The Nature of Consciousness: Fireflies to Dragonflies

Fireflies

You know that moment when you squeeze, your closed eyes tight and you see the yellow fireflies? The bright flashing lights in the darkness, of your eye lids. They are fleeting, yet numerous.  My mind, much like the sparkles of this phenomenon, is a Mason Jar, filled with fireflies, a thousand fragile, luminescent flickers. Each bouncing off the sides in a desperate attempt to escape.

The translucent glass both a hindrance and a realization, that everything I conjure up, will not come to fruition. Most of them get trapped and flutter-less, fall to the bottom. Just like at the beginning of a summer evening, these fireflies, these specks of stardust, seem welcoming and exciting, but by morning, they are dust. Untwisting the lid, allows them to drift back into the curling, humid air. Each speck, no longer speaking the language of light. Once trapped and effervescent, now dim and forgotten.

Night-time is the time when my thoughts become electric, energetic and convincing. They are salesman, each evoking a sense of “I must have that.” Reminding me that this is a one time offer. For a limited time only. Buy one, get one free. But they are fleeting. I am so tired, I can’t scrounge enough effort to write them down.” I will remember them in the morning”, I tell myself. To no avail. I can recall sporadic flashes of genius- but they are so cryptic, that I can’t decipher them. Jumbled and blurry, as I awake, they coat my tongue with a filmy slime, forcing me to brush my teeth. But, in that fresh, minty moment, I hear them, trying to break free. The fireflies- ting, ting, clink, against the thick, impenetrable glass of dreamland.

Dragonflies

“The dragonfly, in almost every part of the world symbolizes change and change in the perspective of self-realization; and the kind of change that has its source in mental and emotional maturity and the understanding of the deeper meaning of life.” -Dragonflywebsite.com

If I concentrate deep enough and long enough, these specks of creativity, become dragonflies. Now agile, these ideas can travel in all six directions. Their wingspan increases, they no longer fit in the bottle. They take shape. They carry a contemplation to chase mistakes. A desire to scrutinize my subtle imperfections. These once ephemeral gleams, have now become dazzling auras of cognizance. I stare in the mirror, the fog lifts. The clarity drifts in, like steam evaporating.

The sound of people, replaces the silence and seems to free me from the loop, of recognition and rumination. I hear a weird fret, the reverberation, a stabbing sensation of “I gotta fix that.” But what? A barrage of images, in rapid succession, almost blind me. I settle in for the ride, desperately trying to take hold, of at least one.

I feel a tug, a nagging, organic, simplification of melody and lyric. The hollow hum becomes a crisp chord. It carries me, to the realization that this ‘lost’ ideation is purposeful. It focuses me more on the songwriting, rather than the execution of the notes. It is from the miasma, that my creativity surfaces. Swirling on the mist, switching order, formulating a new plan. Nothing is concise, yet everything makes sense.

I accept that, I do not always need to be the drummer, the machine that propels the knowledge. I do not always have to be the heartbeat, of ingenuity. I grasp for the cadence of memory. Something whispered a secret to me last night. I try to lock on to the sound. But the jolt to my momentum, shrinks the vastness, until there is simply a jar, closing in around me. Shadow creeps, yet darkness is not scary or evil. It is simply a closure, of the rhythm. The last strum of the guitar.

When I close my eyes and slip into my dreamland, I imagine myself floating like a feather, listening to the perfect song, hanging with my friends from high-school- I believe I am there, if only briefly. I want to be there more than anything, as I release my energy and become dormant for the night. I want to remember, where I've journeyed to, yet when the thoughts of the day and my intentions for my actions, come in to focus, I lose the fireflies, the stardust that created the beautiful circumstances, of my nightly imaginations. 

I set my dragonflies free. Releasing those feelings that once weighed me down, allowing them to finally take flight. Each fueling my vision and inventiveness, even if I don’t remember why. They shape my artistry and mold my imagery. I sense it, feel it in my bones. This perception, reflex, awareness, guides me for the rest of the day.

Until....my butterfly breaks free