A long time ago, I dreamt that I was standing in a cloud made of hundreds of white moths. It seemed they were desperately trying to reach the moon, yet they been misguided by the city lights. I could hear the thousands of small bell ringing, and they washed down the sound of little wings desperately fluttering, searching for their moonlight.

Last night, I asked myself, if I was dreaming – as I could not comprehend how I stumbled to this, a flock of white satin moths. They were everywhere. I stood there, mesmerised to my core, wondering to myself if infinity felt like that. So I did the only thing I could do at the moment like that – I walked in, into the cloud of dreams once forgotten desperately trying to be found again.

To the Chinese and many other cultures of the Far East, the moth is the form a departed soul takes when it visits the realm of the living. Japanese singles out white months as the ones were departed souls reside — so the moth is a sacred animal on one side of the hemisphere, and on another, it is merely pest.

It made me think that even when the moon looks like it’s waning, honestly it’s actually never changing shape. It all depends when we look at it. We always are in the centre of our universes, like anybody else around us. There is no end nor beginning. No actual equator, just the limits how far we can see and how much we can comprehend.

We are insignificant to the deepest depths of our being. We define our significance in the eyes of others. Thus we are nothing without others and everything at the same time if we allow ourselves to be. I guess we wouldn’t know what is the meaning of it all if there would be nobody around to reassure us. And for that reason we are afraid to live life for ourselves as we don’t know-how, we do not want to accept our insignificance, and we allow ourselves to thrive in places that would easily replace us after bare moments of our departure. 

We are replaceable – that is so hard to admit or even come to terms with. Thus every day we put our ambition or our work above our health. 

We are not significant, and how can it be that the world won’t stop spinning when we are sad or wronged? We are centres of our universe, yet our alone, like every other human being, are to theirs.

Nothing is permanent, nothing lasts forever, and there is no perfection. Yet, we rather chase it, then stop to admire the imperfect sky on an imperfect day with imperfect people. We trick ourselves we need better, we seek better, we can be better, and we deserve better. But what’s the point? If we do not know how to be happy now with what we have? 

I wonder why we all rushing so fast, even if deep down we know we won’t outrun time? 

People are like mots. As mots navigate by the light of the moon. Yet, because of the light pollution and a new world with some many distractions, they fling themselves into flames and electric lights because they think they’re headed toward the moon’s light, towards the place they can call home. People get lost, and go and seek the light from fake profits too – they crowd against them in desparation to justify their imperfect excistance and their unknonw purpose. To

There’s a saying that there’s a mathematical proof that cannot be proven even if it’s the mathematical truth. I think all this time, we desperately try to prove ourselves to others. But what we fail to realise that our existence will never be completely proven. It’s because it is the perfect truth in its own right, as long as we accept ourselves.

I, for one, never wanted forever; I wanted now. Thus, I learned how to be daring, and go for a swim at midnight or get lost in an unknown city or a write a letter to a kind stranger out of the blue as for me it was my perfect truth, and it did not need to be proven it needed to be lived without apologies, without regrets for what is and what it ought to be.

And here I was standing in a mist of fluttering moths. I am happy. I am so excited to be alive. I will always extend my hands to unknown purposes and wonders of life. I might fall, I might bruise, I might leave or decide to keep certain wonders I will encounter in this lifetime. Some things will slip, some things will stay, and others will always find their way back to me, or I will always find my way back to them. 

So I asked my dear white mots – Do you think it’s okay to have roads that people cannot cross? Do you think it’s okay to have doors that people cannot open?

I do not. For this reason, I will go and cross those roads and open those doors if I will need too. I remember, when I followed my heart for the first time, it felt like the world was fair. I promised myself to never think of my life as unfair. All that matter was – Right now.

I’m happy. That’s enough. I hope all of you moths will feel moon pull soon and it will be stronger than these artificial lights on the street.

The fairy who stepped into the dream