I love to run on the wheel, said the gerbil. People say I am foolish, because they think I think that I am going somewhere — perhaps escaping — and in fact I am not going anywhere. And, the fact that I run run run and then pause as if collecting myself from a dream, look around, seem to notice that I am in the same place as I was before my mad running and then sprint forward again until I exhaust myself, does seem to lend some credence to their claim. And maybe in some sense one might if one were in my corner, so to speak, say that I am two gerbils — the gerbil in flight and the gerbil at rest — and neither is truly an authority on whether the answer to the question “Does he think he is going somewhere?” is yes or no, because the one, the gerbil in flight is too much in a rush to answer the question, and the other, the gerbil sipping momentary rest from the moment, as bee from a flower, is confused. But I, I who am neither one of them? I love to run on the wheel.