When I finally get a keyboard under my fingers I draw a blank. When NO keyboard is under my fingers I’m prolific as hell. A thousand thoughts and ideas pour forth. The irony of it all. Misery and Suffering always get the last laugh.
The other day, I watched as a hurt bee convulsed and squirmed. It had to be something serious. Apparent abdominal trauma. I did not witness the incident but as I was the only human for a mile in every direction, out in a field of golden prairie grass, cleared just enough for my tent and car (by me and my trusty shovel and rake), I suspected it must have happened while I was folding up a tarp.
The bee really wanted to live, by the way he clung on. It was probably just sitting there, or mildly buzzing about, when something crushed it. I felt so terrible, even though I wasn’t precisely aware of the causation. I tried to move it with a tiny stem of rather stiff prairie grass to assess its prognosis. My efforts did no good as the creature was too small. For several moments I held out hope, that it would recover, but it was too severely injured. It took quite awhile for this poor fellow to expire. Several times it made “comebacks”. I tried dousing it in some water, thinking it might need a drink. I cast shade on it to block it from the hot midday sun. Nothing worked, and eventually it stopped twitching. Its little black eyes gleamed at me and I thought for a second I saw into its soul. It was fine just moments ago on this beautiful sunny October day, but now because of me (more than probably) it was dead.
This was a tragic occurrence that left a profound impact on me. Big or small, insect or human, we all try and survive. To deal with the lives we’ve been given, and to make the best, according to the outline of our biology and instinctual directive. Doomed to extinction, with no ceremony, no remembrance, no funeral. Nothing but me as a witness, to memorialize a small death in few paragraphs. One bee of MILLIONS who perish constantly in the world. Life so insignificant and cheap. One creature is born, and another dies, then another is born to take its place. On and on this goes in perpetuity forever. There is always another, so that the absence of one seems less significant. It was the way this poor creature came to understand that it had been fatally injured, and couldn’t understand what was happening, and just wanted to get back to flying around, looking for nectar to eat. It was so profoundly sad to me, that I nearly cried. I even looked around and shook my fist at Life, God, Nature, the Force…whatever it was that confines us to this cruel unforgiving earth. Legal remedies exist for who? The living? Society? For the Dead…it’s too late. Who gets the benefit of this imperfect deterrent state? Certainly not the dead insect, lying on the dirt, miles from civilization, and soon to be drying out in the sun.
Humankind is like this too. So many humans come walking into the Starbucks that I forget all the others who caught my eye just moments before. Always another beautiful female. When one leaves, another walks in. When one bee dies, another is born. So fit and trim, with perfectly slim bodies. The women of 2019 are exceptional, and the women from Colorado are exceptional beyond other definitions of exceptional.
I have learned from this experience. I have shed most of the minutia. I have learned that perhaps humans are better left to the cities, where the death of clearing out brush has already occurred. Because just my incursion for the weekend, cost so many small insects their lives. The monk lives in this world, while remaining cognizant of its inherent futility.
American Symmetrical Society 