At Supper (not where he eats, but where he is eaten)

From Schuyler Waynforth's blog entry on the Violet Ground Beetle: (http://waynforth.blogspot.com/2006/10/violet-ground-beetle.html)

William D. Hamilton is an evolutionary theorist, one of the most amazing of evolutionary theorists, who died in 2000 of a cereberal hemorrage brought on by malaria. His burial request was this:
I will leave a sum in my last will for my body to be carried to Brazil and to these forests. It will be laid out in a manner secure against the possums and the vultures just as we make our chickens secure; and this great Coprophanaeus beetle will bury me. They will enter, will bury, will live on my flesh; and in the shape of their children and mine, I will escape death. No worm for me nor sordid fly, I will buzz in the dusk like a huge bumble bee. I will be many, buzz even as a swarm of motorbikes, be borne, body by flying body out into the Brazilian wilderness beneath the stars, lofted under those beautiful and un-fused elytra which we will all hold over our backs. So finally I too will shine like a violet ground beetle under a stone.
I cried reading that. The wonderful athiesm in it all makes my heart leap with joy. I like that kind of reincarnation. It reminds me of Lee Hayes' song:
If I should die before I wake,
All my bone and sinew take
Put me in the compost pile
To decompose me for a while
Worms, water, sun, will have their way,
Returning me to common clay
All that I am will feed the trees
And little fishies in the seas.
When radishes and corn you munch,
You may be having me for lunch
And then excrete me with a grin,
Chortling, "There goes Lee again."
Twill be my happiest destiny
To die and live eternally.
Bill Hamilton wasn't buried in the Brazilian wilderness. He was buried in Wytham Woods.

Hannah in the Prairie Dog Village