The Eensy Weensy Conscience

A friend just asked on her Facebook page, ‎”Are we willing to love and care for EVERY child, of EVERY species, in all time?” and I clicked Like, because it seemed like something Thich Nhat Hanh would say. I confess, I don’t go to church very often, but I don’t think there can be a more truly Christian ( or Buddhist or Islamic, or *fill in a religion here*) way to live one’s life than to not only feel but practice love and caring for everybody and everything, regardless.

And let’s add “forgive” to that, as well, because we are human with human foibles. I work every day on forgiving my stepfather, my mother, myself, and while I am never quite successful, I do try to be mindful. And I’m mindful enough to consciously try not to judge myself too harshly when I fail, and simply continue trying to forgive, trying to be mindful.

Recently, I’ve begun taking yoga classes. One of the things I’m learning is that you can’t push yourself, because that is a form of judging oneself. Americans are so Puritanical, still. Our work ethic is a source of momentum, sure, but also a source of very unhealthy stress. Of course, with my work load, I don’t know if I’m guilty of that, to be honest. Sometimes I wonder– am I lazy, or am I just being judgmental and unforgiving toward myself? I’ll never know the answer to this one. My motivations and weaknesses are too complex for me to answer it myself, and really, who else would be interested enough to do so?

And then right after I clicked “Like” I realized that I had mere moments before posted about how my kitten and my dog had hunted down the hugest bug EVER, and how my daughter and I had screamed and screamed like little girls (at least she is one!), and how my husband had to dispose of the carcass (that he could still hear rustling around in the garbage bag as he took out the trash) and I realized I was not following the sentiment of  the very thing I’d clicked.

Every child? Yes. Every species? Not so much. I’m just not ready to love and care for a humongous cockroach. I want to. I’d like to be brave enough to scoop it into a cup and let it loose outside, like I do lots of other bugs. I am the sort of person to step over an ant line or toss a snail on the cement into a bush or on the grass. But those big, huge, shiny black-brown Kafka-esque cockroaches?

Nope.

My little pest wore this. She was the Eensy Weensy Spider.
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