Explorers have discovered the land, most of the ocean, and the barest fraction of the stars. Explorers see a toaster and wonder how it works. Just a toaster. Explorers look out at the ocean and build a jar that can dive that deep. Explorers see the moon and build a rocket ship that can break the orbit of Earth. Explorers spend some much time on the outward world, they skip what is within.
The writer builds a balance in her soul. She scrapes together the field and rocks and broken bones and tries to make sense of what lies within her. She is unafraid of darkness and so has no want to discover what’s behind the stars, but what is within her, dark or no, is much more terrifying. Can she reduce herself to what she was before? Can she become more than what she is? Does she walk with others upon a path that leads to the metal girders of who she is? She can–if she wills herself that deeply. If she is the one who noticed the spider on the side of the path. If she reaches out a hand and feels its bite and lets the dew upon the web mix with her bloodstream and after that falls into a coma of remembrance of nothing.
And here she finds a deeper place than any world needs to offer to keep the world guessing at what we are. She finds a track to long to run, short enough for many to ignore. When she takes a step upon that path she has gone a thousand miles and nothing can take her home. Nothing will feel the same. And once the takes a sit and rests it is doubtful that she will ever wake again.