Tunnels, my life is tunnels. I’m constantly tunneling from one day to the next. Trying to keep the previous days memories safe in the bag that’s tied to my waist and being dragged behind me in the mud.
Some nights the tunnels are evenly dug, other nights there are roof collapses and scares that I will get to the next day not remembering the things I want to.
I often think of Mole’s home under the ground, so cozy and warm and what would happen if I stayed in the tunnels and set up home? I guess that’s what a coma is like, not being able or wanting to break through that last layer of dirt to the see the eye level grass and dirt, feel the sun and wind brushing your face.
But it’s so cozy in your home underground, so safe. So why leave? A roaring fire and a warm blanket. A glass of your favourite tipple. No worries to worry you. All you would need is a decent library and a dog to sit by your side.
Sometimes the real world can be overly harsh and the temptation to exist cosseted and warm in a safe haven of your own making must be enormous. But then you remember about beauty, love, dipping your toes in the ocean. Feeling the skin of a lovers hand beneath your fingers and all the wonderful pleasures that life has to offer.
You want to scratch your fingernails down to nothing to break through that last bit of earth, into the light, into a new day and see what life has to offer. No matter what that might be. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, ‘Life itself is the first, the greatest of the arts and for it all the other arts seem to be but a preparation.’