This is the seventh and final part of a letter that I, Cochran Cornell the Cantankerous Cockroach, wrote to my friend, A’nonniemouse. To read previous parts of this letter click on Cochran’s Writings, where all parts are filed.
Then I thought about roach pastoring. But how can I do that if I don’t know for sure there is a Rod, who created us? Perhaps we are just a figment of someone’s imagination, or maybe we are the result of random acts of black hole conglomerates that fused and fissioned over and over again in various combinations of physical and chemical orders until we became the product of some connection made between two reactions? I hear we haven’t changed dramatically for millions of years, that mutation hasn’t occurred for us. We’ve survived through ice ages, and are expected to survive through nuclear catastrophes and global warming effects. No other beings of creation can do that! No, I would have a hard time explaining our existence based on an omnipotent Rod. There is no explanation for our being here, and no purpose for us on this earth. Why, look at the way we run and scatter, helter-skelter, with no organization or forethought as to how to be safe? We’re only running to escape the vibes of others and the rays of light. Is that the only purpose we have, to hide in darkness, especially in the small cracks in walls that provide us with darkness and support? So what is left for me? I have no skill with words like Archie did; I have no dexterity that allows me to become an artisan (after all, how could I have this with all the running I have to do, the built in desire to flee all the time, the inability to stay pug and quiet long enough to have a steady hand needed to prosper in the arts?). No, I leave that to the rare home sapiens who can tolerate the sitting, and the rare transmigrated roach like Archie. I’m lost, I don’t know who I am, or what my persona is. Can you blame me for not writing to you sooner? It’s taken me days to construct this letter that is a whole lot of jibberish, a jabberwocky connection of words. Yet you, A’nonniemouse, are so creative and industrious. Maybe you can help me clear my head and come to a decision on what I can do with the rest of my life. Maybe I will become a fireman? or a policeman? What do you think? Who am I? Who will I become? Until I can answer these questions, I probably won’t be able to write to you again. For now, doodleoot for now---I shall return with more writings! Watch for me! Cochran Remember to check back to the Beanery Online Literary Magazine every day to discover a new post. Consider putting www.ProBlogs.com/beanerywriters in your fav column. |
