why I dig

To the question of why I dig, I have yet to find a simple answer. When I answer the question of whether I do so for gold, or silver, or artifacts or treasure I get even more befuddled looks. When I state that I do so for the simple joy of discovery the label “crackpot” becomes affixed in concrete upon my forehead and even after 20 years those who know me best say they can still see that word clearly. I can’t claim to know that what I get from what I do is similar to what a discover of an artificial heart gets, or that it’s the same as what Neil Armstrong felt as his foot touched the moon, but then again, I can’t say it isn’t. The one reoccurring thing I do say is that it is a mixture of emotions, both fear and excitement. The rush of this excitement builds as dirt falls against my face, as the opening in front of me grows larger with each new push or poke at the surrounding material. My breathing becomes very rapid and my eyes see every small hole as a going borehole. Often, tired beyond belief somehow another scoop of clay is past behind me, and the constant cramping of most major muscle groups, although crippling, is shaken off. And then, as I see that my tired and torn aged body will now fit into the blackness above me the fear hits. I do worry that I could be digging into the bottom of a bears den and that they are at this very moment drawing straws as to who gets first bite. As I stand, pushing my head up into the complete unknown, that excitement rush over rules the fear and I sing inside my head the Doors, “break on through to the other side”.

Perhaps 100000 years ago the cave passage we remove clay and mud and an occasional rock from was wide open. Perhaps others have walked in where I seek to visit, if this is so, I have yet to find anything they marked that event with, so I can only assume that I am the very first human to see each new room that I first enter. The air is often dank, and the fearfulness, or caution is ever present. My eyes view these rooms faster then my lips can speak of and I often yell back for someone to come in quickly. Perhaps this is done so to appease the bears hunger, perhaps it is to have another human near in case I need to record any final words or thoughts. Regardless, the rush quickly subsides and the need to begin digging returns as I find what appears to be the way on. The need that fills me is perhaps like the desire for more heroin pulsing thru the veins of junkie. To breathe in the past is something I can’t get doing anything else, the rush is not replaceable through any other activity I have ever tried. To say I am hooked is very much an understatement, and if asked if I have any responsibility to others that I have hooked into this addiction my lawyer has requested you contact him.