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  • Mark Hodson

Quicksand

Updated: Aug 30

I remember when I was a kid growing up in the ’60s, and for some reason, quicksand all of a sudden became a credible danger in my life. And then later on, as an adult, it proved once again to be a serious threat. Although these days it goes by different names. And surely, at some point, it's grabbed you, too.


Seemingly solid ground, firm under your feet, solid beneath your step, abruptly gives way and starts to pull you down. Sinking. And every move you make... writhing, clawing, flailing, struggling... every effort to save yourself drags you further under.


From those early Westerns, I also learned that back then you only survived quicksand with a rope, or a stranger who happened to be passing by, or a loyal horse. But these days it may be something else. Something intangible. Like trust. Or faith. Or surrender.


And then, you begin to emerge. Slowly. Just a little bit... Only to lose your grip and slip back under. Almost lost. And almost done for. Gasping for breath, clinging to life, you hold on for all you’re worth. And then suddenly grateful. Saved. By someone. Or something. Covered head to toe in the muck. But saved, nonetheless.


Quicksand is everywhere my friends. But so too are ropes, and strangers, and loyal horses. The tangible.


And in time, the tangible and the intangible both become familiar allies.


Trust, faith, and surrender. Ropes, men, and horses.

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