"Woman's Head Against the Shore" by Edvard Munch

The sounds of waves sloshing against rocks mingle with a pervasive howling wind. There is a noisy hum here that imitates quiet.

The past is only the world we think we know. The ground where we formally crawled, then toddled, stepped, and raced dissolved as quickly as we moved beyond it. This is why we cannot help but fix our gaze forward on the traquil-yet-terrifying and seemingly infinite unknown.