दिग्गिंग Digging

I could write the word "digging" fifty times and not get any action out of it. It wouldn't say just what I mean. It wouldn't say what I'm trying to do, even though what I'm trying to do is digging.

Digging...deeper and deeper into that lowest portion of my brain where everything is as sincere as possible. And sincerity is what I love the most. In writing, anyway, that is what I love the most.

It's tough to figure out what to say when all you can think of is LOVE and ACTION and TIME. Whenever I hear the word HOPE I cringe. I think a lot of people who use it pace themselves like big cats in a small cage in a Victorian zoo or, with flowers, expertly rendered by a professional illustrator, whisper loudly and unsympathetically a mass-produced and cheap greeting card. I know what hope is, but the word is sullied for me by cardboard sentimentality.

And what good would it do, anyway? Hope is so desperate. And kind'a sad, too, when you think about it.

Besides, when I dig I don't see hope there, anyhow. I see MOVEMENT and I see PRAYERS and I see MUSIC. I see a moment bisecting the Gyre. And here I am in it, like a lost tourist.

Like a lost tourist, in this moment, thumbing through a travel brochure that just doesn't make any sense. I guess, when I am digging, that's what I'm trying to read.