"Aref is a man who hates flies. Whenever flies buzz over his head in his room, he tends to get his flyswatter, that looks as if it has seen better days, and hunt down the flies till he kills them all.
But one morning as he rose from bed, a rather young and smallish fly buzzes his head, and he follows its erratic flight that seemed to center on his mug of coffee from the night before. The mug was still half full of cold coffee. And drowning on it was another fly.
His first instinct was to watch it drown with glee.
But the first young fly that buzzed him awake again circled overhead, as if calling his attention.
And he thought: "This must be the drowning fly's mate, and she is asking me to help her husband." As he reflected this, he thought of so many things, but primarily the force and power of love that defies survival instinct, offers sacrifice without thought. And, Without knowing why, he got a wooden clothes peg and got the poor fly out of the mug, and he watched it wearily dry itself. He totally forgot his own cruel nature, and let the young fly buzz in and buzz out of his head, so pleased with himself for this good deed.
Another thought entered his head. What if the fly he rescued was in fact the young one's mother? Ah, what child would not do to help and save his parent? So many other possibilities played in his head, that he just had to lie back down in bed to ponder them over. And then, the young fly's buzzing got so violently frantic, as if calling his attention once again.
So, he sat up following once more it's flight.
Until he rests his eyes on his pillow. On it, jerking in its last throes, was the fly he rescued, the pillow wet with coffee. It must have crawled away there and he had accidentally crushed it to death,
with his head that was so far away in philosophy."
But one morning as he rose from bed, a rather young and smallish fly buzzes his head, and he follows its erratic flight that seemed to center on his mug of coffee from the night before. The mug was still half full of cold coffee. And drowning on it was another fly.
His first instinct was to watch it drown with glee.
But the first young fly that buzzed him awake again circled overhead, as if calling his attention.
And he thought: "This must be the drowning fly's mate, and she is asking me to help her husband." As he reflected this, he thought of so many things, but primarily the force and power of love that defies survival instinct, offers sacrifice without thought. And, Without knowing why, he got a wooden clothes peg and got the poor fly out of the mug, and he watched it wearily dry itself. He totally forgot his own cruel nature, and let the young fly buzz in and buzz out of his head, so pleased with himself for this good deed.
Another thought entered his head. What if the fly he rescued was in fact the young one's mother? Ah, what child would not do to help and save his parent? So many other possibilities played in his head, that he just had to lie back down in bed to ponder them over. And then, the young fly's buzzing got so violently frantic, as if calling his attention once again.
So, he sat up following once more it's flight.
Until he rests his eyes on his pillow. On it, jerking in its last throes, was the fly he rescued, the pillow wet with coffee. It must have crawled away there and he had accidentally crushed it to death,
with his head that was so far away in philosophy."
