Tuesday, October 11, 2016

The Snail and the Cactus

I am a snail. I am a trapdoor snail. I have a door that I can close so that all the outside noise is shut out. And then I can be in peace in my own little house. I never invite anyone here. First, it's too crowded, and second, then they would see all of my secrets. And no one will ever see my secrets. I would rather die. And speaking of death, my house is also going to be my coffin. My friends tell me that I'm morbid, but it's a great convenience to live in your coffin. Do you know when you’re going to die? No one does. I'm so glad that I know where my coffin is at all time. Because we do all die. I am no dummy. I know this truth no matter how many people want to forget this little fact.
Being a snail I can only see in black and white. And that means there is no middle ground. No grey area. This "process" people keep talking about. What a load of bullshit. I can't see it. I can't touch it. I can't smell it. No evidence. It doesn't exist. I know what a goal is though. Water, shade, moisture. Those things are tangible. And without these goals, I am dying. Literally. And it’s not your grand death. Big crash, huge explosion with blood and gore. No, it's the slow, burning, stinging, smelly death. Ugh. This is why I have goals. There is nothing in the world but goals. And you better get out of my way.

Inside my small mouth there are even smaller teeth. They might be small but they are powerful. Like the power of tiny raindrops that can bore a hole in a boulder. My teeth can gouge out a hole in your heart. I also carry poison. I drink my own poison so I can build up resiliency to my own venom, but I also feed my poison to my kids and husband everyday. So that they will become resilient and strong. So that they can overcome the harshest elements of the world.

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My mother is my harshest element. To survive her, I have morphed into a cactus. But because I am a potted plant, she can find me again and again. She climbs up my body slowly and carefully. She is so careful that sometimes, I don't notice she is on my body, whispering her truths in my ear.

I only notice she is on my body when she is on the verge of feeding me her poison so I can grow strong and resilient. When I am fed her poison, I feel like I am drowning in a vat of vomit.

In my next life, I want to be water or a piece of sand. Yes, sand might be better. With water, I can't be sure I won't end up being a part of a hurricane or typhoon. A piece of sand in the middle of the largest dessert, or a piece of sand in the deepest part of the ocean where you can't see the sunlight. These are the places where the virus of humanity hasn't had its impact quite yet. I just want to be left alone. In stillness.

I'll have my buddies and with subtle and not so subtle disturbances we might hover, cuddle, run and fly. Make new friends and communities in the mist of quiet eternity. To be a piece of sand. This is my wish.

What if I end up being mixed with cement, and made into concrete blocks? I might end up being built into a childcare center full of cries and laughter only to recover during the quiet night times. Or what if I'm part of a new building for inmates, full of systematic brutality, rage and meaninglessness day in and day out. Entombed with my buddies listening to the suffering. My hope will be that the stupid animals called humans will implode themselves sooner than later so that we can start over. How much quite this place would be without those fuckers.

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