Tunnel Vision

Sometimes I feel like a tunnel; long, narrow, hollow, going somewhere. Where? I can see light, green leaves, I can smell something fresh and growing out of the distant pitch soil. But I never get there. I never seem to arrive. Maybe that's what this life is, longing for something, something more worthy of us, wanting something, hungry for the things of a better world, a world the spirit remembers and the senses forgot. I can feel something expansive above my view. I can envision myself, that tunnel, moss covered, somewhat hidden, none too apparent or impressive in structure. I can see me, from above, with all the air and sky between that view and that grounded self. Cloud, mist, bird, tree, flower, blade, droplet, ant, worm...all above me. The things that get between us and freedom, true freedom, the things that assume to subordinate us, they are simple in the end. They aren't always worthy foes, opponents, or even suitable playmates. When worms thrive above you it may be time to take the high road. Deep down we know it is our own doing. We exalted the worms and put ourselves beneath rot, looking for something. Treasure? But in dank, dripping concrete cylinders...empty, echoing, longing to arrive, waiting to breathe deeply and long, to see and touch the things we can now only faintly make out, we realize the perplexing sting and strange pleasure of wanting.