The Fly

He's flying along in the clear blue yonder. He has a goal. He was on his way, or so he thought. Then, swoosh through an open door, and though he is unaware, he's in your house. He flies about in what seems a very purposeful way. He doesn't even really know he's off course yet. He's just flying.

The realization that something isn't right hits him when he hits the glass of your window at full flying speed and, with a thud, drops down to the sill stunned with a WTF going through his head.

He can SEE the yonder. It's right THERE for Godsakes! He thinks to himself 'I'll try again'. Wings buzzing like crazy he tries again. Then again. And again. He can see what he wants, but he can't seem to get there no matter how hard he tries.

He's no quitter though huh? He keeps at it. Perseverance, determination, he thuds on over and over and over. There's no lack of work ethic here, nosiree!

Time passes, he grows weary, his head hurts, he's discouraged and eventually - exhausted - he succumbs. But he sure did fight the fight.

His reality is limited huh? It's limited by his perception, by his paradigm I think they call it. He can't know that if he just flew around the side of the window a few inches, there's an open door which would allow him to fly back to yonder.

I feel like that fly - endlessly trying with a sore head, but getting nowhere and questioning whatever limited thinking is keeping me stuck.