As I’m sitting behind my desktop PC, listening to Medieval chants, I notice a ladybug on the wall.
It’s not really doing anything, just walking from point A to point B vertically. I could never walk up a wall without falling down – this ladybug has qualities I do not obtain.
I’ve got this deep urge to get her out of my room, since I don’t like animals in my room, and especially not bugs. This is a pet peeve of me – I could mature enough so that I endorse animals in my home, and have them keep me company. But something’s still telling me that it’s unhygienic, that the ladybug might crawl into my mouth while I sleep or that it will breed and produce an endless amount of ladybugs who will cover my room, like the Biblical grasshopper plague God sent down on the Egyptians for not letting Moses and the Jews out of Egypt, after which the Pharaoh let them leave and changed his mind and chased them through the Red Sea and drowned in the water after Moses held up his staff and the water returned to its normal state just in time to drown some Egyptians.
I could smash him or her, like I do with mosquitos. Why do I kill mosquitos and not ladybugs? What if I am a reincarnation of this ladybug and it is me that’s being smashed? I wouldn’t want to be crushed under a hand bigger than my whole body, having all my organs smeared over a white-painted wall. In Flanders, it’s illegal to kill or disrupt a ladybug. Smashing is not an option.
I could grab the ladybug, her up and let her fly out of the window. I would like to think that I don’t force living things into doing something they initially don’t want to be doing anymore, that I’ve matured out of that angsty state of trying to set the world to my hand at all times, and that I am more like water now, like the Zen masters of long forgotten age.
Or I could just let the ladybug do it’s thing and choose to think that it is me who is the problem here, me who chooses to annoy himself at a being that is smaller, more vulnerable and able to fly and live a – what I think – relatively easy life – although ladybugs must have problems of their own, like what to eat for dinner, how to not get eaten for dinner and how to reproduce – so that I could mature a bit and be able to live in peaceful coexistance with animals, and especially bugs, but I choose the following:
I place my hand in front of the ladybug and hope it finds it comfortable enough to leave the hard, white-painted, textured wall and climbs upon my hand. She’s reluctant and doesn’t seem to trust my hand very much. So I try to grab her carefully with two fingers, leaving my morals at the door, but she falls and flies away mid-air, leaving me to write a story behind my desktop PC, listening to Medieval chants.