cicadas and moths

My last newsletter struck a chord with so many of you, and that always makes me feel honoured to be in this space. It makes me feel so many good things to be connected to such an amazing, open-hearted community. Thank you thank you thank you.

My son’s school does give out little tokens for each kid. Often a bookmark that the child has drawn. And they have a saying on them from the teacher. Our school is based around 5 values – peace, love, truth, right conduct, non-violence – so the bookmarks relate to this. My son received “love lived as friendliness”, which made my heart happy. Because, even though 5 other students in the school got the same thing (we’re sure they’re a mix-&-match situation), having a friendly and open heart takes you through life in different ways than winning top academic awards.

All-in-all, what many of us experience is an ever-changing relationship to this. The needing to be part of the tribe, and then being ok with being ok of being pushed out. Our ancestors needed to be liked and accepted so they could stay cosy by the fire. Yet now it’s ok for us to build our own fires, know our wisdom is being heard by the right ears and not all the ears around us.

Gratitude to you for reminding me of this, but also reminding me that it’s ok to be fragile in our honesty of this.

The words I’ve wanted to share for a few weeks have been quietly swelling. And while they’re simple and nothing spectacular. And not an announcement of any sort. They are words of themselves anyway. And this is me listening to your advice of doing my work and knowing that the ones who need to hear it will.

The cicadas are here. It’s the swell of heat. The time of year when cold showers during the day are necessary, even though we always must watch the tank water and keep showers to no longer than a breath. As soon as you jump out of the shower your body is sticky and sweltering again. We don’t have air conditioning at our place. Often, I wish for it, long for it. But I know also that that makes the outside worse. I don’t want to be cut off from it all.

I consider if we lived in the freezing of controlled air and stepped directly into an arctic car (without going outside), directly to a shopping centre. This is not how I want to be. I want to go outside every morning. To look and see where the moon is. To know that during the day she’ll be half or empty. When she’s full I see her shining through my bedroom window all night long. And I see the orange tree casting moon-shadows over our grass. (Alas no fruits this year – I think it needs a prune).

The thrum of the cicadas gets into our bodies. You can’t help but have them take over the essence of who you are. My daughter (who has misophonia – which may or may not be exacerbated by her autism) feels like leaving home. The heat does the same to her.

For me, while the ongoing ongoing ongoing of them, is a lot I am trying to use it as a reminder to breathe. I know that their rhythm doesn’t align with my own breath, but I know that I can find my rhythm inside of the thrum and the hum and the endless continuation of them.

You can’t help but feel a bit inspired by a creature who spends almost 6 years underground only to emerge to sing endlessly to find a mate. Or the dedication of the Hercules moth who doesn’t eat at all. They have no mouths and survive for 10 – 14 days on the food stored up from when it was a caterpillar.

I do not know what my life will look like in 6 years (perhaps my eldest will be a father, which is almost the same age I became a mother). And I have eaten 3 meals before 1pm today. And yet a cicada and a moth simply do the thing they’re doing without thinking or planning.

The march flies are also being ridiculously persistent, as every year. Sneaking up and perching on our legs to stick their needle-sharp mouthparts into us. It’s only the females who eat the blood as they need it for breeding. Perhaps I shall take some of this advice into my life as well. The persistence to continue despite the possibility of being slapped to death.

This week my husband was trying to do the shopping and put petrol in his car. And our bank card wouldn’t work. Our bank was having an outage. And there was no way for him to access the bank. He had to download an app for my other bank and log in and all that. And phone me multiple times before we finally got it working.

Also, this week I was trying to log into my superannuation account, but they’ve recently been bought out by another company (hence logging in to see fee changes and move to a different place, etc). And to log in I had to download an app (on my phone), and then get a code from that app, and scan a QR image (on my desktop), to wait to be verified. I screamed at it all and gave up. I still haven’t logged in and put it in the ‘do it next week when my brain can work’.

Outside the cicadas are calling for their mates, and the mud wasps are building nests for their babies, and the moon is continuing her cycle quietly around our Earth.

So, perhaps this is why I am choosing to not be annoyed by the endless mind-numbing high-pitched sound from the cicadas. Instead, I am choosing to step outside, to let them guide the rhythm of my breath, a gentle routine in my (hot) summer days.

{this is Sam and me from when we were in Brisbane recently. Rare for him to let me take a photo of him. And has no relation to this writing; except to say that I am sharing things here that I wouldn’t usually share on my instagram account.}

I have decided to start writing my newsletter here, on Substack. If you’re not sure what it is, don’t worry at all. You’ll still keep receiving my newsletters in your inbox exactly the same way. But there’s also an app you can view in, and the wonderful thing (I think) is that there’s a comments section. So if you feel inclined you share there and we can have direct conversation and communication with others. Of course, if you’d like to reply to my inbox then please feel free to do that as well.