Pretty Close

"It was at the third dive that I realised this was no coincidence"

These were the words of my good friend as she narrated a moth's attempt at ending its own life in her bucket.

As per her narration of events, it was an agreeably warm morning and it made sense why one would seek relief in still waters.  The moth was no exception and upon sight of her bucket, filled to capacity with what would serve as an escape, the moth made its first head dive. My friend was quick to come to its aid, serving as an arguable hero to a creature that had enchanted her with its peculiar beauty. In her eyes, she was correcting an err in judgement made by this beaut; but to the moth, she was impending its attempt at seeking solace.

Still enticed by its presence, my friend watched as the moth made a second attempt at diving into the deep waters. Convinced this was an act fuelled by the haze of a near death experience, she made her second altruistic rescue. She felt accomplished. After all she was preserving that which she thought could not be lost.

It was only at the moth's third attempt at immersing itself into the bucket, that her mind reckoned that it might not be a coincidence that it keeps heading for the very same target. Perhaps, it was consciously heading for self-destruction. 

Now, this is in no way meant to water the mental tracks behind such emotions, but rather, an effort to highlight the similarities in journeys with what may seem like the moth’s minute experience. As I immersed myself into my friend’s recollection of proceedings, noting every facial expression and gasp from the depths of her soul, it felt like a trailer of our stories; observed from the perspective of a director and less of an actor. 

In my friend’s eyes, the moth had no business going near anything that would derail its progress and jeopardise its future. After all, it had already persevered through the greater part of its life cycle and could now embrace the fruit of its tenacity. Unfortunately, for a reason best known and possibly valid to the moth, the last bit of its will, felt better utilised in experiencing an adventurous demise than crawling to the finish line.

This could not be truer for human beings as we often find ourselves at the intersection of faith and fear;  feeling a demand placed on a faith we hold in trembling. We feel an overdraft in our spirits that convinces us that the last bit of currency we have, ought to be best used in arranging a dignified send off for us. It may not be a literal departure from earth, but rather a cessation to that which sets your soul on fire, which leaves your sight hazy.

Well, as in the case of the moth, we often feel our weakest when we are our nearest to the finish line. I would like to think that this is because of the accumulated pain we would have carried through each stage of the life cycle. In the end, the load gets heavier, causing us to feel like we are regressing when we are actually approaching our offloading point. 

In all of the moth’s attempts at becoming ‘the late,’ I highly doubt that it ever stopped and bothered to wonder why my friend kept making an effort to save it. If only it had known of my friend’s  crippling fear of anything that flies, outside of an aeroplane, it would have implored her perspective on it. The perspective of a director who is visionary enough to aid in the development of a script, but powerful enough in execution, to see the plot to life. 

When in the trenches, we often do not possess that outlook of ourselves either; more-so because our eyes are clouded with the pain of survival, that has placed thriving out of sight. In instances where our frame of reference is not the most reliable, it takes the trusted viewpoint of those who understand the grief yet growth filled process of metamorphosis, to speak over our lives and yank us out of ‘water cascading buckets.’ It is in receiving and giving this aid that we experience the richness of community. 

Sometimes, it is not that we need to grow a new pair of wings, but rather that we need to learn to soar to great heights with the ones that have. In an age where similar has started to look the same, or been suggested to be the same, establishing individual footing and a sense of security has become all the more complex. While both the moth and the butterfly experience transitioning from egg form to larva, they do not evolve to become the same species. As such, if the moth judges its capability to fly and exist in the world through the lenses of the butterfly, it will constantly feel inadequate and ill equipped to excel in the great big world. Similarly, wetting our wings because we feel they are of no noteworthy use, only encumbers us even more and compromises our life satisfaction and overall fulfilment. 

Oversimplifying the intricacies of hope deferred is in no way the agenda but, in honour of the moth’s story, something has to certainly be said about how looking like we have it all together is not a lie; but not a comprehensive truth as well. Figuring out the harmony in how our steps are governed by this truth is where the great task now lies.  It is in knowing that we have come a long way and do have some things figured out, that we can draw strength for the mountains we still have to climb.

We certainly do not need to derive our sustenance from the affirmation of others, but we can receive covering and encouragement from them. This is because their angle of viewing might offer a different interpretation, which can positively challenge ours and promote a more comprehensive stance. Thus, cultivating healthy interpersonal relationships and leaning into them, becomes instrumental if we’re to have encompassing experiences of ourselves.

The pain of the tribulation does not always go away, but reflecting on our journeys with awe for how far we have come, and embracing the trusted counsel of our community, can be just the befitting service for our wings, as we fall in-love with the entirety of our existence. 

I hope we can take a moment to reflect on the areas of our lives where our wings have felt wet, and draw strength from how far we have come so that we can dry them and soar to greater heights.

Her journeying soul,

Pretty Conscience