push

What if the way I learned to move around in life, is by pushing myself against other things?

What if I have only learned to propel myself,

by rejecting what I see unfit?

What if the fuel that drives me is...

the disdain of that I seek to escape?

And what seemed to be my goals, my desires

were merely a convenient ledge to step onto,

after my push away?

What if that's all I've learned to do? Push away, push away, push away.

And once I came to push enough off them away, I found myself in a space

where I don't feel any repulsions?

And hence, I cannot push.

No matter what next step or ledge I see, I cannot push. There's naught to push against.

I float in space unanchored.

And all the planets are far away,

and I have no oar, no water,

no walls to push against?

and I can only float and look from afar, unable to move, unable to reject what is not there?

If that is the case,

what do I have left to propel myself? What can I use?

Can I blow the air out of my lungs

to get to where I want?

Can I leak the blood off of my veins

and come closer to my next stop?

Can I cut and throw my own hand out?

Can I cry out for help?

What fuel can I use

if I still have desires,

but nothing to push against?

Pushing against my own state places me in a state of escape,

and would set and unwanted precedent.

Of just a perpetual escape from now, a perpetual escape from the present.

I wish for that not.

If I cannot repel the present, if I will not repel the present,

and I refuse to accept any particulars to reject,

how can I move?

With the softer draw of attraction?

The summoning of willpower from within.

The summoning of willpower from within.

What...

do I feel pulled enough towards to find it in me to summon my willpower from within?

A vision I read? The care of a woman?

Knowledge, skill, approval,

death.

Hmm. They all seem bland. Only death,

a tad intriguing.

Home, an environment of care?

Hmm.

Feels like something inside won't allow it.

It's long to try and it hurts to fail.

Too long to try for a probably doomed enterprise. Why would I risk so much for so long?

Mmm, what do I risk?

If there's nothing to push myself against,

If I, if now I just wallow onto nothing?

And allow decay, what's even worse than that?

Summoning up willpower, building up hope.

And then hurting when it fails.

That is what feels worse.

The risk of failing.

Feels dreadful indeed.

So much, I don't even realize it.

And all I feel is empty within.

Empty.

Empty, the fear of failing.

But what is it that I want to succeed in?

What I wrote about the vision is true. I feel no vision to follow. What I read, all that I read in the books, sounds wonderful in theory.

And dull.

When I transpose it to my life, dull.

It feels like "yes, I love that to be the world". And I know this knowledge, that seems like a secret, which is not meant to be a secret. Seems like knowledge for others to do great things. And I can tell them and I can let them know so that they can do the work. And I don't want to do the work. I don't feel close to the work.

Not as something I can do, other than in small tangents and tiny moments - a person here, a word there.

Otherwise, in my life, there is irrelevance with respect to world citizenship.

How can I contribute to that, when I relate to almost no one?

I can work on myself. I can look at myself.

And, know to this uniqueness I hold, that I can do.

I do them already. Some part in me complains.

Yes.

So keep at it while you so remain. Time changes anyway. What feels eternal to you is but a blip in a blip in a blip in a blip in a blip in a blip in a blip.

Within the infinitesimal blip of time.