As if in challenge to my last post and my claims of compassion for “all creatures, great and small,” we had a particularly noisy and active fly whirling around in the living room yesterday. This occurred while I was in from the Sierra heat, resting and reading. At first I was disgusted, then I remembered the Bumblebee of a few days ago, and I asked myself, “Why should I not extend that generosity to this lowly fly?” So, I relaxed the seemingly natural response of revulsion, let down my guard (which consisted of fear over the belief that flies are disease vectors, whether they are or not), and simply sat and listened to the fly.
I’ve killed many flies before, reacting strongly to the sense they were filthy and despicable — perhaps it has always been that buzzing, nerve-drilling sound of theirs. Yet, some decades ago, for a long stretch of years, I had developed quite the capability of snatching them out of the air and returning them to the outdoors. This had suddenly stopped working for me a few years back. Either the flies had “caught on,” or, more likely, my age was beginning to influence my reflexes.
So, I sat and listened, and watched. I paid particular attention to the sound, contemplating why it seemed so disgusting. Gradually, it smoothed out. It became less annoying as I let my annoyance with it relax. So, it was largely a matter of perception. I could feel compassion for the fly.
Well, it still had to go! I’m not convinced they aren’t still carriers of unwanted contaminants. So, we opened some windows and tried to usher it out, and eventually we succeeded. That technique often results in more flies, however. But, if one is diligent, it seems it can be successful.
I’m not saying I won’t still have to swat a fly sometimes. I certainly don’t want to. But, I know what company they keep, and that company is for the compost pile, or for the dump, not for the kitchen or living room. If they won’t cooperate, well, they leave me with no other choice, but to extract the ultimate price. I’m sorry for it, and yet, perhaps it all serves for there really is no other choice sometimes. It should not be done in anger, however. It must be done compassionately and with whatever measure of respect I can bring into it. The fly has its place and, despite appearances, it is a member of the Family of Life — even if it’s the remotest of relatives, an unwanted guest that cannot stay too briefly. Perhaps we too were once flies in another life.
