I owe the tribe of worms a debt. When I was a kid I used them for bait when I went fishing for perch. The Guadalupe was my river.
I was taking a stroll today after lunch when I came upon a worm stranded on the sidewalk. I picked it up and relocated it into the grass and bushes nearby. Some tourists were passing by and saw the rescue. They tried to commend me, but I got away before any harm was done.
I was walking along, thinking about the worm. There’s a little speck of life there. And when I say it that way, then I’m thinking of that life as being bound by the form of that body. Does life stop at the edge of the body?
What is worm consciousness? I’m guessing it’s not much more than reactivity.
That’s one of the complaints I have about my own mind – it’s too reactive. It squirms toward one thing; squirms away from another. I got that much in common with brother worm.
Somewhere parallel lines meet.
I have a new tattoo of a yogi on my arm. He is surrounded by radiant beams like the ones that surround Our Lady of Guadalupe.