I dig beneath the layers of discontent, the discontent which would otherwise be expressed as grumbling. I find a festering mess of how-comes and why-did-this-happen? I push that mess aside to what’s below: murky brownness, mud and fetid water, disappointment flowing through the cracks of desire. I take a hose and wash the mess away. I’m sure that beneath the gunk, I’ll find tender shoots of growth, delicate stems rising from solid roots. I believe in this; I keep looking. My back aches from bending. My fingers bleed from pushing aside the stones. But my search continues.
My thoughts are with you as your search continues.