47.

Becoming the Snake

The story goes that change is inevitable. So it must be that having eaten dust and rotting flesh, the snake comes to know in his own skin the secrets of change.

Through the deceit of death I grow wise in the illusions of time. I change, I grow beyond myself, leaving the papery sheath that once was what I was. I live alone and make my changes in secret. I know the smell of fear, of death, of innocence. I float among lilies. I rest in shadows. I lick the wisdom of air and dust. I know the earth, sky and men. I wrap myself around the legs of life. By the enmity of others I learn empathy with all creatures. I lie down in darkness and learn the art of subtlety. I rear and strike in surprise. I know the limits of earth. In my belly I know this is all one place. I leave but a meandering trail in the dust, a graceful passage like the tracings of time. I lie down and change and rise and grow old and lie down and change and rise. I demand neither fear nor pity. I know what you can not see. It is not pride that keeps me solitary. In your hands the honey of my mouth turns to poison. It is mere survival—yours and mine.

Change is eternity.