When I first came to Taiwan, I was impressed with the heat and the insects, especially the cockroaches. I had virtually never seen such a bug before. What I remarked on was that they were much like water: ubiquitous, they were everywhere.

The reaction from people was quite unique. They hated the insect with a vengeance that could only be wrought by someone who had suffered greatly under tyrannical dictatorship. They were not just stepped on. They were pounded to death into the pavement, and even then, they were pummeled once again, just to ensure that they were truly dead. The other reaction was one of abject fear: very difficult to understand. I remember a man virtually dancing in terror when an insect approached that had to be, certainly, less than two centimeters in length. He screamed as if struck by a bolt of lightning. I found it exasperating to reconcile these two reactions. I went from abject disgust to utter curiosity. And then, I had a Buddhist friend who told me that all life was in a state of re-occurrence. And then it struck me: perhaps by killing a cockroach, I was actually killing one of my ancestors: perhaps even my grandfather.
I began to embark on a course of modest sympathy towards the creature. I no longer killed them; in fact I wouldn’t even report them to my confreres at work. I would take a cup or an envelope and try to scoop them up and either flush them down the toilet, or throw them out the window. This lasted for quite a protracted period of time.
This assuaged my emotional guilt because I still stood by innocently as they were expunged, and then one day, I had the oddest occurrence. It was rather late in the evening, and I was walking along the sidewalk, close to Fengjia Market. In my stride, I suddenly found myself parallel to a large, scurrying cockroach. I proceeded for several steps and then abruptly stopped. The roach, curiously, also stopped. We stood there virtually staring at one another. I began a conversation by introducing myself. The cockroach’s antennae stood at attention, and began to oscillate. I felt as if I was Gregor in Kafka’s Metamorphosis: “Gregor had become much calmer. All right, people did not understand his words any more, although they seemed clear enough to him, clearer than previously, perhaps because (he) had gotten used to them.” (2)
I recall that we parted with my giving advice that she should scurry away before other dark forces removed her from existence. No sooner was I finished with my thought, when one of the many passersby squashed her in a moment of glee. Such was my attempt at reconciliation with nature. Now, I asked myself did I really have a moment of real connectivity with another being. Or was that just my mind running fancifully in the direction of imagination, and creativity.
An industrial and simplistic environment characterized my childhood. We lived three and a half hours away from a relatively bustling community of 35,000. It could have been on Mars, as far as I was concerned. I had no understanding of a more sophisticated life whatsoever. This was, of course, a time prior to any electronic media whatsoever: No television. No internet. No cell phone. Many educators now claim that the millennial generation possesses a dearth of imagination. This is not something our generation lacked, whatsoever.
Which brings me to Charlie: Charlie was a Bantam Rooster. (3) He lived in the world of imagination, for he did not know that he was a rooster, and he did not know that he was small. Over the course of his life, he took charge of the henhouse and killed the other larger roosters that were a part of a flock. His nemesis, however, was our Boxer, Max. (4) Charlie hated Max, with a passion and took every opportunity to assault him. It was a “barnyard feud” that could have only lethal consequences. On the last day of Charlie’s life, he woke up early, crowed passionately, and began to scratch at the earth. As he was doing this, my grandfather, a former sea captain, opened the run door to feed the chickens. Now, my grandfather, who visited us infrequently, had no idea of what a farming life entailed. In his romantic mind, chickens were cute creatures; analogous to cats. Upon feeding the chickens, he proceeded to cross the lawn. He however, had forgotten to latch the run door. Charlie seized this opportunity to investigate the outside world and seek out Max. He spied my grandfather and proceeded to stalk and then attack him, knocking the old man’s glasses off. As my Grandfather bent down to pick his lenses, Charlie spurred him! My Grandfather’s pained howls brought Max upon the scene. Thus began a battle of two gladiators to the death. And Charlie weakened by his assault on my grandfather, was soon bested. I remember that my Mother arrived upon the scene, as I did, only to watch Max elatedly throwing Charlie’s dead carcass into the air, again, again and again. And then I asked the question, was Charlie really alive? And to me: yes, he was. And I will always miss him. The great leader Chief Seattle (1786-1866) leaves us with a thought: If all the beasts were gone, man would die from loneliness of spirit: for whatever happens to the beast, happens to man.

A small joke: A man asked his neighbor if he knew of a decent dentist, as he had a terrible toothache. “You don’t need a dentist,” his colleague replied. “Last night I had the same affliction. I simply kissed my wife and the pain went away. “Great,” replied the first man. “Where is your wife?”

This week, please consider how you view animals and nature.

Every day look for something magical and beautiful.
Quote: The beauty of our natural environment is only truly felt by its absence.
Footnotes:
1)    She’s Alive! She’s Alive! – Bride of Frankenstein (9/10) Movie CLIP (1935) HD
2)    The Metamorphosis
3)    www.mypetchicken.com/catalog/Bantams-c46.aspx?all=all
4)    http://www.hillspet.com/dog-breeds/boxer.html