Reverse Engineering the Fall or Emergencies from a Rabbit Hole

If we are accustomed to burying our dead in honour of grieve or gravity or even by unconscious habit through millennial repetition, shouldn't archaeologists and others digging holes presume, because of the axiom, "what goes up must come down" (unless one gets too high, in which case to be out of sight is truly out of mind – or off one's rock – except for the hauntings by phantoms some call memory, others fantasy), that in a logical transposition, creatures must come into being from holes in the ground, as if it's their mother, or from mothers as if they're the earth? If one is embracive of orphans, isn't one mother as good as another? Should you wish to speed up the process, expect some resistance – the bigger the tuber, the harder the pull. Should you wish to halt it, expect to be buried by yourself, otherwise, there is some encouragement, even if a placebo, which is Russian for 'thank you' or in Latin, 'to please'.

Sans winds or strong wings, the uprising or flight, as a gravitational transgression (without which the game would end in sudden death; in fact, given time, they all do anyway), is only achieved by foot or by mouth, lest our collective umbilicus break. Anti-gravity is a loss of density, easily sustained by scattering brains or setting fire to your remains. In case of regret, there may be other holes from which to emerge. When Vine Deloria said his people emerged from holes in the earth, it was a case of adopting a new mother, and staying near her as a matter of choice – the previous home was Amnesia (or, like selective service, was never registered in the first place). The medicine wheel or omphallus is a poetic reminder of nurturing mothers and the sun providing galactic inspiration. Such is a poem in the form of a chiasma like optic nerves and chromosomes. The transcendental portal through transdimensional space is the joke by, of and for the people who do not explore their own utterances but chastise mythic poetry as superstition or worse, magical or childish thinking.

But no shit! God made the earth before the starlit heavens it sits in and the only reality is measured with irrational numbers and cities came before the country and you will be smart if you can raise the dough to become institutionally certifiable. For everyone else, there is a tending to machinery toward a material singularity producing such density that the universe has no option but to collapse into itself to the central point of nothing at an ever-increasing rate. Either way, the poets win due to the failure to enact legislation requiring the literal interpretation of anything! Such is the way of natural selection – the survival of survivors, now residing underground, due to fluctuating variability – it's a big pool to draw from.