The Hyggelig Journey

There were ten of them — though at times they spoke as one murmuring voice, and at others, like ten distinct silences, each fractured differently by the strain of being. They were not chosen as idols for a shelf, nor as exhibits in some canonical museum. Rather, they happened to me — each arriving, unbidden, during the long, luminous solitude of study. They were not so much read as endured, not so much admired as absorbed. What they gave me was not knowledge, but permission — to question, to unravel, to dwell within the unsayable. Sophocles carved fate into stone. He gave suffering a chorus and lent blindness a voice. In his tragedies, destiny is not an event but a law — impersonal, inescapable. His characters do not fall because they err, but because they exist. He was the architect of inevitability. Through him, I grasped that form can contain anguish without flinching. Dante Alighieri descended, and rose again. His Divine Comedy traced the arc of the soul with a pilgrim’...

Love has a way of clouding the sharp edges of our rational minds. I have spoken before about how objectivity falters when we turn our gaze towards those we cherish. This loss of clarity is never more evident than in the intimate entanglement of lovers. Neuroscience reveals that when we look upon someone we love, key regions of the brain — such as the amygdala, the frontal cortex, the parietal cortex, and the medial temporal cortex — quieten, as if surrendering to the experience. The amygdala, our primal sentinel of fear and anger, dims its watchful intensity. In its silence, a deep sense of security and contentment blossoms, making love feel like the safest refuge. It is this neurological hush that allows us to trust so freely, to lay down our defences, and to offer ourselves with a vulnerability that would be unthinkable elsewhere. The frontal cortex, the seat of reason and judgement, relinquishes its command. In love, the need for meticulous discernment dissolves; we aba...