The knowledge in pain

There's nothing like that cup of coffee in the morning. Unless one jerks backward and slops the stuff because of an insect sting. Welcome to Friday!

The hubs was on the computer, showing me hurricane footage from the east coast of our state, and we were talking about longtime friends who live there, and colleagues ditto. I had just fetched myself a cup of coffee and was about to take a sip when, instead, I hollered and flailed, the usual response to being stung (at least, I think it is).

M. instinctively shushed me, since our son, who worked second shift last night, was still asleep (to be fair, it was also about 4:30 in the morning, our usual rising time). At which point I informed him (a little tartly) that I was being stung.

For the last month or so, we have been unhappy hosts to cicada killers - that's actually their name. They are large digger wasps, part of a group (I found a chart, which I would rather not have seen, showing nine or so flying, stripey, stinging things) that shows up as part of the great circle of life. We've had cicadas this summer, and therefore we have had cicada killers.

It turns out that they rarely sting unless, say, stepped on with bare feet - or caught in clothing. My go-to pajamas are a set I found at Goodwill, a long soft nightshirt and palazzo pants. I usually sleep in just the shirt, and so this morning took the pants off the chair in the bedroom and put them on before going in search of coffee. Next thing I knew, there was one of those things on my pants leg and I was, as described, hollering and flailing.

The hubs played baseball in high school and has gotten very good with the broom, as they are attracted to light, which means they hover around light fixtures once they get in. Probably they get in as we open the back door to let the dogs out and in each morning. Mostly they're relatively easy to kill, and M dispatched both the wasp that stung me and another one on my shirt. He also wiped up the spilled coffee while I went in search of the topical anesthetic. 

Most of the time, I feel vaguely guilty when I kill a bug or insect that is in the house. Sugar ants, begone; stink bugs, spiders, and crickets, allow me to escort you back to the great outdoors. But even before this morning's close encounter, I have been enthusiastic about finding and dispatching the cicada killers, even as their name indicates that they're part of the ecosystem.

How seriously do I take the injunction against killing? I don't go as far as some practicing Buddhists, who trade advice on how to keep sugar ants away without killing them, or some practicing Jainists, who will wear facial masks to avoid accidentally inhaling tiny animals like midges. Do I have any right to feel invaded (it's our home) when they were pretty clearly here first?

Despite the topical anesthetic, the sting still makes itself known. And that reminds me that, like it or not, we all really are in relationship with every living thing. So maybe there's learning in the pain. And that always brings me closer to God.