On this particular afternoon a fly fell into my tea. This was of course a minor occurrence. After a year in India I considered myself to be unperturbed by insects; ants in the sugar bin, spiders in the cupboard and even scorpions in my shoes in the morning. Still, as I lifted my cup, I must have registered by my facial expression the presence of the fly.
Choegyal, the 18 year old Tulku, who was teaching me Tibetan Buddhism, leaned forward in sympathy and asked, "What's the matter?"
"Oh nothing," I said. "It's nothing, just a fly in my tea." I laughed to convey my acceptance and composure.
Choegyal said softly, "Oh, oh, a fly in the tea."
I said it was no problem, but he continued to focus great concern on my cup. Rising from his chair he leaned over and inserted his finger into my tea cup. With great care he lifted out the fly and exited the room. When Choegyal returned he was beaming. "He's going to be alright." he told me quietly. He explained how he'd placed the fly on a leaf where its wings could dry. The fly was still alive fanning its wings, so it could be expected to take flight soon.
I could not share Choegyal's compassion, but the pleasure in his face revealed how much I was missing by not extending my concern to all beings, even to flies.
Yet the very notion that it was possible gave me boundless delight.
Joanna Macy
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