Sometimes I like to think like a physicist sitting beside a fire. Under a starlit night. Listening to a wizened old Maori tohunga reciting the genealogy of the stars. Eyes shut. Intoning the sounds of creation. Crackling fire. Sparks rising. The physicist is writing in his notebook. Logic meets Logos. Mathematical notations. Units of Lightness. Darkness. Gravity. Levity. Inner world of thought, feelings, beating heart. Outer world of stars, fire, chanting, night sky… Writing is the first crystalisation of thought into form. The first word, symbol, sound image inked onto the papyrus of reality.
On his first page, he writes something like this..