The convoluted irony of ‘existence’ is that we must kill in order to survive. We try to avoid that internal contradiction by demeaning and devaluing the lives of the species we exterminate and slaughter, diminishing our need to sorrow over each and every death. Thus, we absolve ourselves.
But even the flies we swat are wondrous convergences of energy, matter, and spirit. That reverence and awe at the magnificence of nature is the epitome of what it means to be human. We are the first species capable of being conscious of our place in the universe and how interconnected we are to every living being. In that, are the evolving consciousness of the universe.
Alas, in our earthly form, we cannot resolve the inherent contradiction at the heart of our being.
This torturous dilemma was brought to mind recently when I posted a photograph of what turned out to be a wood-boring pine sawyer beetle on Facebook. It drew a mixed review, including the comment that, “If you have pine trees, kill it.”
To which I replied: “Imagine yourself a member of a god-like species, looking down on the earth, wondering what can be done to preserve this planet. Might you not see the damage being wreaked by rapacious humans and say: ‘If you have ecosystems in your quadrant…’ I’ll leave the conclusion up to you. Every creature, even a Wood-Boring Pine Sawyer Beetle, is a wonder. Killing, even out of necessity, should be an act tinged with sorrow.
Indigenous peoples have been better able to achieve this holistic, hallowing state of mind. As hunter-gatherers, they often honour the spirit of the things they kill, a balance that has been degraded in industrial, consumerist societies and their antecedents.
PS: The irony of ironies is my own inability to live up to my affirmations about ‘Valuing Life.’ I can only be aware of my woeful limitations when, annoyed, I swat a fly, a careless state of being that tempts me to invent a god who will be responsible for having a higher consciousness than my own.
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