I’m like a turtle sitting in its box, or at the least slowly making its way to a not so obvious destination, and then returning home in frustration.
I am slowed down not just from my general condition, but a chemical fix that is meant to keep me sedated and calm. Unfortunately this fix slows me down more than I’d wish. I try to push myself. Or maybe sometimes there’s an invisible slow-moving hand pushing me forward, with my feet and belly sliding on the ground.
All of a sudden, and out of nowhere, I become catapulted and fly 100 mph into a random direction. During my flight I see, smell, hear and feel all sorts of things passing me by like a dream. Then I land at some random destination. I look around and don’t know where I am. I’ve forgotten the things in the dream. I don’t know what to do at this new place. I want to find my way back home by instinct, but the journey feels monumental. I take one step after another, but I grow tired. I yearn for my box. I know it is safe there and I can relax and meditate. Then it gets to the point where I’m on my hands and knees crawling. Along the way, I feel desperate and cover my head with my arms, imagining I’ve reached my box, but I’ve not.
Eventually someone or something grabs my arms and drags me home, with my body bumping over rocks and mounds. I then sit there, recovering and relieved, but I know I must start walking again to that unknown destination. I’m again walking very slowly, hoping for a minor push this time instead of a catapult. I also yearn for a whisper, containing the name of where I’m going and what I should do when I get there.