“‘But I don’t want to go among mad people,’ said Alice. ‘Oh, you can’t help that,’ said the cat. ‘We’re all mad here.'”
Whenever I see my students staring into the distance that is ten inches in front of their face, I ask them if they’ve fallen down the rabbit hole. Into their own little universe, unable to pull back to the reality where I am asking them to answer questions, write concrete ideas down, and co-exist with other humans. Their eyes say absence and awareness all at once. I ask them, “Have you fallen down the rabbit hole?” They snap their eyes in my direction and furrow their brows in confusion. I want to tell them I’m sorry for pulling them from their depth of thinking, for who knows what magic awaits them there. However, I want to tell them that the rabbit hole can take you in forever, can lose you in its folds and breadth. You may fall in line with the patterns of the gingham walls and the nine different dimensions where every experience you have ever had plays itself out over and over again, in legions. But, we all must go on living each day, in or out the passage to another reality, and every person’s rabbit hole is quite different. Maybe you know yours well, and maybe you are just beginning to realize its existence.
Here is A Poem to help cope with the state of being rabbit holed.
For Each Human Dimension
A figure slowly moves
19.5 steps per minute through
the space in front of him.
He does not mind that it takes awhile.
He minds that he has place to be
(a place he does not want to be).
It is dark in this space,
pacing to and fro as ordered.
He absorbs into the floor
to become one with his own version of existence.
Meanwhile, my rabbit feet
cannot help but flit from
place to place, space to space,
within the mind and within the world.
A shaky place to be, constantly flitting.
Engraves pathways upon my spirit
which end up cracking and fracturing the moments
between lucid reality.
I open up my brain so that you may see,
but only light pours out.
What it would be like to live outside the
Rabbit Hole. I wonder this as I try
to pull out threads of your mind and
weave them into something I can tie around me –
a rope to pull myself up and out of the
twist and turns of the passage.
Circling around above me, at ease.
And if you could come down here, you could see,
but you would not know. For this
is a space of questions even my own wisdom cannot answer.