Last night I went on a field trip.
My wonderful next door neighbor arranged for me to follow a friend of hers on a 45-minute drive out into the forest to see something that only happens once a year — and only in this part of the world.
She told me that because of the virus the “tours” to see this phenomenon weren’t happening, but that her friend knew where to go to see it. She said that there might be some other people there but hopefully it wouldn’t be too crowded.
She said that if it rained we’d have to cancel because it usually doesn’t happen in the rain. It rained on and off all day, but things stayed steady enough for us to head out.
As we left, however, it started to rain. I hadn’t brought a raincoat. The more we drove, the more it rained. But we kept driving. On and on — a long straight road that turned into a windy forest road. Still it rained.
When we arrived 45 minutes later, the rain had petered out to a drizzle. It was just getting fully dark, but the moon behind the clouds and fog swirling around us gave off a dim grey light.
We were the only cars in the parking lot.
My guide told me that we might not see anything because of the rain — and that it might be too late in the season to see everything we wanted to see. But there we were, so why not try.
The ground was soaked, the trees were dripping water, but the rain had stopped.So off we walked down a trail in the ever increasing darkness. Fog seemed to be building all around us.
At one point I said, “It’s a good thing that my neighbor speaks highly of you, because this is like the setting for a horror movie.” We both laughed. A little.
We felt our way across a slippery bridge over a stream, where we stood in the middle to listen to the water and feel the darkness all around us.
Then we felt our way on down the trail. As our eyes began to adjust and using our walking sticks, it got easier and easier to avoid the tree branches and the deeper puddles.
At one point my guide stopped and stared into some very deep bushes and trees. It was pitch black.
“This is where you usually see them”
We stared into the blackness, but there was nothing.
All day long I had witnessed a resistance to this field trip to surface: I had been up early. It had been a long day. Wouldn’t a quiet evening be nicer after six straight days of work? Did I really want to tromp out in mosquito and tick infested woods in the dark with a bunch of noisy families? And then when it rained on the drive I thought: Great. Now I’m going to get soaked and we probably won’t see anything.
But standing there in the darkness in the quiet with only one other human being staring into blackness, I realized that there was no place else I’d rather be.
And I thought to myself — Isn’t it interesting how our habitual thinking always wants to keep us in our same old same old ruts — of thinking, of living, of being? But here I am in a forest at night with someone I don’t know staring into bushes, and this is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. I am meant to be right here.
After a few minutes, she motioned me forward and we walked a little further down the trail and into an open field surrounded by trees.
And that’s when I saw them. Little pinpricks of bright white lights sparkling everywhere. In the grass, in the trees, in the sky.
“These are the synchronous ones. This is their mating ritual. They don’t mind if we get close,” my guide whispered. And off she walked into the field.
And so off I walked into another part of the field.
Then I stood there and watched the blackness all around me light up with dancing mating fireflies.
Synchronous fireflies or lightning bugs are small flying beetles with abdomens that light up.
Here’s what I had read about them earlier in the day: Although it takes the lightning bugs one to two years to mature from larvae into adults, the lifespan of an adult is extremely short. Adult fireflies only live two to three weeks and don’t eat any more meals once they are an adult. The distinct flashing pattern of the synchronous fireflies is difficult to describe and nearly impossible to photograph or catch on film. The pattern includes five to eight bursts of light in a short time period followed by complete darkness for approximately five seconds. The light they emit, which produces no heat, is due to a chemical reaction of luciferin and oxygen and is used to attract a mate.
There are over 2,000 species of the bioluminescent beetles in the world with 125 in North America alone. This is one of the few places in the world to see the synchronous mating dances — so people come from all over the world to do just that.
But there we were — the two of us completely alone in a wet field — completely alone except for swirling dancing mating beetles flickering their lights all around in a the most beautiful ballet of light I have ever seen.
I felt something deep in my abdomen.
I felt it rise up through my solar plexus, well into fullness in my heart, and emerge through me as a smile so full of gratitude and awe and wonder and, yes, deep pure joy that I found myself wondering when the last time was that I had smiled like that.
I stood there in that field in silence with my new sparkly friends and just smiled and smiled in joy. Tears were streaming down my face.
After this past week, after these past months, I needed this. I needed this beauty and wonder and joy to know why we’re all here. This is why. This beauty. This planet. This connection to something so awe-inspiring and hopeful — and unhuman. This is Love. This is Spirit. This is Life.
What a gift we’ve all been given!
After about 15 minutes, I felt my guide cross the field begin to shift. She was moving back toward where we started. I followed her.
