A plain of gold

The reality is that I’m standing on a plain of gold, with a golden shovel, looking out through eyes and mind of gold. Dig anywhere, and I should find it. But I see dirt, always dirt, and then the question comes up: Where is it?

It’s not really that I need to find the right spot to dig: but an experience that jars my vision sideways. What shape that takes is entirely dependent on me, my background, my mental state. Hard to invent that ingredient on my own, though not impossible.

So the digging, in this abused analogy, isn’t for the purpose of finding but a catalyst for realizing there’s nothing lost. To hone doubt until the ringing of a stone is enough, and suddenly, X marks the ever-present spot.