Anaphylactic Imagination

I used to judge the wasp by its stinger. Surely creatures that can kill must be evil. I would run away and hide until the horror was over. Nowadays I remain calm. Looking at one of them, sitting on my hand, I think it unfair to hate a creature for something it might never do. I marvel at my growth; all calm, all unshaken.

Yet I still run away from so many situations and people, simply because they might sting. Some might have stung in the past, but most have only ever stung in my imagination. My imagination is highly anaphylactic. Such growth and wisdom indeed.

So instead of running I try to breathe. Calm and ease make me survive the Celebrations at the Ashram. When I don't focus on the stinger but on the colors, lovely things happen. Nice talks to new and old people. A night under shooting stars in good company. Flowers in the water, cake on my plate. Songs taught, learned and sang.

And no-one dies.