I am Night.
I am the World.
I am the Turquoise Woman.
And a traveler like all of you.
You walk miles.
I spin through the vastness of space, listening to the ghost songs of the solar winds.
I awakened already spinning through space, hugged to the sun's warmth by his invisible arms of gravity.
But the sun is a distant lover and following his own path through the stars, drawn by bonds of his own.
He is caught like a glistening bead of dew in the web of the solar system.
Together, he and my sisters journey in a cluster which is itself part of a moving community of stars you call the Milky Way.
Travelers all, we can neither turn to the left nor to the right of our own volition.
We are children of gravity and explosion, cast into the darkness by forces we little understand or know.
I used to envy you your freedom of movement, of choice.
But the longer I watched your scurrying over my surface, the more a dark truth spoke to me:
You, too, are children of the gravity of your species and the explosion of the times around you which you little understand or know.
You bristle with denial?
If you cannot understand your own heart, how can you understand another's?
Which choices are yours totally?
As gravity and momentum send me on my path, so do your DNA, location, and experience spread the pattern of the paths before you.
You are no more free than I am or the goldfish wandering the narrow confines of its bowl.
From within its bowl, the world seems so large to the goldfish. Yet, it is trapped within invisible walls.
As are you.
Freedom is an illusion to the goldfish, to me, and to you.
Do we choose or do the choices choose us?