31 December 2007


Of only I could tough the horizon.
But it is always out of reach.
I can't be here and there.
Whatever direction I head, the horizon keeps its distance.

These words from Johan van den Boom trigger a train of thoughts.
Why would anybody like to tough the horizon? Is the desire for there stronger than the satisfaction about here? What is the distance to the horizon? And what defines the horizon?

The last question is the most easy one.
The horizon is the boundary of the visible earth.

The higher you get, the further the horizon.
At the beach the ocean-horizon is very close, only a few kilometres away.

That is still far out of reach.

Climb onto a lookout and see more visible earth, with a more distant horizon.

So climbing is the wrong thing to do for those that wish to tough the horizon.

If you want to touch the horizon, you better descend.

Put your nose into the beach and you can't get any closer to the horizon.

A more comfortable line of action: Dig a ditch. Stretch out in it on you back.

The edge of the ditch is your personal, touchable horizon.

So suddenly the horizon is touchable. Yet, 'there' and 'here' are now merged into one place. Hm, that does spoil the fun of the whole horizon idea. So, I prefer a wide view standing up rather than a narrow one lying down.

I seek comfort in the thought The current there can become here in time. It is possible to tough 'there'

Johan has ventured beyond the my Gouda horizon. His exposition in hotel Uddeholm is far outside my current view, but that is just a matter of time, has little to do with distance.

Johan new looks at a Swedish horizon. His horizon lies at the end of a beautiful white landscape with snow covered Christmas trees. The sun touches the horizon sometime halfway the afternoon.

A setting sun looks close by. That can not be a coincidence.
We watch how the sun descends into its own ditch at the edge of the world.

Till next nut,