The following story is posted here with permission from Savitr and Usas Ishaya (http://www.forestofeyeblinks.com). It is inspired by a story from Second Thunder by MSI. I hope you enjoy it!
The Hole
Jake stood by the hole. He no longer felt young: His arms ached, his back felt like a tangle of
bad-tempered adders that had been tossed into a slow fire, and his toasted shoulders were
threatening a blistery revenge by morning. But he had done it! The Vision in his heart had told him to come to this specific part of his drought-wracked borough—no sane person could have picked a less likely spot—to dig for water.
bad-tempered adders that had been tossed into a slow fire, and his toasted shoulders were
threatening a blistery revenge by morning. But he had done it! The Vision in his heart had told him to come to this specific part of his drought-wracked borough—no sane person could have picked a less likely spot—to dig for water.
The unmistakable pile of shells and cornhusks, dumped off after someone’s backyard clambake, had matched the one in his revelation exactly. And so he had dug. And dug. And dug some more. For hours, for days he had dug, propelled beyond the possibility of failure by the assurance that his heart did not lie. For days of hours he had endured the mockery of passersby laughing through parched lips at this fool digging in the garbage dump of their capital city: Imagine expecting to find water in a refuse heap!
But his Vision hadn’t told him he would find water in the garbage midden: it had said he would
find water below it. And so he had dug, with infinite patience and one-pointedness, through layer
after layer, stratum after stratum, of filth and litter and cast-off relics, giving them no more
thought than he gave to the buzz of traffic in the distant city. And relatively shortly—amazingly
shortly, actually—his shovel had struck first muck, then ooze, then clear cool water flowing
abundantly from a subterranean spring. After a heartfelt prayer of joy and thanks, Jake built
himself a modest little shanty next to his hole, then settled down to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
Soon Jake’s “yard” was crowded with people who had come to drink from his hole. This was
fine at first, for he was a generous person and saw no reason not to share his bounty. But then the quibbling started: those closest to the hole would refuse to give up their places, even when they were sated, as though proximity to the hole itself gave them some sort of splashier-than-thou status; others were debating about whose drink had been the most pure, or who had drunk the most, or who was the most satisfied; one committee of oddly-robed men even approached Jake with a proposal to put a thick wall around themselves and the hole, with openings through which they could pass measured amounts of water to “the deserving.” The muck fights were the final straw. Jake had placed no restrictions on who could come to share his water; but as their issues escalated beyond self-control, they began scooping up huge handfuls of compost—the half-decayed excrement of their ancestors—and throwing it at each other. Even Jake wasn’t immune to these malodorous missiles; but worse, hundreds of poorly aimed muckballs were finding their way into the hole and beginning to fill it up again.
find water below it. And so he had dug, with infinite patience and one-pointedness, through layer
after layer, stratum after stratum, of filth and litter and cast-off relics, giving them no more
thought than he gave to the buzz of traffic in the distant city. And relatively shortly—amazingly
shortly, actually—his shovel had struck first muck, then ooze, then clear cool water flowing
abundantly from a subterranean spring. After a heartfelt prayer of joy and thanks, Jake built
himself a modest little shanty next to his hole, then settled down to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
Soon Jake’s “yard” was crowded with people who had come to drink from his hole. This was
fine at first, for he was a generous person and saw no reason not to share his bounty. But then the quibbling started: those closest to the hole would refuse to give up their places, even when they were sated, as though proximity to the hole itself gave them some sort of splashier-than-thou status; others were debating about whose drink had been the most pure, or who had drunk the most, or who was the most satisfied; one committee of oddly-robed men even approached Jake with a proposal to put a thick wall around themselves and the hole, with openings through which they could pass measured amounts of water to “the deserving.” The muck fights were the final straw. Jake had placed no restrictions on who could come to share his water; but as their issues escalated beyond self-control, they began scooping up huge handfuls of compost—the half-decayed excrement of their ancestors—and throwing it at each other. Even Jake wasn’t immune to these malodorous missiles; but worse, hundreds of poorly aimed muckballs were finding their way into the hole and beginning to fill it up again.
