Others wander through a maze, knowing there is a fat slice of Gouda somewhere; they can smell it, almost feel it melting in their hungry mouths. But is it worth the risk, the effort? All those dead-ends! The twists and turns! They might get tired…or lost…or find they had a taste for Swiss all along.
I wonder if the rock-solid blockades we maze-wanderers imagine are really cardboard partitions we’ve errected ourselves? Can we close our eyes, dismiss the fear, and fly?