Dirt-eating in the rural south and among the Tzombi population is a complex phenomenon and worthy of an entire paper of its own. The literature presents us with a number of conflicting testimonies about the “mud eaters”: it is sometimes difficult to separate racist propaganda and cultural bias/misunderstanding from disinterested observation; what we do know is that the earliest known reference to the “mud eaters” is in the aforementioned Kish stele.
The next mention comes from the diary of Agnolo di Tura in his 1347 A.D. plague remembrance. There is also an abundance of documentation regarding dirt eating among slaves in the rural south in the United States; because many American slaves came from various related regions through whatever circuitous route, it seems probable that the dirt eating which persists in the rural south was spread by this means. Whether dirt eating is a legitimate practice among the Tzombi population remains to be seen.
Of course, there are also members of the Living Community who still consume dirt, even in modern times. Here, from the White Dirt website:
Some people have actually been known to consume White Dirt regularly and not only like the taste but crave it. It has been said that the taste of white dirt is akin to the fresh way that the ground smells when it's real dry and a little sprinkle of rain falls. Dirt-eating is an ancient tradition that is practiced all over the world and although the demise of the practice has been predicted for many years, it still persists, particularly in rural areas of the South.
Aside from psychopathology (see aforementioned Soil Pica link), there are also possible medical reasons for dirt-eating. One may simply be that, though the need for eating has ceased, the habit continues, and dirt requires no digestion. In some African cultures, dirt eating is practiced among pregnant women, and medical studies have shown that it helps in producing antibodies. Since the post-deceased body is essentially a new life-form with a known susceptibility to certain viruses, it’s entirely possible that dirt-eating functions as a means towards increasing resistance.
9 comments:
I hear dirt-eating helps you feel more grounded.
Very clever, blckeyelnr. I think we can all agree there is a place for humor in even the most serious discussions. When the petty disappointments and degradations of life get us down, it’s always good to share a chuckle.
Didn’t you say “mbumba” was a disease spread through the soil?
“My Grandmother, a very devout Catholic, raised me. After my mother—her daughter—and my brother, sister, grandfather, father, and cousin Mary died in a car crash on the way to Mary’s first Communion, my grandmother began to hoard Communion wafers. I was seven at the time, and the only survivor of the crash. I have no memory of it—my short-term memory of the event—of that day—was completely obliterated.
After the accident my Grandmother took care of me. Because her apartment was so small, I slept on the living room couch. The tiny pantry began to fill up with Communion wafers, which she stole from the storage room of the church on Sunday mornings by pretending to be senile. We had mice in the apartment, and they figured out where the wafers were. The crinkling of the paper wrappers kept me awake all night. I began to invent stories to occupy my mind.
Eventually the priest came around to visit us because certain members of the congregation were disturbed by the way my Grandmother would wander aimlessly into the back of the church during mass. He intuited something wrong, and said the resurrection was not referring to our earthly bodies, but our heavenly ones. I asked him why, then, do we eat the wafer, and he said that our earthly bodies need physical sustenance but our heavenly bodies will need none.”
Mathilde, I am going to have to take measures if you can’t refrain from sharing my personal information.
You can block her from commenting…
No way, dude. She’s unhinged. Hey, man, your Grandma sounds twisted. Mine had a little dog that shit all over her house and she’d pay us kids in ribbon candy to go around the house and pick it up. She also made us listen to this French music, with this chick singer who sounded like she was on helium. I can’t look at a little dog turd without thinking “Ah la la la, la belle histoire”.
The impression she is giving of me is that I am some kind of monster. These were private e-mails I sent to her more than five years ago. This woman suffers from a serious mental illness, and I spent many long hours helping her through her various delusions when she went off her medication.
I bet she’s hot, in that pale scrawny kind of way.
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