In the back yard, out the window behind me, is a bug zapper that serves to direct would be assailants from me as I smoke out the window on occasion. I spend many a smoke watching the dance of insects attracted to the purplish glow while I contemplate, and on occasion mark the evening stars’ movements. Every minute or so an insect will make the obstacle course of plastic grids surrounding the electrical apparatus within, and go out in a glorious extended zap and smoke finale. I do not tend towards guilty feelings being the executioner, as I assume it to be a better last scene as a neon orgasm, then the latest meal of the bat that gorges itself nightly.
The typical attractant to the light will fly circles around it, never taking a direct journey, and often tiring itself out, landing somewhere in the shadows before trying again. I am curious why the obvious attraction, but circuitous route. They know the light is what they hunger for, and yet it is as if they fear attainment, or are they perhaps distracted by the sensations of physical flight? What keeps them from taking that leap of faith into the Purple Electric Deity? How can they stand samples when the buffet is so close at hand (or wing rather)? Are they contemplating the corpses of their fellow winged ones as they fry and meet their maker?
Like all journeys, there is a start and a finish, and many obstacles in between. Many of these critters emerge from underground hibernation to pass through some form of metamorphosis. Do the young winged ones stand at the feet of their fathers, receiving the oft repeated mundane dream – father moth points toward back field, potential mates, and the seasonal cyclic Purple Zap Deity, and says with pride, “someday all of this, and more (eluding to the Zapper) will be yours.” Are there congregations of bugs under different areas of the back yard who spend endless evening hours debating the identity and attributes of the Purple Deity? What sort of insectile religions pass before and beneath my window year to year?
Some are not able to resist the call of the Purple Buzzing God-Thing, and with reservations flung to the summer breeze, hurl themselves at it. Often times they are taken in by the damned false glow of the lightning bugs, and find themselves many feet away from the Purple Deity. This must be frustrating, as the pseudo-prophet glows are numerous in our back yard. Those fortunate not to be led astray by false prophets are met with the plastic housing that protects the Purple Deity from the easily discouraged aspirants. After a few headlong crashes into opposition, most would-be enlightened bugs simply wander off back into the world of eating & f*cking.
As if that were not enough, there is this huge thing called the negativity bat that gorges itself on the few that make an effort to become liberated. The negativity bat is fat these days, as just the sound of its fluttering distracts seekers from their goal of becoming a Purple shrouded electrical afterthought in the divine scheme of things. But those disciplined few that manage to not be sidetracked by false holy bugs, esoteric plastic obstacle courses, and never-satiated negativity bats find themselves in the inner sanctum of Purpledom. Most spend a few moments taking in the glorious and penetrating glow, before finally touching base with the transcendent shock to their mundane selves at the proximity of Deity. I have yet to witness any individual actually touch the Light (when plugged in of course…no connection, no Purple Electrical God), but have seen many die to themselves trying…
Exhaling another plume of smoke I realize I have just made my back yard into the macrocosm. I either need medication or something stronger to smoke. As I shake my head in wonder of it all, a moth flies into my face, and I swat it away stating, “the Light is over there, dammit!”, giving it a good head start in the direction of the Purple Electrical Deity. Damned bugs never let me smoke in peace…