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March 3, 2019

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The Wheel In The Mud

May 4, 2019

When we make a new choice there is often a reaction.

 

In my head I see it as a large stone wheel in mud. I have no idea why I see it this way, it doesn’t exactly follow an analogy that makes sense to me—but that’s the visualization that I get.

 

The large stone wheel is stuck in the mud and person pushes it with all their strength and the wheel budges but that tiny budge causes arms to spring up from the mud and pull the wheel back into place, sometimes they grab the person and try to lodge them in place too. The reaction makes turning the wheel scary, and it makes the person question if they should have tried to turn it at all in the first place. It only seems to make things worse and the wheel barely moves at all. Is it really worth it?

 

I don’t know if it is or not. I just know that something in me always wants to push that wheel—even if it brings forth a slew of muddy arms and even if they sprout torsos and rise out of the mud and grab onto me. I can’t explain why I need to keep pushing. I just want to see where it goes.

 

So, in my head I push even when the arms come out and grab hold. I keep pushing when the arms grow heads and torsos and rise like zombies and when the entire scene becomes dark with mud I keep trying to push. 

 

“I just want to know why." The person in the image says,  "I want to know what will happen.” So they push harder even though they can no longer see anything.

“What is so important about pushing this wheel?”

And then something happens—

The wheel moves.

It doesn’t move much—just a little. Just enough for gravity to settle it back down in a slightly new position and as it settles the sky clears and the figures release their muddy exteriors and float like ghosts into the air.

 

It would be easier to leave it alone.

 

The person takes a breath and pushes again.

 

“Why can’t you just leave it alone?” The mud creatures seem to say as they emerge and cling to the wheel and the person.

“Why does it matter if you push the wheel or not?” Some pedestrians ask as they pass by, “What’s the point of opening up all this crap? LEAVE IT ALONE!”

 

“I don’t know” The person responds, “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

 

That’s how I answer the voices that come up every time I write about the things I see and hear. The voices (the negative ones) tell me all the reasons I am wrong, all the reasons I should stop pushing.

 

“You are just causing trouble” they warn me, “You are making your life harder for yourself and everyone around you. Why can’t you just leave it?”

 

I don’t know the reason so they come up with answers from me.

“It’s because you are bored or crazy or stupid. It’s because you have too much pride. You think you are better than you are. It’s because you are evil and messed up and ungrateful. Something is wrong with you, you like the pain, you want to cause trouble.”

 

No. I know without having to answer, those aren’t the reasons. The reason is one that I can’t say.

Reasons live in the head. The brain wants rational. It wants to know the logic in the decision. It wants to see the pattern and tries to find one, but nothing it says seems any truer than the reasons given by the voices.

 

“To help others who can relate. To give a new perspective. To explain something important.”

They sound nice, but they are false because the thing that begs me to keep pushing the wheel is not in my head.

 

I decided a while ago to follow the path my heart led me down. My heart says to push and so I push. I know there is a reason, but I don’t know what it is.

 

“Please tell me” my head asks my heart, “So I have something to respond to these voices. I’m starting to think they are right that it’s just because I’m bad and messed up that I need to push this wheel and create problems.”

 

When my head begs long enough my heart finally speaks, it doesn’t give the kind of reason my head hopes for it just says, “Wheels are made to be turned.”

 

And even though that doesn't explain much it is enough. After all, why does life exist? 

It exists to be lived. 

 

 

 

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