Jake realized it was time for the next step: “Look, you folks seem to have forgotten why you’re here, and you’re mucking up a good thing for everybody. I dug this hole because my heart told me there was water here, and I also know there’s plenty more to be found. So it’s time for you all to stop wasting your time, and dig your own holes; maybe you’ll learn to value the water as I did, as a result of your commitment.”
“But Jake,” they said, we’ve never dug a hole; we wouldn’t even know how to begin!”
“It’s easy,” he replied: “I’ll teach you.”
Soon the refuse site was a hive of activity as the more adventuresome set to their projects: Theless bold had simply taken what water they could and gone home, grumbling amongst themselves about “tainted water” and “control issues” and “cultism.”
The excavations began with a great deal of enthusiasm. The digging wasn’t difficult, and Jake
made sure that each seeker had the full benefit of his experience. It wasn’t long, however, before
early signs of discouragement began to set in:
made sure that each seeker had the full benefit of his experience. It wasn’t long, however, before
early signs of discouragement began to set in:
“Jake, your hole is so splendid and your water so clear! And mine is so pitiful; it will never be
like yours.” --“Just keep digging. This is only your, what, sixth shovelful?”
like yours.” --“Just keep digging. This is only your, what, sixth shovelful?”
“This is so frustrating, Jake! I just keep hitting garbage. Didn’t you have some special way of
pushing through all this?” --“No, I just dug. The three feet of garbage you’ve already excavated
is hardly a major obstacle, but it’s three feet you won’t have to dig again.”
pushing through all this?” --“No, I just dug. The three feet of garbage you’ve already excavated
is hardly a major obstacle, but it’s three feet you won’t have to dig again.”
“Jake, that person over there is digging through clamshells, just like in your Vision. I don't seem
to be getting anything but cucumber peelings and old comic books.” --“Those are first editions
of Superman and Batman. Don’t compare; just focus on your own goal. Um, can I borrow one
of those?”
to be getting anything but cucumber peelings and old comic books.” --“Those are first editions
of Superman and Batman. Don’t compare; just focus on your own goal. Um, can I borrow one
of those?”
“Jake! Over here! Look at these biscuit-thingies I found: are they important?” --“According to
this brochure that was under them, they’re sample cookies left over from a ‘Flour of Life’
Workshop. I’ve been told they’re very tasty, but most people waste a lot of time trying to figure
out how to digest them. I recommend you just keep digging.”
this brochure that was under them, they’re sample cookies left over from a ‘Flour of Life’
Workshop. I’ve been told they’re very tasty, but most people waste a lot of time trying to figure
out how to digest them. I recommend you just keep digging.”
“Jake, I bought every book I could find on digging holes, and I now consider myself an expert on
all twenty-seven methods. I really can’t say that your system has yielded any better results than the others.” --“You’ve also dug 27 holes, one foot deep. May I suggest that if you had dug one hole, twenty-seven feet deep, you’d be a lot closer to your goal?”
all twenty-seven methods. I really can’t say that your system has yielded any better results than the others.” --“You’ve also dug 27 holes, one foot deep. May I suggest that if you had dug one hole, twenty-seven feet deep, you’d be a lot closer to your goal?”
And so it went. To Jake’s practiced eye, he could see that everyone was making excellent
progress, and that the abundant source of water was there for all of them. But one by one they
became discouraged and began to fall away. Many became frustrated at the amount of garbage
they were having to dig through, as though the parched, rocky soil outside the dump would
somehow be preferable. Some began to doubt that the water would be there for them no matter
how deep they dug (“Oh, I just know I’ll never get there; I’ll be the last one, and I’ll still never
get there”).
progress, and that the abundant source of water was there for all of them. But one by one they
became discouraged and began to fall away. Many became frustrated at the amount of garbage
they were having to dig through, as though the parched, rocky soil outside the dump would
somehow be preferable. Some began to doubt that the water would be there for them no matter
how deep they dug (“Oh, I just know I’ll never get there; I’ll be the last one, and I’ll still never
get there”).
