Call Me Gregor Samsa

This morning, as I arose, deeply refreshed from dream-space, near the kitchen sink, at the bottom of a white pail, I behold the alien form of a large water-bug. Water-bugs fly and they can bite.

I grab a paper towel, and shape it in my hand to capture the creature, eager to get him out of my territory, and desiring to keep him alive. As they say in therapy do no harm.

As I move slowly towards the water-bug, I notice the twitching of his atenae stops. He is alert to my presence and starts to run from me. I am an intrusion. Aware that my action-plan is not working, I realize I must not confuse therapy with self-knowledge.

My quick alternative move. I take the pail, put a little water in it and swish him around, open a window, and toss him out. He falls into the damp soil beneath the tall Empress Tree, a noble tree, that reigns supreme, in my courtyard. I trust that Water-bug, will find a new home, down there, in the dark, damp earth, near the sickly sweet garbage cans, or get stepped on, or attacked by a cat or bird. At any rate, temporarily, I am guilt free. As an emerging eco-ethicist, the creature has become kin…sort of. My fragile identity overlaps with his, much like the grim Kafka tale.

Am I a water-bug, dreaming that he is a man?

Or have I received a vision from God in the form of a Water-bug?

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