Nothing Is A Secret If You Choose to See

Have you ever attempted to dig a hole?

There is an odd satisfaction that comes in that first piercing punch into the Earth. You turn the shovel and reveal the brown pulp contrast to the clinging succulent green. The cool dirt is murky and unrefined, yet I have respect for the way that all the pretty and pleasing landscapes are rooted deep in its brown abyss.

After that first turnover of soil, gratification takes a sharp turn into mind numbing jabs, with the understanding that you can only dig as deep as you are capable; the dirt will not back down before you. Exhausted and weak, you’ll find layer after layer of stocky earth, never impaling its depth, your attempt only a feeble scratch at its surface.

Have you ever dug a hole in your mind?

Started with one thought, one question, and soon find yourself muddy and deceived.

Do they think about me? Dig.

What do they think? Dig.

Do they miss me? Dig.

What would they miss? Dig.

Do I cross their mind? Dig.

What am I doing wandering around in there? Dig. 

Dig. Dig. Dig.

Why do we revisit the stocky pit of our pain? The what if's and why not's?  

What is the point of digging a hole, but to bury something? Or maybe lay it to rest.

Or perhaps we dig to plant, instilling hope for beauty to emerge from the hurt the same way it stems from the turbid Earth in vivid color; giving back to the world the very components that make life possible.

I’m not saying that holes are useless, they serve a purpose. My question is, what is the purpose of the hole you are digging? No one would go out in the yard and dig a hole just to dig, it’s an unnerving and tiresome task.

So why do it in your mind? The first dig is satisfying, a distraction from the place you exist in now far away from the moment of impact. But pain is dense and sturdy, and you will become exhausted and weak before you impale its depths. And once all of it is out and exposed, how will you cover the hole? What will you fill back in its place?

Visit your pain with purpose, as it will always exhaust you, plant love there. Forgive yourself for making mistakes. Forgive others for making their mistakes on you. Forgive yourself for not knowing better, or maybe knowing better, but doing it anyway.

Forgive yourself for believing in love as you stand at the bottom of your deep hollow hole.

Then grow. Blossom. Believe. Bloom. It all grows up from here.