“In front of the center just after sunset, I watched one of the Tibetan lamas laughing as he gazed at a mosquito filling up with blood, his blood. He looked directly at me with an openhearted, innocent smile. Holding his arm up, he laughed, repeating one of the few English words he knew.
‘Generosity.’
The mosquito’s body engorged, turning blood red. After drinking its fill, it flew away, very much alive.
In my cleaning frenzy, I hadn’t noticed Lama Norlha or several of the nuns enter the room. But while I was unceremoniously sucking the dead roaches into the dirt-laden fluffy debris already in the Electrolux, a few of the nuns began crying at the sight of those tiny — and dead — sentient beings.
Lama Norlha approached, so I turned off the jet engine whir of the vacuum. He stepped directly in front of me. “Some nuns very upset.”
I put my hands behind my back and stared at the ground, attempting to demonstrate my reverence and respect. How could I be so brash? I wasn’t being at all respectful of the lives of these little creatures. I didn’t show the kind of non-violent regard the lama had shown to the mosquito. I didn’t see roach killing fields, only something in need of cleaning.
‘Oh Lama. I’m sorry.’
He beamed a big untroubled grin, ‘No problem. This good. You clean. Kalu Rinpoche bless roaches when he arrive.’
As he walked away, I took a relieved breath, imagining someone building a sanctified roach coffin. The roach corpses could then be delivered to Kalu Rinpoche for his blessing.”
