I’m trying to get in.
The only introduction for today’s Meditation is instructions: "To Play: Use the arrow keys to move.”
So we’re left to our own interpretations. For me, although these circle, which move in swooping curves, look something like textbook diagrams of cells, I personified them. The little red one is me, clearly; it’s the one I’m controlling. But it’s also me, age 11 or 12, trying to physically squeeze myself into a group of other kids in my class: “I’m trying to get in.” They laugh, I guess because it sounds rude. I’ve been accidentally saying the wrong thing my entire life – maybe that’s why I’ve become someone who talks for a living.
In the game, the bigger, homogenous circles seem to try to exclude you. Or at least, in their continuous coming together they unintentionally push you out of the way. More and more appear, and if you stay very still – or only shift very slightly – you can keep yourself within the group.
And then another smaller circle appears. Blue, this one. And for some reason you want to reach them. And every time you do, something happens, some explosion. And as the two of you dance, chasing each other, the others cease to matter as they roll out of your way and then gradually shrink away and disappear. It’s a nice metaphor, up to the point at which you are left alone, just the two of you, and maybe it’s about learning not to try to fit in with the crowd and find your people instead, but you could also interpret it as spurning friends in favour of a partner, and no matter how good and safe that can feel, it’s not healthy.