I stepped on a cockroach in my kitchen this morning. I felt bad about it.
I wondered if the Dalai Lama would step on a cockroach. I suppose if anyone was watching he’d take it outside and give it a cracker.
Do proper Buddhists make an exception for vermin? Or did my karma take a small hit? We had friends over for brunch yesterday. They have a couple daughters about Gamma’s age. The girls started screaming because a spider was on the table. I carried it outside, so maybe that made up for the cockroach. But I chased the girls around the house with it first, so maybe not.
Then I noticed the cockroach wasn’t dead, only crippled. It was mashed up, but its feelers were still twitching. So I hadn’t killed it after all.
I felt better. It still had a chance to learn something from this incarnation and maybe reincarnate a step or two up the ladder, as a talk-radio host or something.
I began to tell Alpha about it when she came down to breakfast, but she wasn’t awake enough for a philosophical discussion, plus she’d want to know why I had left a crippled cockroach on the kitchen floor, so I got a Kleenex and carried it outside to the trash instead, where it probably died of cognitive dissonance.