Where the Edges Disappear

Where do the boundaries of the sky end?
Have you ever looked up and tried to find a line, a limit, a full stop? Have you seen where the universe begins or ends? The truth is—you haven’t. None of us have. Because there are no boundaries. Not up there. Not out there. The only boundaries that truly exist are the ones we’ve created down here—inside our minds and around our lives.

At some point, we humans decided to make sense of everything. Which is understandable. The unknown is scary, and structure gives a false sense of comfort. So, we built systems. We drew borders on maps. We turned feelings into formulas. We tried to box up the wildness of life and give it chapters—birth, school, career, marriage, retirement, death. We created rules and roles. We made religion into a routine. Even love has started coming with checklists and timelines.

But here’s the thing—none of that was ever the original truth.

Geography existed long before someone put it on maps. Science was simply the way life moved before we wrote it down in equations. Mathematics lived in the spirals of shells, the rhythm of waves, and the symmetry of flowers before we decided to understand it in numbers. Nature always knew. Life always knew. We didn’t invent these things—we only tried to understand them.

And while understanding is beautiful, the way we went about it has made us forget something important. That living comes before learning. That life itself is the ultimate source of knowledge—not books, not systems, not titles or degrees. We’ve become so focused on fitting into roles and following rules that we’ve forgotten how to actually be.

Limitation, in that sense, isn’t something out there. It’s internal. It’s the voice that says, “You can’t do this,” “This isn’t practical,” “What will people say?” It’s the fear of straying from the line because we were told that the line keeps us safe. But if the sky doesn’t draw lines for itself, then why do we?

Maybe it’s time to unlearn a little. To get curious again. To sit under the open sky and remember how boundless it all felt when we were kids—before we were told what to become, how to behave, or what success should look like.

Life was never meant to be perfect or predictable. It was meant to be felt. In its rawness, in its vagueness, in its authenticity.

So next time you feel stuck, ask yourself:
Are you really trapped?
Or are you just living inside a boundary that never truly existed?

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