Monday Mar 06, 2006
I recall the time I spent with the holy man from India.
We were sitting together having a talk on a porch one summer evening. A mosquito kept buzzing around between us. The insect could not be waved off as it came back again and again.
Finally, the holy man reached out and slapped it dead into the ground. I looked at him and he looked at me.
He said “Next incarnation,” and smiled.
Survival of the fittest