Garage

Metaphor 1
The old engine is sputtering in the garage. It has started, miraculously, but the gasoline is weak and the oil is viscous. Questions arise: can this thing be fixed while it is running? How much of this weak gas is left in the tank? Should it race around the yard one last time before it dies, or should it be repaired, as we do seem to recall the engine was forged from good metal?
Metaphor 2
Some men have read the work of others and are making themselves men. Other men* still sit with building blocks piled high on their laps, knocking down each poor attempt at a project, knocking down these blocks out of anger, fatigue, hibernation. The sharp pain of these blocks after years of sleeping on them. Ah, now, yes, what do we have here? I know how this works--yes, I remember. These blocks, those old ideas--they were tied to an individual who once had a project.
Metaphor 3
But there is no identity, there is no self, there is no personality, there are no memories, there is no history or past. So how in the hell does it seem that the things I cling to are the things I know are fake? Ah, but do not fret--The question is similar to: How can I possibly get up this mountain when there is no purchase for my hands? (But what about your feet, or what about your body? Have you used every last bit of your soul to get up the mountain? Once you get a rhythm, you get moving. Find the rhythm again and trust it.)

*=myself