Imagine for a moment that you are piloting your body as if it were a spaceship. We all have an inner guidance system, a GPS, a star-map that is permanently engraved on our irremovable soul-chip, showing us the direction Home, the known location of relaxed, secure happiness and wealth of solid relationships.
Many of us, however, are no longer at the controls of our star vehicle, our body. We may be braced for impact with objects that appear closer than they are because we’re using a narrow-field telescope to view them. We may be huddled in our escape pods with a hoard of supplies, expecting to be jettisoned as so much space-trash at any moment. We may be in sick bay, waiting for a robo-doctor or nurse. We may be down in the engine room, looking for the connections that will jolt us forward — or back — in time at warp 9 speed.
To find the map again, to log in to the GPS, we need to get back into the captain’s chair where we can see the status, the measurements, of all systems, the big picture. We need to call upon our crew, life-support systems and shields, remember the best lessons learned from our superior officers and make strategic decisions. No matter if all systems are “go” or not, we can call upon the auto-pilot to open the map, set the coordinates for Home, and engage the hyper-drive.
The auto-pilot and the hyper-drive will not engage if we don’t make the request, if we don’t trust their operational capacity. If we refuse to let go of the joy-stick (our addiction to control), we will discover eventually that we have simply traveled in a circle.
To go Home, we have to trust our personal GPS.