Once having traversed the threshold, the hero moves in a dream landscape of curious fluid, ambiguous forms, where he must survive a succession of trials.**
From the disparity between the immensity of the possible and the smallness of the human being there springs the torment and energy of the flâneur. Persecuted by frustration, he is sentenced to a sort of perpetual motion.^
We need to keep moving or our egos will catch us, catch us and hold us fast in what is false about us.
I know it is I who gets in my way.
Therefore, I have to keep moving: opening mind, opening heart, opening will.
When I die, may it be in motion:
It is … a way of exposing one’s ceaseless growth, the dynamic self that has yet to be. The infinite player does not expect only to be amused by surprise, but to be transformed by it, for surprise does not alter some abstract past, but one’s own personal past.^^