Welcome! Today I’m going to try my hand at writing a myth. My friend Sreejit has put me up to this with his latest blog prompt “DungeonPrompt”. I’m feel up to the the challenge. I present to you my myth.

My feet, legs, and stomach ache but I can’t stop. My hands ache from holding the sack of sand over my back. I can’t taste anything but dust. The stirred-up dust from every other sore foot attached to hurting legs. It’s my dust. It’s my world, this place. It’s my life, this step. It’s my duty, this bag on my back.

After a few hundred trips with the dirt, I know every step. After a few thousand trips, there is no trip. There is no path. The dirt and I are always where we are. We always know where we are. We never need to look again. We don’t know a path. We know the pile of bags. We know our fellows and their dirt. Just know we know everything. I know everything. In this moment I know everything.

I am a boy who doesn’t know. I scream my denails. I feel the whips and beatings. I make my reality. “Please God, this can’t be true.” The lords haul me from my home. They show me but I reject the truth. The masters do not use words. Words cannot teach. I cannot, through my voice or act or belief, change reality. I can only deny the truth. I am sad. I tell myself I don’t like the truth.

The flat ground where the stones go. The sand and dirt that builds up. The dirt I haul. This is truth. The bags, the sand, and the sore body. This is reality.

I try to make my own subtle reality. I tell stories. I pester the master. My ribs ache from the punches and my skin burns from the lashings. I deny the truth. The truth knows nothing of my denial. Reality knows nothing of my war with it.

The boy works. The great stones are in place. I hope it will end. I want to return to my life. I hold my breath waiting for that day to come. I haul sand and dirt and ask “When will that day come?”

I am a dirty foot, a sore back, and I eat dust. All around me is my life. There is nothing else.

Finally, I stop trying to change reality. I know everything. I ache. I haul dirt. I make a great pyramid.

No path, no story, no history. I am a boy. I carry a bag of dirt.

I am cheering. Everyone is cheering. There is a great pyramid.

There has always been a great pyramid. We are pyramid makers.

I am an old man listening to stories I am telling. The children around me listen. I talk about a boy as if he is long gone.

One boy listens. One boy looks upon me so happy. He waits for the next part of the story. His eyes are full of pride. He knows the truth about himself. He knows because I tell him. He knows that he is a pyramid maker. He knows this because he knows he and I are one. He knows the path of the dirt. He knows love and kindness flow between him and me. He knows God has made us pyramid makers. He knows the story.

Truth in this moment is nothing to be denied. It is as it is. I am that I am. And there is always choice for me. I am a child of God.

Thanks for reading. Let the truth about you be revealed. Let go your desire to deny the truth.

6 thoughts on “Mything

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: