"So, can the universe itself be thought of as merciful?" I then asked the garden snail.

"I will never understand why humans insist on looking beyond themselves when asking such questions" she replied, "like... like detached, 'intellectual' bystanders observing some great experiment."

The garden snail smiled in that way particular to snails, "When you can equally anger what appears to be opposing sides of a popular controversy, it is possible that you are approaching truth."

"How quickly you forget to be kind", said the garden snail, "In the time it takes to remove my gaze you have replaced kindness with self pity."

"Listen for the true rhythm beneath all things," said the garden snail, "at times it is as profound as first love, other times as subtle as a passing thought."

'Write down these words,'
said the spiraled being,
'Don't think too hard,
just let your pen
slide along the page
riding this sweet wave.'

And so I wrote,
filling volumes, unsure
which words were mine,
which belonged
to the garden creature.

eventually
they were all stolen
spoken in
indecipherable tongues
pouring from the lips
of my reluctant muse

in the back of the damp winter garden,
under the letting-go tree,
i found the empty shell of my old friend.
i guess snails only live so long.
probably relied on him too much .
i sure will miss him.

"No one gets out of life unscathed," the snail said, surprising me a bit.

"I never thought I would see you again, old friend."

"Never is a long time," he said, looking a bit more subdued and weather-worn than the last time I saw him.

"Prepare for barriers to be broken down," said the garden snail. "Work to rid yourself of them or what I will show you will be very uncomfortable. These barriers house deceit that corrupts your thoughts and deeds. You are responsible for their existence and they are unhealthy."

"I have to go now," said the snail, "the long shadows suggest I am in another's space and I am very tired. We will speak again in the spring."

"How will I recognize you?" I asked.

"You won't. Just remember to listen, my voice will be there."

"This abundance will not last forever", said the half-grown garden snail when I pushed its viney perch aside, "even the younger beans are starting to taste of hibernation and death."

---------------------------------------------------


The snail held its tongue for as long as it could, then abruptly, "Fear is the enemy of creation, it inclines us to well worn paths, softens steps past strange doors, favors the base and begs smiles from well-wishers."