This world is full of holes. Potentially, one for each of us. There are many who wander, drift, storm or stagger through life who never end up in a hole.
And others who are not so fortunate.
Sometimes you can see it coming, and swerve, or reverse, or jump, and sail on by. And sometimes you only know you fell in when you start to fail.
You can’t move forward. Progress, even the daily, repetitive flow of life, hits a slope too steep to gain your normal place in the world. And the sides slowly grow higher.
It would be easier if the hole was there, or clearly there, all the time. But sometimes you seem to be on flat, safe ground. you can walk, run, move through the world, and all is fine.
And you turn around to be faced by sides too high to see over.
And the bottom moves, and traps your feet, so that even when the slope is easy to manage, just a gentle incline, your feet can’t, won’t move. And you pull against the grip and the grip gets stronger.
And you look up, and the lip of hole is there. And you reach out, and if it stays then you can haul yourself up and out. And a hand reaches out to grip yours, and pull you to your feet, and hold you.
And for a while the hole is gone. And you walk forward again.
But it is tiring, forever fighting the holes. Endlessly climbing out and hoping, and relaxing, and moving forward.
And you turn around, and the sides are back, and steep and pressing in. And the faces above, calling, reaching down, can’t reach.
Until the next reprieve. And up you go again, climbing or walking, but wary and unconvinced that the freedom will be anything but temporary.
And the noise at the bottom of the holes, silent but deafening. Filling everything, pushing thoughts away, leaving nothing but a hole.
Distractions help. Concentrate on something else, someone else, and the hole recedes, the silent noise recedes. But break the concentration and the hole appears again.
Just one question. Who is digging these damned holes?
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