This morning,
the moths,
the same ones I told you about,
the ones who had been visiting the last few days
landed on my desk.
And then they died.
I didn’t see it happen.
They were just there.
Still.
Like they had finished something.
It seems to have happened right
after I spoke with your great-great aunt.
We almost never talk.
But today, we did.
Almost two hours.
Stories your grandmother refuses to explore and tell.
A friend had encouraged me a few weeks ago:
pull at the threads.
So I have.
And it’s strange,
but I wondered—I really did
if the moths were 'aumākua.
Spirits.
Family, returning to check in.
My father,
maybe?
My sister?
Sometimes our ancestors
come back as animals,
birds,
moths.
They don’t say anything.
They just come.
And then they go.
After the call,
I felt a strange relief.
Like someone had been holding their breath
on my behalf,
and had finally exhaled.
I picked the moths up
gently
and I buried them beneath a small stone
in the planter box on the lanai
where I usually sit.
That spot where the wind moves through the leaves
just enough to remind you
that you're not alone.
I don’t know why I’m telling you this,
except that maybe one day
you’ll feel a presence you can’t explain,
and I want you to know:
It’s possible
it’s them or maybe it’s me.
And it’s okay to stop.
To notice.
To thank them
before they go.
hola, lb.
nice! i really enjoyed reading this after your articulation of the experience in our last meeting together.
and a curious interweaving, of sorts. i found almost perfectly intact the dried remains of a large cicada this week. first time i've done that here. and last week the 3 trees that embraced this tiny cabaña were cut down. they died last year after three years of drought.
and that has had such an odd material realisation in my life: those big beautiful pine trees that i loved, from which i harvested pine needles to make tea with early last year, now cut down, have opened my life into increased light and a huge vista. they had been keeping me in the dark and, now at almost the exact same time i am in the process of opening up my vista and seeing more completely and fully life by removing, using natural means and emotional seeing, the clear glass eye crutches that kept me away from life, kept me from really seeing life. so the trees, like my eye glasses, are gone and life is felt as bigger and more close. hmmmm.
and today i had a family constellation that took me into family. i was introduced to a grandfather i hadn't considered even after being introduced to his existence, last year, as a taboo skeleton not to be talked about. hmmmm. today was life changing. and it is likely going to extend my latest essay to near novella length. my father's unknown father to become a continuation of my 6th epistle to my long dead father. hmmmm. how not to include my recent discovery of the existence of that until recently unknown and unacknowledged biological grandfather? hmmmm.
and an inspiration from your poem! i really enjoyed it. perhaps i can upload something poetical too, while my essay continues to become some extended weird thing, a morphed interweaving of synchronicity, letter, essay, and the kitchen sink.
perhaps a 5-7-5?
still, the cicada
receives the tree frogs' throating
and the sun light's moon.
~~~~
we are living the bhagavad-gita wedded to the great apocalypse! all the best with what is changing. everything changes! with peace, respect, love and equanimous enthusiasm.
🙏❤️🧘♂️🙌☯️🙌🧘♂️❤️🙏