Endangered fireflies, the summer solstice, and the energetic bridge between opposites.
TRANSCRIPT
Where I live in Pennsylvania, one of the special things about June is that it’s the time you first begin to see fireflies (or lighting bugs, as we call them here) in the fields, yards, and meadows. The flickering light display these small beetles offer each day at dusk is a visual indication that summer has truly arrived, and to see a dale full of these luminary creatures is truly a thing of magic.
I have a plentiful store of childhood memories involving lightning bugs: poking holes in the jelly jar I planned to catch them in (so they could breathe); filling the jar with grass; feeling elated after catching the first bug of the season; feeling anger and grief when that one less enchanted neighbor-kid smashed a bug on the sidewalk to see the resulting chemical reaction for a sustained moment before its light is extinguished forever. Now as a father, I can also recall the look of wonder in my son’s eyes when we caught lightning bugs together for the first time; it’s one of my favorite things, seeing that expression of awe and delight come across his young face.
The nocturnal twinkle of fireflies, of course, comes around the same time as the summer solstice, the day upon which we have the greatest duration of daytime sunlight in the northern hemisphere and the ‘official’ marker of the beginning of summer. The word solstice literally means the moment when the sun stands still, and that exact moment - when (of course) the sun reaches its highest point in the sky before it begins to drop day-by-day towards the southern hemisphere once again - occurred yesterday morning.
Celebrations of the solstice, both ancient and modern, connect it to agriculture and hopes for a bountiful harvest at the end of the summer season. Agriculture has been a way of human life for nearly 12,000 years, and many anthropologists consider the development of agriculture to be a marker for the beginning of civilization, since of course, the assurance of a reliable food supply permitted our ancestors to turn their attention to art, government, and invention. And while there is much to celebrate regarding the marvels of human creation to which civilization has given rise, there is also a shadow to our technological achievements.
Just a week or two ago, I heard a report on the radio that one of the lightning bug species that lives in Pennsylvania (where the beetle happens to have been named the state insect) is on the verge of extinction. The primary causes cited for its decline are pesticide use, outdoor lighting that interferes with their mating signals, and the clearing of natural habitat for the construction of new buildings.
There is irony in the fact that we put poisons and pollutants into the Earth, our home, for the sake of our own immediate comfort. It seems to me that, in our endeavor to tame what is wild - in other words, our attempts to get rid of bothersome bugs, to grow more picturesque lawns, and to light up our streets and houses so as not to ever face the complete darkness of night - we push ourselves away from our deeper source of life, as well as the sources of youthful wonder which are also the things that would continue to inspire a greater abundance of life even as we progress into adulthood.
We all desire comfort, and I’m no exception. I remember, when I was a teenager and young adult, I used to fantasize about the entire world being clean… everything put away in its place, every floor swept, no trash or dirt on our city streets… and I would muse about what type of effort it would take to accomplish such a level or organization and order. Of course, at this point in life, I understand the fantasy as symbolic of a desire for greater inner order, but at the time, I read it quite literally. I once told my wife about these musings, and she gave me a kind, yet coy smile and said, “Sounds kind of like heaven…”
Indeed, we might understand our cultural images of heaven to be collective fantasies about the order and the comfort we desire: cities with streets paved in gold, perfectly manicured gardens, pristine mansions with an infinite number of rooms. But order and comfort are not the same thing, and it is folly to look to the greater cosmos for a sense of divine order, only to forget about the exquisite order found in the Wilderness - the perfect combination of matter that gave rise to life; the pristine geometry found in seashells; the symbiotic relationships between species; even the tacit understanding in the dance between predator and prey.
When faced with a dichotomy such as that which exists between Heaven and Earth - and not see it for the paradox it truly is - it can be tempting to think that truth lies on one side of the dichotomy, and deceit on the other. And it’s easy to see the ways in which our societal structures favor the comforts of Heaven over he energy of the Wilderness - the economy, that until recently was housed in towers that scrape the sky; the urban sprawl that requires the continuous clearing of wild land; the industry and Mercurial travel that pollute the waters and the atmosphere.
