Lately, it seems that the insect world has been trying to help me through my depression. Lately, it’s been very bad. 

But it seems that someone’s looking out for me. The other day, after I had a particularly bad day, I went to the window in frustration. And nearly had a heart attack when I saw a firefly drifting outside of my window, blinking slowly. Its neon-yellow light flickered lazily, and it too drifted lazily around the window, as though it were waiting for me. It drifted up and up towards the dark night sky, blinking softly, and then it was gone.

I couldn’t speak, or think. I was captured by this swift, lightning-bolt (har har) beauty–a pure moment out of a day of so many muddled ones. I had been feeling so alone that day, so alone right up to that very moment, and instead, was surprised by a light blinking in the dark, lonely, but not alone.

 

But it didn’t stop there. 

I go for walks, and I sit in the park when it gets bad. I usually bring a book. 

So, Tuesday, the first nice day in a quite a while (though it feels like forever) I go to one of my favourite parks here in Philadelphia to read in (Independence Park, right behind Independence Hall–yeah, that one!), and settle in. I try hard to concentrate on my book, but instead just start feeling really low. I can barely think. I can barely feel. I feel very much alone in the world.

All of a sudden, this black thing swoops once, twice, right near my knee. And suddenly, it lands on the page of my book.

This guy:

The Red Admiral

He stays there for a good five minutes, and we just stare at one another. I accidentally flick a page, and he’s gone again. And my heart is completely lifted out of the dark place it’s been in.

The rest of the day I spend there, I watch out for him. And he lands again–three times on my page. I can’t take my eyes off him and I can’t help it–I tear up. I’m amazed by such beauty

After a while, he swoops and flitters around the area of the bench I’m sitting on, going further and further away, like he’s trying to get my attention. Finally, he lands on the bench again on the opposite arm, and I take it as a sign to leave. I do.

 

Today, I go back to the same bench. 

And lo and behold, he lands on my book again, and once more, later, on my knee. I’m overjoyed to see him, and though I’m aware that it’s probably not the same little guy who visited me before, it makes me feel good to think so. As I leave again, I see him dancing in the air with another–a female perhaps. It reminds me that we are never alone in this world, no matter what we may think.

Berlioz, as I’ve named him, is yet another powerful, though gentle reminder of just how blessed I really am. Butterflies, and fireflies, may or may not be traditional symbols of Brighid, but I know that whenever I see one now, I will feel Her there with me–a sign that I am never alone.