The other night after taking my dog out for a potty break, we brought a rather large moth back in with us. I don’t know about you, but bugs’ flying around my house at night is not something that I desire. So, armed with a flip-flop I went moth hunting. Unfortunately, the moth was a bit smarter than me, and ducked down behind the dog’s crate. Discouraged, I resumed my post on the couch; flip flop close, in case I needed it. I was up rather late watching TV and playing on Facebook, but still the moth did not show itself. Finally around 1 am it came out and started fluttering around.
With a vengeance not unlike Zena, I went after the moth with a shrill yell and conquered it. (I hate the sound of a bug being squashed) As I went to remove the remains of the moth from my shoe, I was quickly reminded of the genetics of a moth. Literally they turn to dust. A slight look of something like ash was on my shoe, but nothing else. Pondering this I returned to my post on the couch thinking how much our life is like a moth. While our bodies usually last a bit longer of course, nevertheless, after we die and decompose, we return to the dust from which we came.
If you think about our lifespan, it is quite interesting. We come from a microscopically tiny fertilized egg and grow to think, eat, live, breathe, love, laugh, cry, hate, mourn - a myriad of emotions and actions. And then we die, in the blink of an eye or an agony of a long illness. It is what we do with the living breaths in between the two microscopic anomalies, which we call “life”, that makes “life”. So I guess the question is, how do you breathe? What do you breathe? For whom do you breathe? Think about your breaths and make sure you take full advantage of them … we never know when that second anomaly will occur.
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