And so perhaps, even earlier than the development of agriculture, but the moment our species began to walk on two legs - perhaps that was when we began the glacier-slow process of denying our connection to the Earth, eventually entertaining dreams of flying and leaving the Earth altogether. In losing our connection to the wildness of Nature, we also seem to lose our connection to the wilderness of our own souls. If heaven is the direction to which our souls are inclined, it is our connection to the primordial wilderness of the soul that serves as the grounding, driving force to move us in that direction. Ironically, when we, in our pursuit of Heaven, uproot ourselves from our Ground of Being, it is apparent that we have forgotten about our true inherent divine nature… the inner light which is also celebrated at the solstice (and seen in the body of the firefly), and that which gives us the wisdom needed to live in the present moment and in harmony with the Earth, assuming the responsibilities of being co-creators along with the Earth. And when we lose that, we are inclined, instead, either to wait for the passing of this world and this life in hopes for something better; or we impose our own images of heaven onto the Earth with the delusion that we are its masters, and we use the Earth for the pursuit of profit, prestige, and possessions, thinking that physical comfort will prove to be our spiritual deliverance… and turning a blind eye to the toll our physical comfort has on the Earth.
Of course, when we are young children, though, we are not so far removed from the Earth and not so far removed from having gotten around on all fours, and our sense of wonder is evoked both by the miracles of Nature and by the amazing feats of which our own bodies are capable. Being present in the moment is all we know. As we grow, our sense of wonder seems to turn more towards the things of our own invention: our art, our buildings, vehicles, gadgets, and (as of late) our invention of virtual worlds and artificial intelligence; indeed, not unlike the gods of many old traditions, it appears as though we have become Makers of a new species, created in our own likeness, and one that could very well forget about its own creator somewhere down the line.
But even as we look with ambition to the stars, and even as each generation seems to grow taller than the previous (as if we are, little-by-little, getting closer to the divine realm), it is still back to the earth our bodies go when this current life has ended, and still our dreams and our stories suggest that hope and new life resides within the human child - lowly and earth-bound, and unconscious of her own creative power; yet steeped in divine potential that is fully embodied and present… a true image of the union between Heaven and Earth.
That reminds me again of the solstice, and the archetypal significance that ancient and modern astrologers have regarding this moment each year. The Sun indicates the animating Spirit of Life that provides the inspiration for the personal and collective work we do; just as the sun provides energy to the crops we plant each year, the archetypal Sun in our personal psyche shines light on the seeds planted deep within us at the time of our birth… what some refer to as our life’s purpose or our soul’s calling. But that energy and inspiration still needs a way to be made manifest in the world, and in astrology, that is the work of the Moon. The astrological home of the Moon is the zodiac sign of Cancer, and the solstice also marks the moment when the Sun crosses into this region of the sky said to be the Moon’s domicile. The Moon is an agent of manifestation and embodiment, and the sign of Cancer symbolizes nurturance and protection… it’s all Mother energy. And so we see the connection to growing our crops in the earth the way a mother grows a child in her body before bringing it into the world, and the symbolism of the Earth as our Mother providing food and nurturance for our own growth and development.
The relationship between the Sun and Moon in astrology is also true in our earthly lives; any divine inspiration or power we have to create and invent is still vested in our physical bodies. So, while our dreams and daydreams may carry us off to other worlds, we still wake to the aches and pains and miracles associated with our biological existence on Earth… because it is through our relationship with the Earth that those dreams are to be lived out. And the existence of lightning bugs also seems to say something about the dynamics between ascent and descent. These winged creatures spend as much as two years on or under the ground as larvae; and as you might imagine, at the end of the adult stage of their life cycle (which is only about two months), it is in the earth that they lay their eggs.
It is, of course, a classic paradox, and as Carl Jung said, our way forward - our transformation and transcendence - is found in holding the tension between the opposites. Just like most dichotomies in society today, we are seeing the paradox between earthy rootedness and divine aspiration polarizing to extremes: on one hand wealthy private citizens are taking recreational travels into space and talk of the metaverse continues to grows, while on the other hand we are seeing increasing interest in plant medicine and ancient forms of healing, as well as grassroots movements to re-Wild our human existence.
