April showers bring May flowers. What do Mayflowers bring? Pilgrims. This was my mother’s way of combating years of ridiculous knock-knock jokes when my siblings and I were young. As I look back, much of what she said contained embedded lessons. Who knew? I thought she was just being a dorky mom.
At the risk of seeming obsessed with weather (see last month’s blog), it’s raining—again. And what do May showers bring? Bugs. Bugs that usurp my living space. A turn around is fair play (another Mom-ism) I suppose, since I spend much of my time outdoors.
However, I don’t kill bugs outdoors—that’s their turf; I am but a visitor. My spiritual path is one of unity of all things—except apparently, bugs. Well, some bugs. Diligently, I catch spiders, big moths, and other crawlies in a glass, slide a paper envelop underneath, and safely, gently transport the little creatures back outside (where they belong). I shoo flies back outdoors.
It was to my personal horror this morning that I reached over and whacked a tiny moth that had landed on my bathroom wall. First of all, I did it with some arcane impulse that had nothing to do with mindfulness. Whack! All of a sudden, this little life force that was doing no harm (except perhaps munching holes in my linens—but truthfully, I had no proof of that) was removed from the world of the living. No warning. No time to say its goodbyes or reflect on its life (okay, so I anthropomorphize here).
The point is I did it without even thinking. The evidence—a left-over smudge of gray powder from its wings—stared at me until guilt motivated me to wipe it quickly from the wall. I did at least have the common courtesy to say a little blessing for its truncated life as another manifestation of creation with intrinsic worth. I still feel bad.
Mosquitoes are another matter altogether
