The Worms Go In, the Worms Go Out

There was a rhyme somewhere in my childhood and the two lines I recall were:
The worms go in, the worms go out, the worms play pinochle on your snout…

This seems appropriate for a Halloween submission to my blog's evolution.  I've spoken a lot recently about my metaphysical quest. In the meantime (while waiting for the universe to sync up), I have been in conversation with my writing teacher about composting.  She bought worms (on Amazon) and was sharing details of the process of creating an environment to allow the worms to work the food scraps and be able to use the resulting compost for her garden.

That got me thinking about carbon footprints and whether I want to decrease mine.
Gee, I don't know.

Considering the tonnage of pseudo recyclable materials set to curb side every week, my efforts are not without flaws.

I can't seem to want to live green.  Global warming discussions are wasted on me. I am decidedly
uninformed regarding alternative living options; without garbage. I pass junk yards and land fills and think "oh". But it doesn't sink in.  I just added to that problem recently and had my car crushed and eaten by a giant machine.  The 150 bucks in my pocket seemed to validate that decision.

Well, the topic is uncomfortable, so I will not continue.  However, regarding my bodily demise,
I think I will welcome the worms and aphids.  I've already pre planned my funeral and there won't be one.

As soon as the ink dries on the document I haven't signed yet, I'll be ashes to ashes with the intent of
nurturing a young White Birch or Aspen tree.  That seems like a beautiful tribute to myself and the life I loved in the Colorado Rocky Mountains.

The cost of shipping the former me will be nominal and I have already designated my brother as my executor. He will be waiting at the mailbox for me to arrive.

I hope that the occasion will not be somber for I have requested an illegal fireworks display to precede the deed. Only those in attendance will know the designated plot of land (invitations will be mailed by my probate lawyer) so keep those sky miles accounts in good order.

I know a little about a lot of things cadavers are used for and I don't think that I wish to support the advance of science.  It's too advanced already in my opinion.  Once "Dolly" the sheep made her appearance on planet earth, we crossed the line. There's just no sanctity remaining in the value of a human life.

On the other hand there is too much sanctity given the inordinate expense of a traditional funeral; picking out a casket, selecting a funeral home, a location for final goodbyes, blah, blah, blah.

No thank you.  I remember helping Dad select Mom's casket while she was still breathing.  That was early on in the pre planning funeral business.  We picked the most expensive one with powder blue lining and double or triple lined oak to preserve her remains.  In conversation with her before her death, she made a request that we dress her warmly to include shoes (which the funeral home denied).

Her mother wanted just a pine box. I don't want that much.  You see, I'm just not that important.

I began this journey not of my own accord and I will conclude this portion of the predestined trip
at the place and time as set forth in the universal contract. Lovely that the way I leave is entirely up to me.  It's about the only decision I will have control over.  Trusting in my fellow man to honor my final wishes is, of course, the variable in the equation.

Should it all go as planned, my soul will depart on the recitation of these endearing words:


"Don't you ever laugh as the hearse goes by,
For you may be the next one to die.
They wrap you up in big white sheets
and cover you from head to feet.
They put you in a big black box
And cover you with dirt and rocks.
All goes well for about a week,
Until your coffin begins to leak.
The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,
The worms play pinochle on your snout,
They eat your eyes, they eat your nose,
They eat the jelly between your toes.
A big green worm with rolling eyes
Crawls in your stomach and out your sides.
Your stomach turns a slimy green,
And pus pours out like whipping cream.
You'll spread it on a slice of bread,
And that's what you eat when you are dead."^[4]