Burrow

I am by nature, disposition or distraction a prospector rather than a miner – content to unearth a nugget or vein and turn it over to others for development. My faith and perversity cause me to venture where others fear to tread, but I am easily bored with less than a creative flux. Yet, by commitment here I am called to grovel and burrow within the bowels of Mother Earth in search of internal spiritual revelations. In the past I have discovered nuggets within the tailings of my own detritus, and therefore do not mind delving the tunnels of other’s efforts to see what may have been ignored or passed over in frenetic digging. In this manner I found the crevice – and heard the whispers.

It was nothing more than an angular crack in the bedrock filled with softer dirt and pebbles. This I shoveled out to form a channel barely wide enough for my pear shaped form to squirm through. I tunneled quite deeply, pushing the excavated waste behind me – effectively sealing myself in a moving tomb – yet reassured of safety by the gentle whispers. That I could breathe here was a mystery – until I came to understand that the fill was not natural, but a blockage placed within the defile to deter others, or attract the likes of me, one. The assemblage of gravel allowed for air flow – and for hearing the whispers. I chanted a most ancient invocation:

“Nihush, nihush ne zaman” — ‘heed the whisper ner the sign’

At length I broke through and tumbled most unceremoniously onto the floor of an immense chamber. Empty! My helmet had fallen off and the affixed lamp shattered – yet I could see enough for that. The walls glowed. Besides, surely I could sense without vision the presence of one powerful enough to whisper through walls of stone. Thus it was that I was once again alone, sightless, witless – in answer to a call. I could but reach out with untrained third eye. Now I must tell of what I see.

faucon