90 - Digging holes.
joneworlds@mailbox.org

You know what  I dig? Holes. Holes  in the ground,
that is. I dig digging them, and I do one or two a
week if I can.

Can't  say why,  exactly,  and it's  a pretty  new
pass-time for me. I sure helped bury a few cars in
my  short stint  with  the  Holy Aquifers.   Maybe
that's  what turned  me onto  it. But  even before
that, I think there's something of those mushrooms
still with me, somehow.  Because now, being in the
earth still feels so... right.

I  like the  picking of  a  spot for  a new  hole,
usually somewhere  up in  the hillsides  behind my
house where  the soil is  loose and easy.   I like
those first few shovelfuls, when comes that "it'll
all be okay  soon" feeling.  But it's  after a few
hours of  work, when you're getting  a ways deeper
into the cool earth and your muscles want a break,
that's the good  stuff. And you crouch  down on in
there,  curl up  in a  ball, and  you're centered.
You're  connected, you're  part of  something, the
consumer  and the  consumed,  the  spoke and  hub.
You're back on the land,  you're back IN the land.
You're home.  Hard to describe it.

And  sure, it's  good exercise  and all  that, and
you'll  find all  kinds of  weird trinkets  as you
dig, at least around  these parts.  But all that's
beside the point.