Who are you? Name? Date of birth? Country of origin? At the end of the interview, you might receive a transcript: me, my life, my totality, neatly summarised in boxes.

But then why am I browsing this website?

Who am I? you ask. Who am I really? One thing is clear: like me, you are a human being. You are vulnerable to catastrophe. So am I. You can find yourself at the mercy of a storm. So can I. You sometimes inspire hatred as well as love. So do I.

In the ancient myth, a man called Odysseus found himself in a wild ocean storm somewhere between Africa and Europe. The wind howled. The giant waves crashed. Odysseus clung to his little raft, clung to life. He was a civilised man, a decent man, a man who loved and was loved. But he was done in; his heart was soaked through. The ocean had claimed him.

Suddenly, the storm drew breath. A seabird appeared and settled on the raft. “Odysseus,” said the bird.

It was a moment of stillness; a moment of hope. You are Odysseus and so am I.


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Why we exist