One last tale on obsession
This is a different version of the fly story I told on my last post.
Imagine it is winter time and you are sitting cozily by a fireplace. After a while,the logs are gone, the flames die down. As there are embers there, you don't budge. It is still warm and nice. Some time go by and the embers also die. There is no fire and no warmth, but you still don't move. There is still the memory of a past comfort, and you are afraid to leave, be colder and find no more warmth elsewhere. It gets colder and colder, but you keep sitting there, paralysed. How long is going to take you to get up and look for a blanket or some other source of heat?
Like in the fly story, some times it seems that we need someone to come and say. "You gotta stop this. You gotta move and find comfort elsewhere before you freeze to death. There is nothing left in that fireplace to warm you up but memories".
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