My mind wandered as my arms moved rhythmically, almost meditatively. The “swish, swish” of the broom responded in unison with my arms. A quick movement caught my attention, bringing me back to the present moment. I wasn’t alone in the hallway. Crouching low to the floor, I looked for my unexpected roommate. Standing perfectly still now, hundreds of years of genetic success anchoring its feet to the floor as effectively as glue, it was difficult to discern against the grain of the wood. When I finally found it, I smiled with compassion. 

“Don’t worry, tiny spider,” I murmured. “I’m just taking you outside. You’re going to like it better there.” 

Encircling it with my left hand, my right hand slid towards it until its “flight” response overcame its “freeze” response. Seeming unable to turn it off, the spider reached my left shoulder in five short hops before I could cup my hand over it protectively. I escorted the tiny creature to the front door and turned the handle awkwardly with my left hand. Bending deeply towards the porch railing, I removed my hand. 

“There you go, little one,” I said, as it hopped onto the railing, then disappeared into the shadows. My urban garden was small, but a virtual forest in comparison to the diminutive spider’s size. I surveyed the flowering plants and shrubs with satisfaction before closing the door against the chilly evening air.

Returning to the hallway, I resumed my work. A veritable colony of dust bunnies were hiding under the side table. How did they multiply as quickly as their living counterparts? Is that how they got their name? No matter; with a quick flick of the wrist, I captured them all into the dustpan. 

Moving on to the kitchen, I switched on the light. The scent of garlic hung on the air, reminding me of the vegetarian stir fry I had enjoyed for dinner. As I resumed sweeping, my mind settled back into stillness, as if I was cleansing both mental and physical clutter. Angling the broom between the legs of the table, I added a stray onion onto my pile of “captives” in the dustpan. Unexpectedly, as soon as I moved the broom into the opposite corner, one of the captives tried to escape. 

A daddy longlegs was making a run for it! 

I dropped the broom handle and did a 180. Mirroring its velocity, I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and clapped it down. The wiry spider was trapped underneath it. Both it and I froze simultaneously. Only my quick exhalations broke the silence. My eyes roamed the room for a makeshift lid. A meal delivery promotion in the junk mail pile found a new purpose for existence. As I inched the postcard under the glass, the spider retreated until it crawled over the promo code. With a quick flip I turned the makeshift cage over. The spider raced around its clear walls, looking for an exit. Finding none, it returned to stillness while I returned to the porch. I put down the glass and lifted the card, but my captive remained motionless. 

“There you go,” I said as I tipped it out, a slight breeze welcoming it into the great outdoors. It ran off to join its compatriot in freedom. I straightened, a smug smile lifting the corners of my mouth, as I silently congratulated myself for my commitment to practice nonviolence toward all living creatures. 

Locking the door behind me, I returned to the kitchen and picked up the abandoned broom. I would have to pick up the pace—my online nonviolence course started in fifteen minutes, and I wanted to enjoy the peaceful atmosphere of a clean house, as well as a clean slate, before it started. Tapping the dustpan over the compost bin, I surveyed the kitchen with satisfaction. On to the laundry room!

The need for my ministrations was most evident here. Lint littered the floor in front of the dryer, and cobwebs grew dusty in the corners of the ceiling. The broom would have to do aerial as well as ground patrol to make this theatre of cleanliness live up to its meaning. As straw bristles swished against the ceiling, cobwebs succumbed to their fate. Moving to the next wall, I noticed the occupant of a fresh web defending it defiantly. Its knee joints flexed as if bracing for battle. My heart thudded in my chest. This was no cute little jumping spider; instead, it almost made me jump! Nor was it pale and fragile like the daddy longlegs; rather, the hairs on its oval body made the hairs on my neck stand up equally straight. Had I met my match?

As a vegetarian and pacifist, I had made peace with the creatures of the world. However, I thought we had an agreement—I would live inside, they would live outside, and we’d share the world in harmony. But thrice tonight I’d found intruders in my territory! I didn’t mind carrying the tiny jumping spider outside this evening, even in my hand; in fact, it was almost cute. The daddy longlegs was a bit harder to love, but I respected its right to life. But this giant arachnid was as large as my thumb! I was the one scared into the flight or fight response, and I was very tempted to choose “fight” with a violent whack of my broom. I wasn’t sure that my nonviolent convictions could overcome the disproportionate terror it evoked in me.

“That wouldn’t be right,” my conscience whispered. “Don’t pick on creatures smaller than you.”

“Smaller than me?” my fear retorted. “This one’s huge! I’ve saved two small spiders today—can’t we call it even?”

“You can do it,” my conscience reassured me.

“Are you sure?” my fear wavered. “Raid could do it a lot quicker!”

“I am sure, but use a large yogurt container. It will be easier if you don’t see or come any closer to that beast than necessary after you capture it!” my conscience advised.

“I’m glad you agree that my fear is founded,” my fear conceded.

I took a deep, diaphragmatic breath, using meditation to calm my heightened nerves. By the third exhale, my adrenalin began dissipating with my outbreaths. Checking that the spider was still defending its lair, I left to find my biggest container and thickest envelope yet. I wanted to make sure the beast couldn’t escape when I put its improvised prison down to open the door. Returning to the battle scene, I took a deep breath. As quickly as possible, I pinned my still-motionless opponent to the wall. 

“Got you!” I shouted. Fearfully, I slid the envelope under the opaque dome, pressing it firmly to the wall to minimize the spider’s chance of escape. Flipping the container over carefully, I quickly escorted it to the porch. I extended my arm fully to lift the envelope off the container by its corner. “Please stay out of my house!” I implored it. “That’s my sanctuary; this is yours—preferably as far away from me as possible.” 

I retreated into the house, closing the door firmly behind me. The spider would have to find its way to the garden on its own.

As I logged on to my online course on nonviolence, I smiled. Nonviolence is not just between people; it means protecting the right to life of all creatures, great and small. I was proud that I had overcome my fear to practice its principles tonight. As the facilitator started her introduction, a shadow of doubt crossed my mind, then manifested on my forehead. Does that include mosquitoes?

Carole is a peacebuilder who travels the world to collect first-hand stories to foster empathy and peace. She strives to live out her values in large and small ways, including making peace with the uninvited creatures that share her home in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Carole shares her stories, poems and songs on her blog, CryPeace.org.