August 2012

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Sunday, February 19th, 2012 05:41 pm
There was a small gnat flying about my arms as I was doing the dishes. It landed light as a feather's brush on my skin, and I held myself back from swatting it, from running water over it-- because if one is going to subscribe to a philosophy of the preciousness of life, one must hold to it even when inconvenient. Instead I blew gently on my arm, and the gnat took off again, circling the sink, then close to the plate I was washing-- too close: it got caught in the waterfall of water over the edge of the plate, and carried over to dash against the side of the sink. I turned off the water, but it was long past too late; the gnat's body was a tiny, twisted black scribble on the metal surface.

"For heaven's sake," I told it, "if you go courting your own death there's not much I can do about it."

. . . it should be noted that my philosophy on life does not extend to mold, cockroaches, or mosquitoes. Perfection is for God, after all, according to the Qur'an.

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