Digging in the Dirt

If I dig too hard, I fear that Madness lies on the other side.

But if Madness is on the other side, it doesn’t matter if I dig too hard or barely scratch the surface with my shovel. It will be revealed, despite the degree of force I apply. And why would I want to release Madness from its terra firma tomb? It was buried for a reason by someone, maybe even me. What’s the ultimate benefit of letting out Madness? And is it even there? Why am I digging in the first place?

I am fully aware that I’m standing in a hole, apprehensively removing earth. I know if I proceed, the hole will become so deep I won’t be able to climb out of it. And if I keep going after that, the hole will consume me. I’ll be buried alive. Yet, I’m still digging. Is making my own, inescapable depression in the ground a way of avoiding any curable depression I’m facing above the ground? Avoidance has piloted many round-trip flights to nowhere for me. Or is probing what’s beneath the compact dirt, even if it could be Madness, a better substitute for the reality I left exposed on land? Both seem like losing trade-offs, but I’ve already started. I rationalize I should keep going so I can find an implied Madness that may or may not present itself.

I’m digging knowing there’s a possibility I’ll come across Madness on the other side. This is like chasing fog. At first, it seems tangible because it’s physically obstructing my vision. Then I’m immersed in the nothingness. Disorientated, I’m unsure where I came from or which direction to pursue. If I wait long enough though, it gets burned off by the light of day. Keeping this information handy would help me for when the fog reassembles, or similar predicaments arise in the future. But I forget it.

That’s why I’m digging now. My fear-driven, uncorrected actions are also preventing me from realizing that not all the dirt I toss over my shoulder is escaping the ever-rising rim of the hole. Some of it hits the interior wall before avalanching back towards my feet. I’m oblivious that portions of my extracted dirt are ending up in holes of adjacent people, adding to the accumulation around their legs. And vice versa. We all fear Madness but continue performing the same repetitive motions in anticipation of finding it. We’re kindred spirits in the Brotherhood of Insanity.

So, why am I digging? Is Madness really lying on the other side of the hole? What exactly is on the other side of a hole? More dirt? Isn’t the other side of a hole just an extension of that hole? Or the terminus of a now completed tunnel? If so, there was never an other side for Madness to be on after all. Maybe it’s been beside me the entire time masquerading as fear, coercing me to keep digging knowing I’d never find it. This is the kind of manipulation Madness craves. It creates an illusion based on distress so you’ll ignore reason.

I’ve dug enough. I’m getting out of this hole and shaking off the dust covering my body. I’ll go stand on the excavated mound that used to fill my hole. There I’m elevated, not obstructed. I’ll have a better view and understanding of my actions. I will drop my shovel, leaving the fear of Madness behind. That’s why I’m not digging any more.