Pull down your hats so you can only just peek out and see a segment of the world, no sky, no trees, nary a bush, just the ground, the next few steps, your immediate horizon.

Now imagine you’re in the dark, in a park, you have a head torch on. It casts an intense circle of light directly in front of you. The halo of light is your world and all you can hope is that the halo of light resolves itself in to something beyond ground, beyond mud and twigs, in to a pavement or a sidewalk or whatever you call it where you are.

Now imagine the pavement gives way to a road. And you have to get across the road, you don’t know why, you just know you need to move forwards, and it is not because you know where you are going, but because you know that if you keep going you might end up seeing something beneath you that is somewhere you want to be.

And it’s that hope that drives you on.

You cross roads without knowing what is coming, rivers though you know not how deep they be.

Excuse the laboured analogy and language. There’s a point to it. A surfeit of emotion is not always easy to characterise or recognise. Sometimes you know you have it, and you know that every sense you have, even your cognition itself is not sufficient to guide you, or to tell you where you are, but you have the emotion and it drives you on, you don’t know if it’s from something or to something, but it’s transient.

When you find yourself at a bus station the one thing you can be sure of is that you’re mid-trip. (Yes pedants, I understand some people do live in a bus station. I AM NOT ONE OF THEM.)

This is where I find myself. I have just realised I am wearing a hat pulled down too low. I have just realised that my halo of light is not the sum total of existence. I am going somewhere, I just have not understood that till now. Whether that is a physical destination; an emotional destination; a mental destination; I am not sure, but I am on my way there.

When I stare out in to the black, if I go red light mode, then let my eyes adjust, turn the settings down so low I can only just navigate my ship, I can head to the view port and look out. The universe blinks back at me, radiant, eternal, blazing.

A quirk of this ship means I can not look straight ahead, not with my eyes anyhow, I have to use monitors, cameras and digital illustrations, so everything I see I know is not for me, and tantalisingly instead I am headed 5 degrees or so to the nadir of my vision.

I survived earth, and I will survive this ship, somehow. I’ll survive myself too. Enemy number one.