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The Sorry Moth and the Lovely Flame

Author: Guest Total views: 23 Word Count: 1376

Once upon a time, there was a little moth who had a glimpse of the loveliest flame...and this is their story. This parable was written for a special person, in a trance-like state on a cold, bright night. Sometimes, children stories describe best the lives of grown-ups...so maybe it will talk to you, Reader, but in any case the author surely wishes it will entertain you.

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Once upon a time, there was a little moth who had a glimpse of the loveliest flame...for years, the moth tried to stay away, to look at other flames, but he could never forget that vision, and the warmth of that lovely flame.

One day the moth finally flew to the flame...it was a sorry moth, always willing to do good, but always stumbling to do so, trying to be strong, but so tiny and light...the flame was so lovely, still shining strong, yet she went on to be more quiet that the moth ever remembered.

But it did not change anything: the moth just couldn't take his faceted eyes off the lovely flame, and started to try to entertain her, to make the flame blaze. The moth would do little stunts with his frail wings, would try to draw the sweetest figures in the air, would even approach close, so close. In time, the flame grew bigger, brighter than ever, invited in the dance. Sometimes she stood still, sometimes she swayed violently, but every time it was the most beautiful vision. The sorry moth laughed and cried, because sometimes his little wings got burned, or at times the lovely flame would say "look at what you made of me? I'm this torch now, bursting now, quenching after, blazing straight, or agitated left and right...you make me laugh, you make me rage, you make me in love, you make me hiss - Where is my tranquility, little moth? Why do you come and make me burn, only to get burned too? Why? Don't you prefer when we were both in quiet tranquility?"

But the sorry little moth did not. Sure, he felt genuinely sorry for bringing confusion and doubt, even havoc at times but sorry he couldn't be for flying for the flame, dancing with the flame. And he surely couldn't feel sorry for making the flame blaze like it never blazed before.

He didn't want to make the flame mad, he didn't want to get burned, but he just couldn't live without looking at the flame, without trying to make her sparkle and burn bright. He just couldn't fly away from the flame any longer. He could neither try nor succeed to anymore.

After all, isn't it what moths do? Dance near the flame they choose and plunge to burn amidst, just to be one with their bond? What wrong is there with being consumed, when you are finally one with the one flame you can not take your eyes of, making your tiny wings rattle and buzz even when you try not to move anything? What wrong is it to lose yourself in the one place you eventually find your true soul as a moth?

To the little sorry moth, it was only natural. "I'm a moth, and I know this is my lovely flame. I flew around a bit. I know my flame now. My one and only lovely flame...who cares if those wings burn? At least when they do, I can fall right inside my flame, and stay there for ever...who cares if my soft faceted eyes are blinded? At least when they are, my last vision will be the unique brightness of my flame for ever". Who said moths were silly? They may be pathetic, but silly, they can't be said to be. Misguided cynics might say it is delusion and dependence. But the moths know better. It's Love. The same way it's a kind of Love that holds atoms together, it's a beautiful kind of Love that takes moths to flames.

And wasn't it the loveliest, gentlest flame? Even when she was blazing with fury, she could never forget that gently, frail moth drawing those clumsy figure for her. So she would scream "go away moth! Please go away! Can't you see I'll burn you? Can't you see how sad it will make me to burn you? You know the pain of the burn, don't you? Why do you keep fueling me only to turn me into a raging fire that will consume you? Why? Life is short but you still have more moths years to live, don't you want to fly in peace in the open? Bask in the pale, quiet moonlight, away from us flames, away from me?"

Indeed it was the loveliest, gentlest little flame. She would burn to make the moth warm in the cold night, she would burn to give her light, she would burn to make the moth laugh like the moth made her laugh with his awkward dance in mid-air. At the same time she knew she was burning herself, and could burn the little moth she came to love so much.

"Go away, sorry moth, I love you so go away! Don't you see what's in store for you? Don't do that to you...nor to me..."

What kind of flame tells moths they don't want to burn them? None but her, this amazing lovely flame. Flames usually lure moths..."come, little moth, come and see the brightness inside"...only to have the moth burn with sounds that make it seem the flame is chuckling. Even if when moths manages to back off in time, they do so with severe wounds that reeks of burnt flesh and dreams. But not with this one flame. This one flame was different...surely because this one flame burnt with an exquisite fuel of its own.

This one was different indeed. It was the loveliest flame, and the gentlest flame. Even burning with the wrath of hell, she could not forget her love for that sorry moth. And the moth had a different opinion too, that stubborn little moth!

To the moth, it was clear: only the vision of his beloved flame mattered. Nothing else. The moth just wanted to be nearer and nearer. He did not want to make the flame sad, of course not. But it couldn't resist his calling either. Nearer...nearer...just one more flap...

So one day, He plunged into the flame, saying the one word he knew above all others: "Soooooorrrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy" went the moth one last time when it plunged towards his beloved flame, right to her very core. "Siiiiiiillllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy ffffffffffooooooooooooooollllllllllllllllll" said the flame, as she saw it dash to her inexorably.

No one knows the end of the story...wandering pilgrims have said the flame still blazes as beautifully as ever and that the voice of the moth can still be heard. No one ever saw the moth again, but everyone can hear his typical, high-pitched voice still echoing "ssoooorrryyyyyy" and 'I llllloooooovvvvvvvveeeeeeeeeee you" on a regular basis. How is that possible? The moth should be gone by now...

The trees have a different version however. When the night is calm, they whisper to each other, in what only sounds like the wind passing through leaves to human ears, that the flame and the moth indeed are one until the end now, and that it could never have been any other way.

Indeed, fire can't live without its fuel, and fuel is just a purposeless material if it does not feed its fire.
Trees know that better than anyone else. Because trees can burn. And trees know that the flame can not live without their flesh, and that there's a reason why their flesh is so compatible to fire: the flame gives Life at last to the inert bark of the trees. The hard, rigid bark is not a cold armor anymore, it nurtures Life, all thanks to fire.

So trees do tell each other at night, smiling and chuckling in naive innocence: "of course the moth is still here...what do you think makes the lovely flame still burn?".

If humans could talk to trees, trees would tell them in an amused, but kind of sad way "poor human, you can never know how happy the moth is, because you don't know what it is to burn for your flame".

Article Source: Websites Melbourne

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