Snails, again. How darn strange!
Every time after a purge—where hundreds if not thousands of zombies have fallen—a downpour ensues, followed by a rash of snails that crawl out of the earth. Their tiny, spiral shells make me stare in wonder. Despite all of this, they’re thriving.
Is this what happens to the undead when they die? They become escargot? Perhaps it completes the cycle, so to speak. Do they return as primitive life forms, working up the food chain until they become human again? I do not pretend to have all the answers and there are some that believe this very thing. What if you accidentally eat your ancestors? Do they have to start all over again even further back? Sorry mom, I didn’t realize it was you.
That’s quite a leap, especially from the evolutionary side of things. But what about the spiritual side? Simplifying the creature and paring back its senses and intellectual capacity might strengthen its spirit, allowing it to evolve into a more complex creature once it is ready. Are humans at the top of the ladder? Or are there other forms that we have not been exposed to yet? Or are we all just fodder for the living earth, in a constant struggle to rise to the spiritual plane?
All of us, no matter the creature or size, must take the journey. Lessons not learned must be repeated again and again, at the most primitive levels if necessary, to strengthen the spirit, layer by layer, so that it may soar on its own one day.
Of course, snails aren’t the most religious of sorts. So how can they be spiritual? Butterflies exhibit a certain flair that distinguishes it from other creatures. An aura of freedom radiates from its wings, sparking the imaginations of those that lay eyes on them. But are they spiritual or just insects? Don’t free spirits choose their destiny, even if their choices are simply fly left or right? Hunt or sleep? Does being connected to this universe qualify them in any way? Or perhaps none of us are?
How many of us wish to be a butterfly and just fly away from these problems? It would be a simpler life, for sure, and perhaps more rewarding.
I pluck a snail off the sign and remove it from its shell. “What about you, little one? Are you a spiritual being?” I whisper. “Or are you just lunch?” I threw it in my mouth and gulped it down.
Thunder erupts in the distance, turning my blood ice cold and skin into gooseflesh. Did I just anger the gods? Or perhaps they’re just telling me to shut up and eat?
I toss another in my mouth. Then another. It was a bit slimier than hush puppies, but at least I wasn’t going to starve to death. When the rain fell in my thirsty mouth and thunder erupted once more, I realized what this was all about.
God will provide if you ask him to.
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