Larva Convivalis

Simple gifts, like cigarettes thrown up and over the barbed wire, from one trench into the other, on the opposing side; the greeting card that says, “While we all know this conflict is a major gym for our egos, can you just take a break and smoke with me before we start killing each other again?”

If we believed in consciousness, then we would call the bluff and know that we cannot kill each other.

We would know that we will just keep coming back as puppies and sea slugs and instead of having arguments, we would just stare at pine nuts and scratch our heads at how good the evergreen trees were going to smell when they take root and start to get taller.

If you want to be wizards who whip out those wands and spell cast in anger…go ahead and enjoy several thousand rounds of turning your opponent into a cockroach. Be content in knowing the counterwizard will do they same to you.

As the steam is coming out of your ears and the ears of your opponent, you both murmur and then shout out your incantations…no matter if it is one-on-one-wand-to-wand combat, or if there are legions of you, advancing from two sides of a great plain, wreathed in purple mountains. Even if some special forces of wizards are flying above the battle in helicopters, loaded with automatic, rapid fire, spell shrapnel launchers, pointed at the other side, kamikaze special ops wizards, crazed on yohimbine and blasting Jimmi Hendrix: so what.

It’s just going to be another ten thousand incarnations and lamentations that will be recorded in forms, some great commemorative tapestries and songs will be woven, written and sung.

Flies will get fed. They like this kind of show. Your wars are the favorite cable channel of the flies. They raise a whole lot of their maggot babies in your wounds, so there is a lot of exchange here. Know that. You can't escape reciprocity. That ought to crack you up.