The fig tree is tormenting.  The roots spread underneath my surface, claiming more and more of brainland. Like thick neurons, implanting themselves solidly. All leading back to the core. The main who-am-I-and-what-am-I-going-to-do-for-the-rest-of-my-life trunk. I am an ant who can feel the rumble at the ground, but looking up I can’t see past the ****. There is daylight and leaves somewhere above. I know it. I’ve been told in stories. But can I ever get there. With all these giant fig bombs dropping, detonating, killing. I don’t want to lose my life without figuring out what it is meant to be. I can see so many of my colony scrambling up, making do with any old branch, the closer they can find the better. I don’t want to slave in the shade. The biggest challenge shall be basking in the sunlight, atop the fine green leaves. I can find spots of gold on the ground, like right here, this is golden. But to live in the rich open air is the ultimate aspiration. Tis why we are all here.  If I could focus my tiny little brain then perhaps I could make it faster. But it’s about getting there also. And to do that I need to spend time inside. Imagining the feeling. Feeling it slipping away. Feel it come roaring back. Looking at the big picture and looking at what is in my hand.