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I don't kill spiders.  It's not from a strict adherence to non-violence.  I kill mosquitos and the occasional gnat or centipede, I eat fish and other fleshy creatures (though it is rare and sadly with a burden of guilt, which is a gustatory downer).  I just don't kill spiders.  I talk to them.  If they are dangerous, they go outside, otherwise we live side by side in companionable tolerance.  They walk across the floor, the tub, the counter, leisurely and with an air of belonging.  Today I saw one scurry, eight legs literally racing across the kitchen rug over the cool spanish tiles, speeding toward a dark space beneath Bodhi's wooden step stool.  It was such a strange occurrence after years of spiders creeping from place to place.  This spider looked scared, though no doubt I am anthropomorphosizing. I stood for some time wondering how often I feel like that spider looked, imagining the world I inhabit dangerous, frightening and ominous.  How often do I hurry pell mell from one protected corner to the next, all the while inhabiting a benevolent universe, without a giant, fearful foot eager to squash me.  What would it be like to cease hurry, breathe and just inhabit.  There is a web unique to me, each thread new.  I carry my home and purpose with me, where ever I go.  We all do.

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Rose Turner said…
Spiders: Truth through confusion.
November 17, 2011 at 6:21 AM
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