In The Fireflies’ Glow

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It’s 11:09PM, and I’m feeling insomniatic, wondering what time it will be when I get out of my head enough to check the time again. Autocorrect doesn’t consider insomniatic to be a real word, but it’s also saying that Autocorrect is not even a real word, so clearly it’s going through some things. But if it’s meant to be two words, why didn’t it just auto correct to that? Oh lord, now we’re both going to have an existential crisis…

Somehow this post feels like a race against time. As if the clock is speeding up and I have only until midnight before this feeling fades- this confidence to step outside the confines of my comfort zone and to share open and honestly. I’d apologize for coming off so ambiguous lately (this post being no exception, I’m sure) but I’m getting there as quickly as I can. I promise there’s a point to it all- a method behind all this flustered, untamed madness. Promise!

You see, recently I’ve been learning, well, a lot lately. I’m not sure if the Universe is just now cashing in all those signs I asked for through the years or if I’ve just now overcome the Fear enough to open my eyes. Either way I’m beginning the see the world in a whole new light. And I find myself afraid to close my eyes, certain the dream will dissipate; the moment my head hits the pillow that I will open my eyes to see sunlight creeping in through the blinds as this inner light creeps out. There’s so much I’m looking forward to sharing, and it is my sincerest hope it finds its way to each of you, or you to it, whenever you need it most. I just can’t share it yet for reasons I’m trying to convince myself aren’t entirely selfish.

And so I wrote this poem, instead. Perhaps I use the term liberally, because if you ask the Creative Writing teacher whose class I attended all of one time before deciding he was a elitist turd, “any poem that rhymes is not a poem; it is garbage”. Personally I think that’s horse shit. Poetry, to me, is passion. It is the way your skin prickles from a good book, that moment just before the first kiss, that particular momentary weightlessness you only get from swinging really high. It’s not about making sense. It’s about seeing beauty amongst the chaos- light in the darkness. This is me doing that, the best I know how…

— — —

Sleep is a thief
In that it does not earn its keep.
Stealing hours every night
To play age old fight or flight
On this movie reel in my mind

And cruel
Without debate
That these whirring thoughts
Should come buzzing in with the fireflies
Whimsy welcoming my drowsy mind to rest

Yet there is a place
Where the second hand slows
Casting the world
In their ethereal glow
The hush before transcendence deafening

And it is here you shall find me
Dreaming with my eyes open

— — —

When a lot of us think about self discovery, we see it as a destination: a finish line that we will cross with one glorious crescendo from the orchestra and a standing ovation from the audience. We get so caught up in this that we completely miss all the small, intimate moments life has to offer. Take a moment and ask yourself:

When was the last time you stared in wonder at the fireflies’ glow?

“Catching Fireflies” -Me, ~2013