In Repayment of Kindness

It crawled out whilst I was unpacking my suitcase, a bug of some kind, a stow-away, it looked a little like a tiny cockroach, and it had traveled a long way. We eyed each other curiously for a moment or two, and then it scampered off to hide in the darkness underneath the bed.

I could have killed it, I would have had time, but I didn’t, having spent the last few months visiting Buddhist temples in Thailand, it would have felt like the wrong thing to do, and karma would not have liked it. And besides, the bug was a long way from home, it had left what ever kind of life a bug leaves behind, and had the bug not willingly sought out such adventure, then I should feel at least partially to blame for its current loss.

It was several weeks before I saw the bug again, I was surprised to see it still alive, I had assumed that climate differences at the very least would have been enough to see to its swift demise, but they hadn’t, if anything it was bigger now, and more assured. It clung to the wall watching me, I wondered where it had been for the last few weeks, and what sights it had seen, the poor bug, on holiday, but with no return ticket.

The bug appeared more regularly over the next few weeks, still alive and growing in both confidence and size, it had obviously made its home here someplace. It would crawl out every evening from its hidden home, to the same place on the same wall, to sit, and to watch. And it would have been so easy to kill it, to clout it with a rolled up newspaper, or to capture it and wash it down the drain, but I didn’t.

The next morning I awoke to the sound of buzzing, I opened my eyes to see a large black fly bombing around my room, flying from window, to sink, to light-shade and back, before turning and hurtling down towards my face in a sudden death charge, perhaps attracted by the sleep that clung to the corners of my eyes. We fought in mock battle briefly, me swiping gently away with my hands, as the fly buzzed around my head seeking some kind of foothold.

The fly, then tired of its attack, flew off and found perch, high up on the ceiling. Later the bug crawled out from its home, and watched me watch the fly, and when I switched my attentions to the bug, the bug did likewise to the fly, and the fly watched us both, with beady little eyes, and the three of us sat in silence, quietly analysing each other.

The next morning there were more flies, at least three or four, all large, and all dark, and all engaged in high speed aerobatics, jostling for prime positions aboard the fixtures and fittings, and taking it in turns to buzz me whilst I slept. I assumed upon waking that something somewhere had died in my room, or an uneaten item of food had gone unnoticed without disposal, and the flies had established a colony.

After checking all possible sources and finding nothing, I could only guess at there just being a lot of flies about this year, that the flies were coming inside from outside; and that they were now unable to find their way outside from inside again. It would have been easy to kill them, a calculated campaign with fly paper and pesticides, or a crazy rampage with hairspray and lighter, but it had seemed wrong somehow, because I had already made an exception for the bug.

Every day they grew in number, word had obviously gone out that this was a safe-haven of sorts, they danced tirelessly for a time before freezing suddenly into solemn meditation, viewing the world from upside down, like tiny spies the colour of blacks’ darker brother, and with the bug watching on, like the cockroach king of common fly.

And I could have killed them all, swiftly and with ease, inflicting mass execution upon their kind, but I didn’t…

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...The landlady opened the door, poked her head in, bent double and vomited violently onto her shoes; she retreated quickly slamming the door shut in front of her. It had only been a week since her last collection, but you would have thought that it had been months, years perhaps. A silent room and a corpse picked clean of flesh, and the open window let in not nearly enough fresh air to alleviate the stench, and god only knows what had happened, it would be a long time before she forgot that sight, and then a bug crawled out from under the door, and scuttled off down the hall, and she could have killed it, easily, but she didn’t.

Buddhism, Karma and Killing Flies

The Buddha taught that all sentient beings, including those in the animal realm, possess Buddha nature and therefore can attain enlightenment and that from infinite rebirths, all animals have been our past relatives, sisters, mothers, brothers, fathers and children. Therefore it is against the first precept to harm, kill or eat sentient beings as it is the same as harming, killing or eating the flesh of our own child or mother.

‘He wouldn’t hurt a fly!’

Well he might, but only if pushed, personally I’d rather not kill anything unless I really had to, but I swear they’ve cottoned onto this fact, I need to find a means by which to lower their self esteem, and by doing so convince them to take their own lives. Or does that just amount to the same thing anyway? And besides I'm not a vegetarian, so I indirectly kill animals all the time, so maybe I should just roll up a newspaper and smash them all to hell, it would probably be quicker.