On my elbows and knees,
trudging through thick mud.
Cut up, alone, and enveloped in darkness,
yet there is something delicious about the taste of this earth.
I chew it: its salty crunch cleans my mouth.
I pour it over me: it is thick and wet, and gives me a coat of warmth.
I dig my limbs into it: fingers and toes stretch to root me deep down.
I can’t see, but the walls of this tunnel guide me onward.
It would seem that I bask under a desert sun
and walk on solid ground.
I walk the dog, go to work, laugh with friends,
and drive around.
But that world is one of many,
and reality’s essence lies elsewhere.
Clawing out the edges of my underground tunnel
to forever move toward an elusive surface
where a light I know but have never seen
can emancipate me from my toil.
It does not come without a price
as once I emerge there is no return.
I am on elbows and knees
trudging through the thick mud of consciousness;
it is the only type of mud
that turns bleeding elbows into glorious wings.