journal: 8/09

Today I was walking around an upscale ghetto and I didn't need the
pounding sun to fry my brain. I saw a snail on the sidewalk. I got down
on one knee to examine it. There it was. A snail shell, a creation of
God, an embodiment of Islam, a fellow species, in person. At first I
touched him lightly, stroked him. Then I held him more firmly. The sun
was hot yesterday. Suddenly I saw the question in a grimmer
perspective. Was this one of the recently departed? One who once held
the attention of God but had faded into oblivion, only recently? Or was
this fellow creature struggling, surviving, hoping it would be cooler
tommorow. But how could I ever find out? I could contemplate that shell
forever, just as one contemplates God, and be none the wiser. So, I
made a violent decision. I would have to pry the snail off of the
concrete and look at this brother animal. I decided that he was a lower
species, so much of a lower species that his probable death was
warranted as part of an educational experience for me. In my defense, I
was as gentle as I could be. I forced him off the ground and looked
inside. What I saw was a green creature, mostly dried, clutching to a
little bark and stone. There was still green, a little wet. I placed
him in some nearby grass, thinking this might be a more benevolent
environment than the hot concrete. I walked away wondering if he was
still alive. I think so. I felt his Prana, his chi, his life force.
From one haggard, struggling soul to another, I send him good will.