The Lizard on the wall catches the attention. Just at eye level. A tiny thing. Must be no more than 5 days since it came into being. Must be a really unique life, that which is lived in the men’s room.
A gentle blow. And the little thing wiggles up a bit. Its thread-like tail achieving the deception it was meant to accomplish. Now it’s about a couple of feet above the pot slapped against the wall. Perfectly at eye level now. It is pale, and if you weren’t strong in your semantics, you would be tempted to call it transparent. The bones beneath that thin sheath of what is actually skin are almost visible. The eyes. They are almost outside the tiny head.
And then I saw it. Between the two bulbous jet-black eyes, a black spot clearly visible beneath the skin. The brain? No, probably not. But what is that? It must have a skull and if it does, there should be a brain inside it. But this black spot is outside the skull – if there was a skull…..
I was drained. I didn’t mean, ‘tired’, but you know what I mean. I blew a bit at the tiny chap. He wriggled up a bit again. And I could see that heart beat rate get rapid from the throbbing on the sides. Just behind its front legs. Tiny as can be, again. And I could say it was experiencing some level of anxiety. I Blow again. The tail moves first and the chap wriggles up more. And I look down and realize I’ve been standing over the pot long after I’m done.
I come out thinking of the little chap and the black spot between the eyes. A small head and a smaller brain. And that filled to the full with the experiences of 5 days, add to that instincts of over 10 million years.
The experience of breaking the shell from the inside. Hearing it crack and fall apart. Experience of seeing blinding light rushing in through the crack and flooding it from all sides as the shell falls apart.
And the first experience of moving a limb. Comprehending and ‘taking stock’ of the number of limbs and tails. Realizing and understanding the function of each projection of what it now thinks of as its body.
What force of nature makes it realize and think of its body as ‘its body’? That’s another question by itself. The head on my body throbs.
Experiences of stepping into the world. The first pang of hunger, and instantly the instinct of over 10 million years or more comes to the rescue, just as that little insect further up on the wall does. The first prey, the first meal and the first burp of satisfaction.
Whatever happened to the insect’s instinct? Ah! The head throbs again at the thought of this big game of nature. An almost sadistic scheme, if you think about it from one level.
“10,000 ways to get your dinner” – a convenient ROM in the name of ‘instinct’ of 10 million years . And part II by the same authors, “10,000 effective ways of escaping from your predator”.
How long is the life span of a normal lizard? 6 months? A year? I don’t know. But can’t be much. It doesn’t really matter. I think of this chap. This tiny friend of mine with transparent skin. The friend I made in the loo.
Look at his life.
Event 1: – enter world. Even if the fellow’s concept of the world is limited to the wall in the loo.
Event n – exit the world.
What, just what the hell really does happen between the two events? Cumulating personal experiences and implementation of the instinct of 10 million years? Add to the database of ‘10,000 ways to do this or do that’ so the next generation can use them?
Between the two events, how does it matter where the lizard lived? Or what insects it hunted? Or how its success rate was highest on the walls of that loo? Or how it courted its mate? Or how it hurt itself at the hinge of the door? Or how it struggled for a whole week without food? And how it thought it was Gods way of punishing its sins of a past life, while it was just that the loo was visited by the pest-control guys. And how after that week, the sudden appearance of a cockaroach made it think God had answered its prayers?
The futility of the life of a lizard. It’s obvious. Glaring. Almost blinding. There simply is no higher form of purpose that it could be indulging in.
Eat. Sleep Copulate. Fight for life. Eat. Sleep….
And the futility of the life of a frog. An elephant. A giraffe. Man. Its plain clear. There is no spirituality. There is no higher form of life. No higher purpose. No higher meaning. No higher sense of achievement or accomplishment.
Meaning. That there is nothing of.
We kid ourselves. We are as mundane and boring and pointless as that lizard.
I must really wind this up. I have to plan my taxes.