Everywhere you go, everywhere you walk, there are holes. Some of them
small. Some of them large. The easy ones are dug by by road crews. They
have cones and tape and flashing lights and flagman that keep you out
of the pit and show you where to go. I've made a few holes. In the back
yard mostly when I built the deck or planted the garden. Pretty easy to
fill them up. The garden, however, has yet to prove its worth.
Apparently, digging holes have very little to do with having a green
thumb.
Making holes. We are pretty good at that.
Especially the ones you can't see. The holes we create in our mind.
Sometimes we do it ourselves. Sometimes we are pushed in. Sometimes it
takes a long process and the next it happens in a flash. These are the
holes that drag us down, twisting our psyche in directions and
configurations we never thought possible.
We can
sometimes climb out ourselves. Keeping the hole private, clawing your
way out, finding the will to return to the surface with a new outlook
that makes you complete. More often, we flounder about, certain that we
don't need anyone or anything, making sure we show no signs of weakness.
And there we stay.
If you are fortunate enough,
through the darkness of your hole, you'll see a line. If you are wise
enough, you'll grasp that line and pull with all your might and on the
other end of that line you'll find a friend, a helping hand. They may
not have the answers. They probably don't. Just reach out and grab hold
with both arms and know that you are not alone.
Grab a line. Be a line.
No comments:
Post a Comment