Choosing the Gemstone

An unnerving profession, but one that I was compelled to undertake as the gunnysack was tossed in my direction. Faced with the task of looting the spoils from our tireless quest, will our eyes glimmer only at the sight of polished gemstones? Where has your original love gone for all things filthy and unrefined? A tender disgust fills me as I visualise my own soul licking algae off the cesspools of a twisted life. Oh, which gems do I collect, which paths do I tread? Does genuine spirituality embrace companionship and laughter, amidst occasional trickles of gut-wrenching blood? Or should I perpetually adorn myself with the sombre hood of presuppositonalist inquiry, through which irresistable love somehow still gropes its way? Surely I cannot exist forever, no matter how nutritious the algae can be. Yet if I knock and fondle and appraise the gemstones too hard, how then can I deal with my grief, when the demons of time, of rationality, of the cruel truth, eventually decide to reveal the cracks??