Sometimes I go down the rabbit hole, and I meet peoples, like the Mad Hatter or some such, people I don’t really know anything about, I know there is a Queen there, somewhere, too, but they make the rabbit hole more … more understandable, comprehensible. imaginable, navigable with their colours and their oddities and their weirdness. The rabbit hole becomes the least of my worries then, because I am so busy looking and wondering.
Sometimes I go down the rabbit hole, and there is nothing there but greyish brown, brownish grey mud, earth, mud smelling, of rabbit shit, presumably, and fine gravel, and some round pebbles that graze my skin in various places as I go down, down, down. The mud gets into my nostrils at some point, and I am about to be clogged and sealed, when there is nothing to do, but to roar, and break free, emerge from the mud, like the Hulk or something like that, not green, not so big, not so ferocious, but just strong enough to whoosh out of the rabbit hole, while it is doing all it can to suck me in.
But this is one rabbit hole I do not mind, and one, or something like this one, where I am usually found.
Image Courtesy: National Geographic.