Stuck in the mud yesterday. Immobile. No way out of the mud. My legs would not move. Nor my head.
Struggle is creative. Forced to focus in this tight spot, I went in circles, searching for my inner earth, my inner spider, my inner beetle.
I found my huge roll of paper. On this can go the spidergram, my mother spider, mother beetle.
Stop creeping about, creep all over, stretch, stride.
MUD. Remember the mud pies of childhood. I need a door to the earth, the centre of the earth. Look up Jules Verne. Great balls of fire. Great balls hanging.