Another group found a cache of jewels, evidently hidden in a dumpster by some thieves who
didn’t make it back to their stash before the garbage truck arrived and unknowingly hauled it to
the dump. The new recipients were so excited by their find that they forgot all about Jake, their
hole, and the water, and ran off to exalt in their newfound treasure. According to reports that
filtered back, they all died of thirst while celebrating their wealth.
didn’t make it back to their stash before the garbage truck arrived and unknowingly hauled it to
the dump. The new recipients were so excited by their find that they forgot all about Jake, their
hole, and the water, and ran off to exalt in their newfound treasure. According to reports that
filtered back, they all died of thirst while celebrating their wealth.
One excavator-turned-entrepreneur proved to be a major distraction for several others, by urging them to leave off digging and purchase solar stills that he had made: “It’s so easy! You just dig a small hole about a foot across, and put this bowl into it; then you put the membrane over the hole, making sure the low spot is over the bowl. Then you simply urinate all around the hole and let the sun do its work. And you can do it in your own garden, as well!” The onlookers dutifully contributed moisture from their own bladders for the purpose of the demonstration, but became suspicious when, a few hours of patient ‘distillation’ later, they had to hold the entrepreneur down and force him to drink the contents of his own still. They left him to commiserate with the flies that had seemed to gather in great numbers during the demonstration.
Gradually more and more people, mumbling one excuse or another, left to drown their
discouragement at the closest pub; still others, embarrassed at the apparent failure of their initial enthusiasm, crept off in the night. Which was a shame, because the handful of diggers who were still there the next morning could see water beginning to seep into their holes—and into the
abandoned ones as well. Needless to say, they grabbed their shovels and dug deeper.
_ _ _ _ _
In checking the records, there is some confusion as to how this story ends. According to one
account, the Waterworks Department—still a major bureaucracy in spite of not having provided
anything liquid to anyone in several decades—showed up in force on the third day and declared
the entire excavation a hazardous waste site. Several mid-level management types reportedly
accosted Jake as the Chief Offender and strung him up on the crossbars of a broken and discarded goalpost, to the cheers of a hastily gathered crowd. The mob reportedly contained an unusual number of drunken ex-excavators complaining noisily about the imaginary blisters on their hands.
discouragement at the closest pub; still others, embarrassed at the apparent failure of their initial enthusiasm, crept off in the night. Which was a shame, because the handful of diggers who were still there the next morning could see water beginning to seep into their holes—and into the
abandoned ones as well. Needless to say, they grabbed their shovels and dug deeper.
_ _ _ _ _
In checking the records, there is some confusion as to how this story ends. According to one
account, the Waterworks Department—still a major bureaucracy in spite of not having provided
anything liquid to anyone in several decades—showed up in force on the third day and declared
the entire excavation a hazardous waste site. Several mid-level management types reportedly
accosted Jake as the Chief Offender and strung him up on the crossbars of a broken and discarded goalpost, to the cheers of a hastily gathered crowd. The mob reportedly contained an unusual number of drunken ex-excavators complaining noisily about the imaginary blisters on their hands.
Another account states just as certainly that Jake’s crew simply kept digging, until the infilling
water dissolved the walls of each individual tunnel and there was only one large crystalline pool,
with a fountain of pure liquid beauty at its center. Oddly, the omnipresent garbage is reputed to
have disappeared entirely, or to have transformed into the verdant foliage and animal life that
(reportedly) appeared overnight. Jake and his fellow ‘garbage-divers,’ as they were mockingly
called, were last seen sporting joyously in the abounding (one could almost say—infinite?)
waters: in the next instant, nobody was there at all.
water dissolved the walls of each individual tunnel and there was only one large crystalline pool,
with a fountain of pure liquid beauty at its center. Oddly, the omnipresent garbage is reputed to
have disappeared entirely, or to have transformed into the verdant foliage and animal life that
(reportedly) appeared overnight. Jake and his fellow ‘garbage-divers,’ as they were mockingly
called, were last seen sporting joyously in the abounding (one could almost say—infinite?)
waters: in the next instant, nobody was there at all.
A third account simply records the two previous stories, and cryptically states there is no
difference. Well, Well, dear reader, is that too deep? Or do you dig?
difference. Well, Well, dear reader, is that too deep? Or do you dig?
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