In the carpark near the beach in CT I discovered a group of isopods up to no good.
The pill bugs had formed a pentagram of beach trash, mostly delicate bones of birds & fish. It was about the size of a quarter. They kept adjusting it and adding to it as I watched, horrified, yet fascinated.
I was so engrossed in the mysterious antics of the little woodlice that I didn't even notice the man who'd joined me watching, until he spoke.
"Amazing aren't they?" He said, his voice deep, but warm. 1/18
I startled at his voice, nearly dropping my purse. But, seeing him next to me, standing with the same stooped sowbug-watching posture I was able to find the thread of calm.
"Oh yes." I managed --but then felt obligated to add. "But something here is very abnormal."
The man had been focused on the roly polies, but now looked to me-- he was a plain man in a black suit with a black tie. He even wore a fedora.
A frown creased his pale face.
"You think something is wrong?" #story #writing 2/
"Well, yes." I stammered a bit, something about the way he was looking at me was unsettling. "They are building a pentagram."
The man stood to his full height and took a deep breath of the sea air. Then with an exhale he said "A Ritual!"
"Well, yes." I agreed "Though, that is anthropomorphizing. We can't really know what it means to them."
"Any other day, you'd be perfectly correct." The man said, resuming watching the gramersows. "But, I happen to know exactly what they are doing." 3/
"Oh." I laughed nervously. "Well what are they doing? I study Armadillidiidae! I'd love to know."
"A scientist!" he said this with the same gusto as "A Ritual!" The same smile-- a smile that, although creepy still seemed heartfelt, genuine.
"I will tell you what they are doing. You may think me mad but, I do know. These little cheesy bugs are summoning their God."
I did, in fact, think he was mad. But not in a bad way. "Do you know why they are summoning him?"
"her." He corrected.
4/
"They are calling on her to ask for help-- their tropical sisters are in great distress, their more rare cousins of old boreal forests find their homes on fire. The isopods are frightened by what has been happing to our world." He continued.
"What we've done to our world." I corrected. The man nodded solemnly.
Dusk crept up on us and the beach now amber played host to waves of black and gold. We listened for a moment to the sound of the waves breaking and the slowly rising tiny chanting. 5/
-The isopods were chanting-
As they chanted they moved around the pentagram first clockwise, then counter clockwise -- there were about 30. Though, to the human eye, they were not moving very quickly I understood that their pace was one of sprinting for creatures of their kind.
They were not all the same species or size. Some were dark and round others nearly translucent and white. One had a yellow hood on its head like the beak of a duck.
The chanting and running grew more intense. 6/
Vihāra is an experimental Buddhist monastery: a federated hub representing the activities of a Buddhist monastery in the Himalayan Vajrayāna/Mahāyāna lineages.
