what unfolds. Yet that is what gives it value — the attempt to remain a witness even as you step into what exceeds form.
In the end there remains only an invitation. Not to myself, not to a personal story, but to chaos itself. An invitation to look inside, to touch it, to feel its presence. Everything else is only simulation.