Burrowing After God

I.

I need to remember why I started this... 
I thought to myself ferociously - almost violently
it was for myself - not because I wanted to... not because this was some stupid hobby
but because I needed it. 


Not because I wanted to - not because I wanted attention for it - not because I cared what people thought or even gave a damn if they noticed... but because I needed it. 


i NEED this


and digging with new vigor - with bare hands sunk in deep earth - the grime getting under fingernails and in hair as I ripped through the soft sod that sifted back into place no sooner did I lift it. 


desperate. 


I burrowed in and burrowed through the dark mess, digging deeper and deeper like a dog digging a hole for no reason - up to elbows, up to my shoulders, up to my neck - the desperation also deepening. 


It was here somewhere - this intangible something - this indescribable treasure... something in the midst of the earth would spring forth new and brilliant and I would dig through to the other side until I finally hit sky. 
Determined.

II.
It could go on for days - for months - for years - this digging - a whole lifetime that stretched ahead with the dark sod shifting shifting and the despair grew upon me... 
I need to remember why I'm doing this... 


but the meaning seem to grow less - I've forgotten it - I thought with empty tears streaming down my face. I've forgotten why I was doing this. 


in the deep black hole now walled around me - sat and momentarily cried - tears tracking down the dirt and grime - turning into rivers and collecting like a pool on my collarbone. 




Somewhere - somewhere - -- somewhere I was searching for God. 


Really - was this what it meant to be human?
To know that the treasure lay just inches away - you could hear the heartbeat from the surrounding walls - and yet to never reach it - no matter how hard you dug - it was just as close... and just as far away as your own heartbeat. 


Just as indescribable as your own pulse. 
Just as present and as precious and as ignored and as inseparable as your own life. 


And yet I had to try... 


It's not like there weren't glimpses of something - those incredibly painfully sweet unexpected encounters with It - that fell in moments of tears - of anguish - in the midst of the route everyday digging - in utter boredom - or in moments of joy - there was no creating them - no pre-empting them or constructing them or manufacturing them - they just happened... whether digging or not... and they could be stretched into hours - or maybe just seconds - and maybe go years before coming again - and they had nothing to do with anything - 
They just happened.

III.
the digging I couldn't explain - it was just the doing... just the doing something - anything --- the movement - the somewhat directed, somewhat blind reaction to life - it just had to be done. It was unstoppable and moments like this... 
this sense of inexhaustible frustration - 
they were unfixable. 
And in the midst of them I rebelled and couldn't stand people trying to fix them. 


<>


... and I just can't stand it.


... Digging just was what life WAS... or in the very least - at the moment - it just IS - maybe not for everyone - but for me... it just was what life was.

IV.
I needed to remember why I was doing this... I was doing it because... 
because... 
I needed it. 
That was it. That was all there was to it... 


i just need to not give up. 
I couldn't... because it's not like I had a choice.


Digging was existence.
it's just the way it is.

V.
it just. Is

.

Reviews

[Reviews]

The grammar and format are really rather irritating. They're distracting and take away from what I assume is supposed to be a momentous and ground breaking thought and concept. The repetition is dull and just adds unnecessary words and nothing more. The concept itself is arrogant, and over done. Rather than attempting to bring something fresh to an old idea and simple fact of religion - you covered old ground in a tedious manner.
The tone itself didn't come across very well, the flow was non-existant and to be perfectly blunt it didn't even read as a story. It was confused poem halfbreed, it works as nothing much at all. It isn't profound or smooth enough for a poem and far from well enough constructed to be called a good piece of prose.
All in all - a boring ramble written in a particularly poor manner.

[x]

The best thing about this is actually the strange contrast between burrowing (with it's protective, almost cosseting overtones) and mining and then mentioning 'trying to escape' and "get out," the connotations of the words really mirror the confusion that you're trying to convey.

The pace wasn't bad, it actually sounds like an internal monologue..
However, the formatting draws attention to your repetition, but I'm not sure that's a good thing.

I liked it though. I leave unintentionally nasty reviews too. It's just a congenital lack of tact, don't take it personally. At least I didn't stop at "nice description" (which is usually all I trust myself to do.)

Mining for the right words and the emotions they convey, becoming a compulsion and then second nature, is told well here. Nice, I enjoyed this.

[Nimbus Thread]

The universal dig as a metaphor is intriguing. I'm assuming this was the intent-- looking for answers. The desperation, the point of panic , came through. Enjoyed the self questioning. We are all diggers aren't we whether he/she/it wants us to or not. Nicely done.