I’m always digging
I don’t know why I can’t stop.
Maybe I always want to know what’s underneath.
Or maybe I’m never satisfied with what I see.
There’s got to be more.
Sometimes I see a glint down there
or imagine what’s below those
and then I just can’t help it.
I dig. I'm a digger.
You can always uncover a new space.
Sometimes it’s bright under there.
Maybe part of me knows that the only way out is through.
Maybe there’s another sky down there.
So I dig.
Often I want to go wandering out wide
and sometimes I do.
But mostly I dig.
I’m getting somewhere.
Maybe a wiser part of me knows
the greater adventure is to go in, inner, in-est.
I'd really love to see you tonight
but, um, actually
I have this really important digging thing I have to work on...”
Maybe I can’t help digging through the past,
piled up and decomposed.
I extract nutrients,
organic matter reduced to elements
that can become new life,
old materials to combine in new ways.
I find artifacts
that can help me see my way backward
at the same time.
Maybe some part of me remembers that,
while I’ve tried so hard to build myself a
the real me
was already built
but got buried long ago,
and its excavation is now an emergency.
Or maybe I’m really just looking for a simple home,
A place to plant myself.
Maybe my secret is that I’m a seed
So often I ache to rise
to new heights.
Instead I just keep digging down deeper.
But maybe a wiser part of me knows
like a tree does
That you can only reach higher if you stretch deeper.
Maybe I’m digging a well.
Maybe I’ll strike the aquifer beneath all forms,
feeding each variation into being.
And one day,
after a lifetime of digging,
if nothing else
I’ll have a grave
and I'll crumble into it,
There’s dignity and purpose in digging it yourself,
that is what you are doing.