Whatever freedom we lack might be the shelter keeping us safe in place. The strength and insistence of the grip leading us could matter less than the quality of the destination itself. Oh, poor me, perhaps being herded into paradise - as circumstantial border collies chase me along the days? So what if my feet are brought up to speed before my mind is?
I miss the open spaces but am trying to stay realistic - in periods of initial and rapid development, a womb of some kind is always necessary. Oh mother, I wouldn't ask you to sacrifice yourself again - so I've taken refuge in a small apartment, waiting for enough development to exit safely with promise once more.
I have to believe this to be the case - that another round of birth is coming, and that this is not a final homecoming, with me slamming the door behind me, locking it from inside, and then double knotting again that first lost connection.
Tell me I didn't learn to tie my shoes just to be able to re-hitch, in stronger adult fashion, a much-missed umbilical lifeline. I'll wait for your answer if need be. But I am telling myself to myself that I didn't.