Enlisted; by fears and phantoms from past anxiety.
The smell of desperation; the edge of uncertainty; the black smoke evanescent.
The army, drunk with confusion.
How can I think? When I'm not sure how to think?
Splintered visions of vanity flood my dreams on all fronts. Isolated, I fight to find ground. But I question every second of the journey. Do I search for the chicken? Or do I search for the egg? Do I waste valuable seconds on the clock wondering what to search for? Need I take drastic action now? There is no strategy for this unknown enemy. Yet it closes in, ever silently and restlessly. The impending threat to my life's meaning....
----------I blink.
I am driving a 2001 Ford Mustang on the 15 North. The light hum of the engine soothes the senses.
The highway is always so beautiful. There is no question of where to go. There is one way. Different cars, models, colors, sizes, shapes, ages, all headed to different destinations, yet all travel the same road. They coexist in a benevolent invention of man, but the invention itself proves an analogy to the greater picture. At speeds of deathly capability, we, the engines, travel in harmony. Death threatens at any second or mistake. Yet rare is it that metal would ever touch metal in this vile format of what could-be.
I sink back in my seat and enjoy the peace.
I know where I am going. I know not where others are headed, but I share the same concrete with them. Risk between life and death teeters at constant; but I worry not. I control this steel. I control my fate. I am independent; in control. If I die now, it is by my own conscience, and it is by my own doing. At this concept, I take great comfort in.
Perhaps...life is a highway. I cannot stop this car. To stop, is to die. I must continue onward, and take the exits I believe will take me to my destination.
Every exit is an entrance to somewhere.
This highway...could lead me as far as New York, or as close to a loved one's home. This highway, branches off to any destination I would ever intend to travel.
It doesn't matter where I start.
...it's all connected.
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