Every so often over the centuries, word goes around in the mine about an evil plan to seal the mine's entrance and thereby kill the miners inside. A few miners panic and make quickly for the surface, only to find government agents waiting for them with chains and guns. Some are murdered trying to escape; others are imprisoned and tortured; but all, to their credit, refuse to divulge the other miners' whereabouts, their number, or any information about what they have found.

The rest of the miners continue working. They know that down through the ages, kingdoms have crumbled and nations have come and gone. Most governments, at one time or another, have felt threatened by the miners' activities. Small-minded greedy leaders fret about rumors of wonderful schools beneath the surface, and libraries that contain a wealth of ancient knowledge. What the leaders don't know and cannot understand is that there are as many schools and libraries in the mine as there are miners, and an equal number of teachers and students. If they knew, the mine would have been sealed long ago, or reduced to rubble by military maniacs pretending to test their newest, most technologically advanced methods of destruction.

Life in the mine is different than anywhere else on earth. Whenever a faithful miner dies, his or her spirit remains in the mine to inspire and help guide the others. Children born in the mine have heightened senses. They are poets in rock, whispers in time, bright, busy couriers between invisible worlds. Their presence is considered a blessing, and their innocently articulated visions are a natural part of the work day. Thanks to the children, no adult miner asks, "Which is real, and which is spirit?" Instead they say, "What a joy that this has come about. It is a privilege to witness such a miracle."

The miners celebrate by giving each other gifts. They give songs, poems, and memories. They share thoughts that have not yet been spoken, and stories that are still untold. They give each other a portion of whatever they find and add the rest to the common trust.

When sadness comes, it isn't banished or placed in quarantine. It is worn gently over the heart where all can see, and where all can behold its mystery. And when sadness departs, it, too, is free to flutter about the mine, where it makes corridors through walls of stone, and brings color and light to the darkest places.

Every so often over the centuries, the mine is all but forgotten, and its entrance is covered by thorns. It is a myth in the making, and a playground of the gods that finds its way into dreams that cannot be explained, only lived. All the while, the miners are at work. It is comforting to know.

The Alluvial Mine is the property of Heather Blakey and Miners who have generously shared their work. Please do not replicate any part of this mine without written permission.