The Moth (1)

A gentle breeze flows as the night gently unfolds. The moon shines and infuses the darkness with life; crickets call for one another, an owl announces its presence. I stand on the porch, an audience to the orchestra that permeates this evening. This is my time, a time where I relive the instances of the day that have passed. My thoughts are interrupted by the gentle fluttering against the window screen. A Luna Moth struggles to get closer to a candle in the window. I wonder how God could make something so beautiful, yet something so easily fooled and swayed by a simple flame. Of all the celestial bodies that appear at night, this moth struggles to get closer to a light that doesn’t shepherd it on its journey, doesn’t reward it for its effort to get closer. It will flutter and struggle, and in the end die from its fascination with something it will never have. Such a shame…

I grew up as an army brat, which in turned led me into the life as a soldier. My upbringing was a nomadic one; I traveled to Asia and Europe as a child. Friendships were brief, but the feelings of loneliness lingered much longer. My initiation into adulthood occurred during my father’s second tour into Europe. I was immersed in alternative music, good beer, and beautiful women. My confidence grew and I decided at that time that I will become an island; I would detach myself emotionally from people. I would not be swayed or dominated by anyone. I came to this mind set after watching my friends get swept aside by falling in love. They were reduced to whimpering pups, unable to function as men, just wandering after their loves. “I will not let that happen to me” I announced to myself. “Ezra E. Noyesi will not be a slave to love.”

After the military I settled into an opportunity working for a logistics company. I worked in a privately owned rail yard shipping and receiving commodities on the railroad. A decent blue collar management job with a company that liked to reward their managers. One of the perks was to travel to a posh resort in a tourist town to attend manager meetings. We would gather and regale each other with tales of mishaps, near misses, major contract deals, and production performances. All the managers within the company attended, in addition to the owner and the members of the board of directors. Classes were given in management and seminars in positive thinking, capped off with a major event on the last day. The event for this meeting was a night time boat ride on Lake Tahoe. I decided to attend.

The night was poetically beautiful. A full moon lit up the night sky and painted its presence on the surface of the lake. The gentle buzzing of the boats engine corresponded with the lapping waves against the bow of the boat. People began to segregate themselves amongst friends and cliques; the smokers created a fog ensuring that their kind remained within the nicotine curtain. People aspiring to climb within the company seemed to become trained animals, performing stupid animal tricks to gain attention from the executives upon Mount Olympus. Since I was one of two minority managers within the company, I really had no group in which to blend. So I did what I’ve always done since I was a child; I grew roots and became a wallflower. I was the audience to the commotion, a witness to the social climbing antics of the rabble. After a while, I decided to remove myself from the circus and enjoy the crisp cool breeze off the lake. While standing by the bow, a glint of red caught my eye.

(Continued in "The Moth" 2)

©2011 Augustine A. Zavala