Mud Hill

Keep going. The hill was muddy, slippery, and spreading its filth over every inch of my body. How could anyone stay clean centuries ago – going days without baths, body odor running free like a thousand shepardless lambs. I stepped again and the earth breathed in my foot past the ankle. I can feel it, pulling and not letting go. And I still fight it. In my mind, I want to stay clean. I worry about cleaning up later and how to wash my cloak and when I could dry off. Could I let the mud take me over? Could I become a mud man? Could I really change my outlook and shift my mind’s focus? I’m already covered in mud. That’s the first step – realizing I have a problem, or there is a problem. What’s step two? Acceptance? The emotions after a trauma are more complicated than that, so this must be, too. Toiling at climbing this filthy, slick, uncomfortable, disheartening hill, I realize again I’m already on the hill. But can I learn to love the mud? I’m covered in it, but will I embrace the mud, or wash it off during the first shower of the day? I could smear it carefully over every fleck of my skin like in Predator. I could give in to the cool, smooth mud and accept its benefits, like the mud in the Dead Sea, or a spa treatment. Can I learn to love the mud? At this point it feels so unnatural. Indifference, apathy, cynicism and defensive posturing are rooted in my head. Be passionate about everything and then your passions reveal themselves.