Somewhere, an angel is entertained…

Last night (this morning, actually) I was up almost until dawn. Finally, as I was drifting off to sleep, I was startled by that high-pitched insectoid whine now so familiar to me.

[Expletive] Mosquito.

I took a swat at it, flipped over, tried to figure out if I had actually heard it, and grabbed my handy high-output miniflash. I surveyed the immediate area. No sign. I looked again. Nothing. Then I saw it. A speck on the blind.

Keeping her lit with my torch, I rose, got my small bug net, and approached. I prepared, and swiped. Got her. Or so I thought. When I searched the net, there was no insect.

She was still in the exact same spot I had swiped with the net? Bizarre. The next swipe succeeded however. I was in no mood for killing; I folded the net to seal it, and went to bed.

Rising the next day, as I went to get a candle for zazen, I noticed the folded net, mosquito intact, on the chair above the candleboxes. I recalled the previous night’s events. I considered the matter. Then I proceeded with the necessary preparations, and a period of sitting meditation.

When I arose, I completed the sitting. Then checked a few things. Then I had to consider the mosquito. Ordinarily, this is oxymoronic. Mosquitoes are not for consideration, they are for killing. With prejudice. Or tracking. Or cursing. Or something.

In any case, this morning I was too delicate to consider killing. I talked to myself about it briefly, but I knew what was coming next. I was going to gingerly take the mosquito, my deadly enemy, outside, and release her. This one time, I would not kill.

The green cone of the net lies empty. Somewhere, outside, a high-pitched whine announces the travel of a formerly captive female ectoparasite, liberated from certain death by her prey.