The Vegan Kills A Wasp
I’m sad to report that I just intentionally took the life of another living creature. A large (5 cm) wasp managed to get into my living room through a tiny crack in my window, and this presented a terrible, frightening dilemma.
As many of you know, I have a phobia of bees and wasps. A lot of people say that they have a phobia of something as some sort of hyperbole, but I assure you that mine is not such a case. When confronted with a wasp, I will historically either freeze up in terror or run away screaming. In recent months (since the start of spring really), I have had some measure of success living with my phobia by reading as much as I can about wasps and how to avoid being stung by them and then practicing my Zen breathing meditation whenever I see one. I’ve managed to avoid numerous screaming fits and panic attacks in this fashion, and I felt a measure of success in dealing with my phobia.
As soon as I heard the buzzing sound in the window, I was out of my chair. I was tense, rigid, and focussed on the wasp in my window. My breath and heart rate were out of control. Instinct told me to run away and run away fast.
I persevered and managed to actually make myself mindful of the moment again. I was calm enough to think rationally. I didn’t appear to be in any immediate danger since the wasp obviously just wanted to get out but couldn’t understand the window. I thought the matter over deeply. How could I get this creature out of my house without getting stung and without panicking myself beyond my ability to calm? If I attempted to open the window, I would get stung as soon as I messed with the mini blind since it was over by the controls. If I just waited it out, the wasp would eventually either leave that area and panic me until Allyson would eventually have to kill it or it would just stay in that window until it died. It was never going to go back out the crack in the state it was in. No matter what the scenario, the wasp was going to die.
I knew that the wasp spray was under the kitchen sink. I knew how to use it from watching Allyson. I knew what I had to do. For a minute—a literal minute—I stood there fighting against fate. I didn’t want to do this, and I tried to force the decision away from me. Leaving the wasp to die in my house of starvation seemed even more cruel. There were no pretty solutions. Life was death, and whether through action or inaction, I was its agent of the moment. I was God’s hand in the world, and I begged silently for this cup to pass from me.
When I pulled the trigger, I felt like some Zen archer. The target was never the wasp; the target was myself. I hit the creature immediately, and it fell to the sill. The chemicals coated my window and my blinds in that instant, telling me that I held the trigger for longer than perhaps I should. I watched as the wasp landed beside the crack in the window that she never would have found on her own, and I watched as she crawled halfway through it. Unable to watch her struggles anymore, I pushed the window to close the crack. I heard the crunch, and I knew that I had defeated my winged childhood demon. And the sinking feeling in my heart told me quietly that I was still a good person, that sometimes even God has to let old men and dogs die.