What Would Buddha Do?

I try to live in a state of consciousness, acknowledging the beauty of life in everything I see.  However, every time I am confronted with a full-bellied mosquito taking a drunken-like departure from my ankle, a giant spider hugging my wall, ants circling my spice rack, or a buzzing fly convinced that it needs to land on my face, I have to admit that I question the value of these life forms.  When is it okay to kill them?

This is what I asked myself after two weeks of dealing with a gigantic spider poking her legs out of the crack of my back door (I’d name her Charlotte the Tease because of this).  She was just inches away from where my hand unlocked the door, and I finally decided to take action.  I kinda wanted to smash her, but my inner Buddha pleaded for her life and I settled on a sentence of exile.  I would simply slip a piece of paper into the crack knocking her to the outside, where she’d run off, find a new home, and live a happy life.  However, Charlotte must have anticipated my plan because she was on the defense.  She took off into my hallway, rounded the corner into the bathroom, and flew up to the ceiling.  Since she wanted to play rough, I now took off my flip flop and was furiously tossing it at her, hoping I could either a) flatten her or b) scare her into descending toward me where I could implement my plan to execute her.  She was clever though, cozying-up into the corner and refusing to come down.  Thus, I was left eye-balling her every time I went to the bathroom, trying to remind myself we could co-exist.

But the next morning, when I found her cuddled up in her favorite spot near the door again, I decided it was time to bring out the arsenal.  I’d bought a can of insecticide, (telling myself of course that I’d only use it in emergencies).  I glowered at her, shook it up, sprayed, and hit.  Even though she didn’t curl up and drop to the floor dead like I hoped, I knew she was at least injured since she ran farther down the wall, hiding herself further into the crack.  After that, I didn’t see her again, and I was able return to an accepting calm.

That is, until the ants.  I’d seen them scurrying around my bathroom sink, but I was able to ignore them for awhile, convinced once again we could live in universal harmony.  But then they started showing up in my kitchen.  Even then though, I took it in stride, assuming it was a message from the cosmos that I needed a cleaner kitchen.  Then one night I noticed a steady stream of them, marching along the crack of my tiled bathroom.  I gasped.  Was I was under attack?  I followed them out into the hallway, where I saw a line of them going to and from a hole in the bathroom wall and the outside door.  Moreover, I saw another string of them on the other side of the hallway, going to and from the same door to the kitchen.  I grabbed my flashlight to do a further reconnaissance, and sure enough, my belief was confirmed.  There was an army of them.  Once again, I grabbed my can of Moon Tiger, shook it up, and sprayed and sprayed like there was no tomorrow.  After the cloud of harmful air cotangents settled, I looked upon my hallway and saw the results:  a great ant massacre.  There were hundreds of their dead little carcasses, now merely black specks on my floor.  Yet it was somewhat satisfying.

Right or wrong, there are times when I feel the need to kill insects.  Of course, there are clear cut cases like mosquitoes, where in the land of malaria, it is justifiable self-defense.  As for the other times, maybe it’s enough that I’m even asking.