kicking around inside you and itching to get out and it presses you forward, forward, for a long time.
But every living thing has an aversion to pain and so do you and so over the months and years you adopt things. Not just a dog or a cat, but a good habit, some knowledge, a job, a significant other, good manners, reasonable clothes and savings and preferences and tendencies and all kinds of things and then—then—it is gone.
It is gone but not gone, it is repressed, and while it continues to propel you, now it propels you backward as often as it does forward, into harm as often as it does into sunlight, and never, ever again to you realize the catharsis, the exuberance, or the freedom that was once at the core of it all.
By the time you have two monitors and two kids and two cars, it’s tough to see any longer that thing that will drive you to your ruin and then to your grave. You know that it’s there, and that once upon a time, in theory, it could also have driven you to the solar system or to enlightenment. But now it’s a dynamo at the gravity-center of your inner black hole, which is spinning at an ever accelerating rate, but whose event horizon precludes observation of whatever lies at the core.
That source of energy is now inaccessible, but for the motion that it creates to your final day.
The great things—become costly things. The progress—becomes re-entry and eventual crashdown.
But that’s how it happens for everyone.
Life in society.