the base,
a space we cannot see;
the thing-in-itself,
reality.
the total space,
a tangled sheaf
of fact and thought,
of hope and grief,
where every fiber,
poised above,
contains a "maybe,"
"is,"
or "love"
that could be true,
if mapped aright,
upon the base,
in objective light.

we are the cartographers of what might be,
who trace a section,
blind,
to see
its continuity.
a guess,
a thread,
a hypothesis is spun and spread
across some neighborhood of sense,
a local,
fragile confidence.

each experiment,
a gentle test
to see if this path we've suggested
will hold its form and not betray
by leaping to a different ray
within the fiber,
or,
worse,
to find
the thread has broken,
left behind
a gap,
a truth that doesn't fit,
the tearing of the fabric,
bit by bit.

a paradigm is just a chart,
a patch of knowledge,
set apart,
where for a time,
the section's true,
the data and the model glue.
we navigate by this design,
this local trivialization's line.

until a loop,
a paradox,
a quantum state,
a ticking box,
sends our sure path around a bend
and fails to meet its starting end.
the holonomy reveals a twist!
the old,
continuous map is dismissed.

so we inquire,
stitch and probe
this vast and unrelenting robe
of truth,
a bundle,
deep and wide,
where we,
inside its fibers,
ride,
and weave our sections,
frail and grand,
to touch the base we can't command.

i am not saying if you're not a genius
drop out,
let it go.

i am saying if there is a twist,
holonomy will reveal it.

do not mistake the map for the mandate.
the bundle is not built by one,
but by the many.
your single,
local section,
your "why?"
is the necessary data for the grand topology.

a twist unseen by one,
is felt by another fiber.
a paradox that breaks your chart,
becomes my starting point.
the revelation is not in the genius,
but in the process;
in the sum of all inquiries,
continuous and discontinuous.
so hold your thread.
the loom requires every one.

the base is the real forest floor.
it's what's actually there,
with or without your flashlight.
the layer of ideas is what hovers above
the forest floor.
for every single spot on the ground,
there are a bunch of possible ideas floating above it.

above a tree root,
the floating ideas are
"it's a snake!"
"it's a vine."
"it's a root."
the true idea is the one that correctly touches the real thing on the ground.

making your map is like building a path of true ideas.
you point your flashlight,
see the root,
and draw "root" on your map.
you take a step,
see a rock,
and draw "rock" on your map.
you are connecting true ideas,
one after another.
this path of connected truths is called a section.

you don't have to be a genius to map the whole forest alone.
you just have to be a good cartographer on your own little path.

if you are careful and honest,
you follow the "make sense" rule,
you will notice when you draw a dog by mistake.
the twist will reveal itself.
and guess what?
other people are in the forest with their flashlights too!
when your map gets twisted,
their map might help you untangle it.
together,
by checking each other's paths,
you can make a map that gets closer
and closer to the real forest.

keep asking questions.
keep pointing your flashlight.
and trust that if you are careful,
your mistakes will show themselves,
and that's how you learn.