Honestly, it all started when I was just sitting in my backyard late one evening, nursing a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. See, I keep this little notebook with me always – a habit, you know? It was getting dark, the air was thick with that summer night smell, and suddenly this big, dusty brown moth just slams right into my reading lamp. Bounced right off the hot glass and landed wobbling on the table near my elbow.
Now, I’m not usually bug-obsessed. Cockroaches? Smash ’em. Mosquitoes? Annoying bloodsuckers. But this clumsy brown guy… something about him hitting the light so hard and just trying again made me pause. Why? What’s the deal with moths and lights? I scribbled that down: “Moths. Lights. WHY like that?”
Digging In The Dirt (And Books)
The next day, I decided to poke around. Didn’t start with fancy websites or nothing. Just pulled out this dusty encyclopedia of nature symbols my grandma gave me ages ago. Thick thing, pages yellow like old teeth. Started flipping. Found a bit about butterflies first – happy stuff, transformation, beauty blooming. But moths? Hardly a page. Mentioned them being dark, “lesser” than butterflies, maybe unlucky. Felt a bit harsh, honestly. That clumsy guy last night just seemed determined, not evil.
So I did the obvious. Grabbed my laptop (after wiping cookie crumbs off, of course) and just searched “moth meaning in old stories.” Didn’t go deep, just skimmed. Made a quick list in my trusty notebook:
- Determination / Blind drive (Yeah, that tracks with lamp guy).
- Vulnerability / Easily burned (Again, seeing him bump the hot glass).
- Drawn to what hurts them (Made me think of bad habits we repeat…).
- Messengers? Souls? Death? (Whoa, serious stuff popped up a lot).
Felt heavy. This wasn’t just about a bug anymore. It felt kinda… personal? Stupid, maybe. But the notebook kept filling up.
Then Came The Dark Stuff
Got curious about the death idea. Seems loads of places – Europe, Asia, the Americas – have old tales linking moths to souls visiting, or warnings about dying. Creeped me out a little, ngl. Like that scene in movies where a moth flies into a room suddenly and everyone gets quiet? Probably comes from somewhere. Found poems too, folks calling them “flakes of darkness.” Kinda poetic, kinda spooky.
But then, while reading about this, a pure white moth landed on my windowsill outside. Small, perfect wings. Felt like the universe was messing with me. Suddenly I see stuff online about WHITE moths meaning good luck, ancestors watching over you, protection. Total opposite of the dark death stuff! Wrote that down too, underlined it twice: “COLOR MATTERS?!” Messed with my head. So… the kind of moth changes the meaning? This was getting complicated.
The Moon and My Face
Kept digging. Learned about navigation. Apparently, moths evolved to fly by moonlight. Straight lines relative to the moon. Artificial lights? Screw that system entirely. They spiral, crash, burn. Something clicked then, reading that at 1 AM, with only my dim screen glowing. They’re not trying to get hurt. They’re hardwired to seek light, guidance, direction. Our man-made lights scramble their brains. It’s tragic, really. Like someone lost, following a broken compass.
And that hit different. It wasn’t just obsession or stupidity like I might have thought. It was this deep, ancient programming aiming for the moon, getting utterly messed up by the wrong kind of light. Makes you think about the stuff we chase that actually hurts us, right? The job that eats your soul? The bad relationship? Chasing the wrong light.
Pulled out my phone, snapped a terrible picture of my notebook pages full of scribbles and thoughts – half the words crossed out, coffee stains included. Filed it under my “Dumb Obsessions” folder. Felt like a journey, even if a weird one.
So yeah. Moths. Not just drab bugs. Kinda like us – drawn to things, sometimes fatally. Misunderstood. Programmed for something bigger (the moon!) but easily fooled by cheap imitations (my damn porch light). Carrying meanings from death warnings to whispers from grandma. Heavy little dudes. Makes you look different at the next one that bumps your window. Makes you wonder about your own damn light sources, too. What ‘moon’ are you chasing? What cheap bulb have you gotten stuck circling? Hits close to home. Guess my notebook caught one messy thought process. What a trip.