“Does this go on all night?” I asked.
No. Just first thing in the evening. That’s why we need to head back so we can see the others.
The others? I’d forgotten about them.
The dance of the synchronous fireflies would have been more than enough.
So I turned back toward the field and I thanked my new sparkly beetle friends for coming out on such a rainy night to give two women so much joy.
And then we headed back onto the dark trail.
That’s when I saw my first one.
But I wasn’t sure. Had I seen something or not?
It was a phantom wisp of pale luminous electric blue.
My guide said: They are sensitive to noise.
So I stopped walking and got really quiet — inside and out.
Then I saw another and another.
I squatted down and stared into the black bushes on either side of the trail as the darkness lit up with these little blue ghosts. They were why we’d come. These blue ghost fireflies that only exist right here in the world. In deep leafy Appalachian forests filled with the right kind of age old ground cover and the right moisture and altitude. Right here. This is the only place you can see them.
The females are flightless. Unlike other fireflies, they glow instead of flash. The males streak above them and shine an eerie bioluminescent blue green light whirring and moving like, well, something Walt Disney would have invented to awe children. For that’s what I felt. Sheer childlike awe.
Their habitat used to stretch for thousands of miles. But now they are relegated to this tiny little corner of the world. Where people’s enthusiasm for seeing them has threatened to destroy their last remaining habitat. Because the flightless females get trampled by people who want to see the show.
So that’s why I crouched down and just watched.
It took a moment for my eyes to believe what they were seeing. To adjust from the darkness and the spectacular flashing of the synchronous dance behind me to this quieter show. But as I got still and my vision adjusted, I could see more and more of them.
Eerie blue lights flickering a foot or so above the forest floor. All around me.
Seeing the blue ghost fireflies inspired a completely different feeling that the ridiculous joy evoked by their more sparkly synchronous cousins. It made me feel as though there is so much I don’t let myself see. So much I never let myself experience. So much I don’t want to believe. It was as though my rational mind was dancing uncomfortably with mystery — and slowly but surely my mind was sinking rapturously into mystery’s embrace.
After a few minutes I realized that my guide had left. So I got up and tiptoed down the trail so as to make the least noise and disturbance.
I found her on the bridge again.
Wow! I said. Just wow. I don’t know how to describe them. I’ve never seen anything like that.
“I feel that they’re where the ideas of fairies came from.”
Yes. I said.
Because yes was all I could say to something that beautiful.
We made our way to another field closer to our cars.
There we could see both the synchronous and the blue ghost dances at the same time. Fading a bit. Equally beautiful were low moving clouds lit up from behind. And the sound of the wet forest behind us. And the sound of quiet all around.
I said, “This was just what I needed to see. Thank you so much. It give me the faith I needed to feel.”
“Yes,” she said. “We all need some light in the darkness.”
The two of us stood and talked quietly about many things for the next fifteen minutes — as the trees flickered white and the bushes whirred blue.
Then, as the activity faded, we felt our way in the darkness back to the parking lots.
Once again, before I left the trail, I quietly turned to my new beetle friends and thanked them for coming out and sharing their brief lives with me.
When we got back to our cars, I saw that no other cars had come. With the tours that are so popular cancelled and the rain falling all evening, no one else had come out. Just us.
I said to my new friend, “Thank you for an experience I will never ever forget.”
I won’t. I truly won’t.
In Atlas Obscura’s description of the blue ghost fireflies, it says: “Patience is about the only tool necessary for viewing; staring into the darkness and believing that it’s only a matter of time will go a long way to seeing something truly rare, that’s nearly impossible to capture on film. Just put yourself in the right place and wait for the magic to arrive, as it has like clockwork for eons.”
These are dark dark times. It’s easy to give up hope, to stop believing that we humans can do anything but keep making things worse and worse and worse. That true change will never come, because our lives are too steeped in hatred and self-will run riot and systemic inequality and lack of compassion and kindness.
But that’s not what I believe — even though I constantly lose the thread and doubt comes in like a battering ram over and over again.
When we practice living Love, when we commit to the heart-centered practices of presence, of joy, of wholeness, of seeing through the eyes of Love, or living as we instead of me — we are putting ourselves in the right place. Then we just have to have the patience and faith and commitment to stare into the pitch black and wait — for the magic that is not magic at all, but that is Love doing what Love does — loving our world whole — to arrive. And it will.
Love will make herself seen and felt and love us whole. As Love always has. Like clockwork. For eons.