I’ve been reading a lot of science fiction. Probably too much science fiction. The book I’m reading now is a strange novel from the 80’s called Armor. In it, the main character has an internal locus of survival that he calls, “The Engine”. It pushes him, drives him forward, and keeps him alive. It kicks in when he is terrified and scared, blocking out the rest of the world, and leaving that small space in front of him in which to operate. The thought of it makes me queasy, and questioning of my own life, of my own “Engine”. The terror is that to live like that, is to live …
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