I have not, in fact, read Henry Miller, but the quote was beautiful.  I love how the metaphor also has the inferred expectation of birth as well.  I've been scribbling phrases down in my class notebooks for a couple days now and I finally have written up a draft of this...thing? Its not a poem, not a story.  Not sure what it is really. A reflection, perhaps? Don't judge, it is just a draft, but I want to get it out there, release it, and hopefully find some healing in the release. :)


         There is this moment, a moment of simultaneous realization and dumbfounded silence when you discover that the material with which you have built your world is glass, not steel, and that it is cracking, cracking.  Water is seeping in, first in thick droplets pushed through the slightest of breaks and then flooding, rushing in.  In the moment of fracture, there is panic.  You desperately grasp at what is crumbling, clutch at the fragments and try to force the sharp edges of your world back together.  You search for the foundation, but nothing substantial endures. 
       Centuries later, if they were to uncover the remains, they would find a deep burial mound.  Layers of hardened clay and concrete.  When, finally, they burst through the casing, they would be shocked to discover moisture.  Not just droplets and trickles but a flood, surging against the walls.  The discovery would spark controversy, as most important discoveries do.
The headline of the local newspaper later would read:
In the excavation of the human heart, there is found only water and sand.



I'm not entirely happy with it, but I figured I'd break the ice and be the person to first stick my neck out there with personal creation. :D