The Stink-bug Effect

The teapot whistled and called me to attention. I poured a portion of hot water into the cup holding a little nutritional powder, and the rest into my travel tea-mug. When I added a splash of milk to the tea I noticed a dark spot floating on the surface. Upon closer inspection I could see it was a stink-bug, not swimming. Had it been it hiding in the tea cup? No, that was up-side-down in the drying rack. Was it in the cup used for the powder? No, that was in a closed cabinet. It had to have been in the tea-pot, which I leave with the spout open so that the inside can dry. I could only conclude that it was a boiled stink-bug. 

I looked at the cup for a long moment, weighing in my mind the pros and cons of proceeding with drinking the tea containing the “boiled for safety” stink-bug. I didn’t know enough about the potential effects of boiled stink-bug—was it poisonous, benign, purified, enhanced? so I tossed everything, and started over—even though the traffic on the bridge over the Hudson River would be worse to face.

This event has changed my life, but does it rises to the level of a classic life-changing experience? I wonder.

You may have heard of the Butterfly Effect. In chaos theory, it’s sometimes called the ripple effect, and refers to the way in which events in one’s life, or perhaps even covering the entire earth, can change due to one small alteration in the flow of events in the matrix of time. In Ray Bradbury’s short story, “The Sound of Thunder”*, we see a dramatic example of how one small event, stepping on a butterfly, has thunderous consequences centuries later.

The Stink-bug Effect is likely a little less familiar, falling under the umbrella of the Butterfly Effect, and coming into creation in my own kitchen, in the following manner. 

Now, every morning, I face the same dilemma—how do I prevent a reoccurrence of spoiled tea? Rather than close the teapot overnight, I’ve chosen to devote a few seconds to checking its contents, for a rascally little stink-bug that might be hiding there, before I pour in the water. Is this now a wasted few seconds of each day of my life going forth? Perhaps not.

If I were to proceed to do this morning ritual with attitude, I would slap myself with a bit of negativity each morning. No thanks. If I were to do it mindlessly, on auto-pilot, I would simply be adding more action while absent to my life. Yes, wasted time. But there’s another alternative. I can take this moment that I now schedule into my life every day, and use is to generate energy rather than deplete it. I can use the moment to be alert, to keenly notice a detail of my environment, and to do it with a calm sense of appreciation for the breath in me at that moment, feeding this body and this being. In fact, I have taken on this morning effort at wakefulness, as an aim.

This perpetual change, on a personal scale, appears small in the greater scheme of things—except for the fact that one small candle can light up a room, one small torch can radiate out in all directions, and each small effort at bringing light into the world is not wasted. It all adds up.

I notice now that some of the cloudiness has abated and more clarity prevails, regarding my original question—does this event represent a life-changing event, or simply a small, ongoing step in the flow of change in my life. Yet, another question arises, “Is there a difference?”

I begin to see that the more important question is, “Does this daily effort support my aim, steer me away from my aim, or hang neutral?” It’s here, that the stink-bug looms larger than its Lilliputian size. If my aim is to bring light, to lighten the load for the souls around me, then I accept each portion of support in line with this aim. And any moment filled with presence, is support. 

I hope that the illustration is clear, of how such a small creature can have such a continuous, consequential effect, not only on the daily life of a human, but on this human’s growth and transformation. For this, I thank you, little one, and all your kind—daily, as I bow my head, and peer into the teapot.

And thanks to the stink-bug, I have established one moment, near the start of each day, that I can rely on to be awake, to be present in my life, that might then snowball into more presence, as a reminder. That is not a small thing. 

*A Sound of Thunder, first published in Collier’s magazine in 1952, Ray Bradbury

-science fiction—of time-machines and tyrannosaurs