I must have had a past life living with moths constantly – maybe I was a lepidopterist, or something of the sort – for whenever I see one, my fight or flight response kicks in, the end product usually presenting the fight in me to be more pungent, as I both breathe a sigh of relief and realise that I am unsuccessful with pañca-sīlāni even at the first degree. I guess fear overtakes rationale, jumping on the latter’s back, only to hop off at the end of the race, declaring himself the winner – just like Jean de La Fontaine’s version of events with regard to ‘The Tortoise and the Hare.’
Until guilt sets in, and I become full of self hatred and fear: surely all creatures deserve a chance of this life? And here I am, just snubbing them out. And why do I use the word ‘just’? For nothing about my behaviour produces emotion which can be celebrated by my own – or society’s, I am sure – ethical system.
I read somewhere that a theory for why they are attracted to the light (thus hover around it, as if undertaking a ritual dance; maybe it is there God) is because they travel in accordance with the Moon, therefore, when they are close to a light source, they cannot quite believe that they have made it so far: they dreamed constantly about that omnipotent object which never seemed to get any closer regardless of how often they flapped their wings and – finally – they were ‘there!’
I guess the consequence of this blog is that I have realised Myself. I have found Me.
And what I have found is not pretty; I guess one could call It a hypocritical mass of selfishness.