Nature has a way of reconciling such intense polarization, and it happens to share its name with the glowing insects that have been the basis of our discussion. Lightning, of course, is the electric, energetic bridge between extreme polar opposites, and it is yet another image of the connection between Heaven and Earth. Lightning is violent yet potent, and it resolves matters very quickly. When the particles of the world pull away from one another, as if to mutually say, “This is the right way, that is the wrong way”, lightning provides a third option. Of course, we see this in our stories as well. In fairytales, things often come in threes, and it isn’t until the third try that things begin to go the way we are hoping.
As I see it, being human means occupying the tension of the third space, and that means we should neither poison our roots nor turn our eyes away from the stars. The ancient symbolism of lightning includes the concept of expansion, and when we inhabit the third space, our consciousness expands in such a way that we might see (with lightning clarity) that there is no real juxtaposition between where we have been and where we are going - or between Heaven and Earth - but the full continuum of our existence can be felt in the here-and-now… and that kind of experience - a moment of grace, we might say - is akin to the kind of youthful wonder I can picture in my son’s face when he caught his first firefly… and it is also perhaps the kind of experience we are longing for when we ponder our fantasies of heaven.
Having grown up in a neighborhood on the edge of a small town, I had lots of green space to play in as a kid, and so I took it for granted that everyone must have an abundance of lightning bugs in their backyards during the summer months. After hearing the radio report about the decline in lightning bug numbers, it occured to me that, in the neighborhood where we live now - where as a matter of fact, many homeowners treat their lawns with chemical fertilizers and pesticides - we don’t have any lightning bugs; it’s when we visit his grandparents that my son has the chance to catch them.
And just as I see now that I cannot take lightning bugs for granted, it seems the same is true for so much more during these volatile, disrupted and disrupting times. War and extreme weather have disrupted the way we grow and transport our crops, so even the very invention of agriculture which made civilization possible cannot be taken for granted right now. While all the disruption is cause for concern, it can also be seen as a call to reimagine our relationship with ourselves, one another, and our environment.
And so, I choose to read the threat of extinction of firefly species as a call: first (and most pragmatically), to reconsider our use of pesticides; second, to tolerate the tension between opposing poles anywhere they show up in our lives, and to look for ways to energetically bridge either end of a paradox; and lastly (and most important), to open ourselves up to moments of youthful wonder regarding both what is possible in the world, and the creative power we hold within us, as well as to use that creative power, not in the pursuit of material gain or comfort at the expense of the Earth and our very own souls, but rather to participate in the ongoing creation of the world - a partnership between the soul of the Earth the unique light shining within each of us.
In today's improvisation, I sought to capture the overall sense of inner light and wonder I feel are evoked in the image of a child catching fireflies. An excerpt follows.
Thank you for listening to and supporting this podcast. I always appreciate when listeners share the show with a friend, and if you have a moment, I would love for you to write a review wherever you listen. If you’d like to further support the show, you can become a member of the MeadowSong Podcast Listeners Club, and for $2/month, have access to additional musical content (including the full recording of the following excerpt), as well as give input into some of my larger upcoming projects. Learn more at patreon.com/meadowsongpodcast.
If you are already a member, you can find the full recording of this improvisation by going to Patreon and looking for the post titled “Fireflies”. We will have a listener submission after this excerpt.
Today’s listener submission is an intention inspired by the Winter Seeds projects that was featured in Episode 1 of the show. Here it is:
I am striving to manifest a sense of personal creative energy and to promote and emote personal power - expressed as productivity, health, and well-being - and peace in the world.
The listener adds that she is seeking to evoke the strength, determination, and perseverance needed to live into this intention. I will keep these qualities in mind when I sit down to the piano.
To the listener who submitted this, I hope this improvisation might be a source of inspiration and encouragement for your intention. To everyone listening, thank you for spending your time with me today. I’ll leave you now with the music. Until next time, I wish you all things best and beautiful.