I picture my present awareness as a set of constant-bearing journeys—rhumb lines that keep faith with a direction even while the world curves beneath them. Each thread begins as an intention and then feels a subtle drift from a rotating frame, like a Coriolis hush that bends motion without breaking it. The drawing records these steady vows and gentle deflections: families of loxodromic arcs radiate from quiet origins, weave past one another, and taper at the margins. Identity appears as a navigation problem solved in ink—fixed bearings, measured shear, and a field of crossings that remain open to air.