Bugs Of The Night, Together Burn Bright

Why is it that bugs fly to a flame?

I thought it was the light. We are fickle things, bumbling in the darkness most of our lives, so when a beacon lights, we float toward it without thinking. We don’t know the source of the light beaming brightly in the night, nor the consequence of following it, but the journey draws us.

It is a direction we would otherwise not have. I have seen many comrades latch on to the glowing entity and travel toward it with complete disregard for any consequences, unconcerned for their lives. I can’t blame them, though. Nothing can be worse than a continuation of their dark, purposeless existence. I would know.

Fly into the flames, my friends, let your wings burn and shrivel to a crisp at which point you will drop, plummeting toward your deaths. I wish you well in your end, and I wish that the shining light brings you hope and that the journey there will be the greatest adventure and provide you with a steadfast feeling of purpose.

I will watch from afar and tell your tales. Burn bright, dead souls.

I, too, was hypnotised by the flame’s light once. Of course, I live to tell the tale of my journey. The light brought direction like it has for many others. There was something so instinctual for me to fly toward it, to discover its secrets and reveal the reason for living; answers to satisfy the questions of a philosophical little bug. I was positive this light would bring clarity to the obscure path my life was supposed to take. I tracked the light source with dedication.

As I neared, I felt warmth, and it forced me to reconsider the reasoning I followed my whole life prior for why bugs fly toward the flame. The glow lighting the dark gives us direction, but it is the warmth that I realised we yearn for. That small piece of me, that instinctual bug inside that follows the rules of nature, knew the light would bring warmth. I was so preoccupied worrying about the darkness which consumed me that I didn’t consider what the light would provide.

Short-term gains ruled my life: shallow comforts and small wins. I was content with flying blindly through the chilly darkness of night, resting only to relish the bittersweetness of the rotted fruits that dropped from the pear tree, to float on the muddied puddles below for some respite. It wasn’t enough. When the fire lit by the farmer’s house, I couldn’t resist the temptation to find greater things for my aimless brief existence.

The heat radiating from the flame was unlike anything I had felt before. It burned my eyes, which were wide and entranced by the dancing light and pulsing heat. It ignited something long forgotten inside me, warming every nook within my shell. The hairs on my legs stood on end, and I felt alive. What I thought was life prior was only the prelude to something grander.

I only live to tell my experiences because of another bug who flew with such speed and dedication toward the light that his poor little body had no time to register the temperature. Before my drying eyes, the beetle’s gooey insides melted in its carapace and its wings burned into nothing. It dropped almost instantly and again my instincts took hold, steering me away from danger.

As I retreated, thankful to have my life, I passed many more of my brethren floating toward their deaths. There was nothing I could do to dissuade them, to warn them of the heat. The light gave them direction, and they yearned for the hotness to spring them to some feeling of life. The warnings of a crazy bug like me fell onto deaf receivers. They were on their way to what they were looking for.

Moments passed before I realised the heat of the fire was not why bugs are drawn to a flame. Neither the light nor the heat are what my many brethren are looking for to satisfy their craving. I passed a swarm of them on the way back to my pear tree buried in the black of night, countless souls travelling to commune by the fire. That was it; they wanted community. The heat would not warm their cold little hearts; only the company of each other could fulfil them. In the darkness they wandered solitary and purposeless, but the light brought them together to revel in each other’s company and find unity and belonging before they would die, burned up in their satisfying end.

I wonder sometimes if I made a mistake by turning around and returning to my pear tree. I feel so unfulfilled, empty of purpose and delight, living for the sake of living but finding no joy. Is that what my brothers and sisters felt in their last moments thriving in each other’s presence by the fire; joy? Did they ever consider the meaning of life as I have considered it?

My instinct and my philosophical self battle with each other at every minute, throwing me into a constant turmoil. This world is endless for a mere bug like me. Without the fire to draw us close, my fellows bugs and I will rarely meet. I have nobody to express this with.

Oh, how I crave the communion with my kind by the fire! But to commune is only to be burned. Perhaps the satisfaction of a life’s purpose fulfilled is worth the hot, searing death. Or, hopefully, being the smart little thinker that I am, I can find another form of happiness that won’t send me plummeting into the ground, with wings melted, straight afterward.

While the struggle between my instincts and philosophical concerns continues, perhaps I should look elsewhere for the meaning of my life. I am an animal, after all. Living for the sake of living should be enough, were it not for my busy brain. The sticky flesh of the pears I eat from, the waxy smooth leaves which shelter me, the cool puddles which slake my thirst: this is my entire world, my domain.

The humble pear tree has purpose in its existence. It grows to produce fruit and produces fruit to drop seeds and feed life that will spread seeds elsewhere. It stands tall and proud, sturdy it its intent. I am a mere insect which feeds upon the fruit, and it is here where I realise my purpose. Through my agency, I help break down the rotting fruits beneath the tree, which will fertilise the soil and help it produce more fruits like gold from its branches. While my fellow bugs burn in each other’s company, I will find purpose with my pear tree and the cycle of life.

For now, it is enough.

______________________

Thank you for reading, your attention is much appreciated. If you enjoyed this piece, leave a heart!

You might also like to read this: