Harnessed Tiger, a pastel by Stephanie Thomas Berry

Many species of moth have amazing antennae that can pick up the pheromones of a female moth from far away. Giant silkworm moths can detect a female that is up to 7 miles away! Their bodies perceive the world in an entirely different way than we can imagine.

Sometimes I feel the whisper of a different way of being. Some aspect of my biology that has long slept quickens when I lean into the bliss of being alive on this beautiful planet, when I trust my body first, when I listen to the hum of my heart and feel the touch of my bare feet upon the Earth.

Some tiger moths have auditory organs that mimic the echolocation clicks of bats, creating a sonic cloud of chaos through which they may pass safely.

What are the hidden organs of our bodies? The knowledge our body absorbs from our environment? It’s a knowledge from which we have often been trained to disconnect.  How can we access it? When do we trust it? When do we ignore it?

The harnessed tiger moth feeds on clover, cordgrass, plantain, and dandelion. It’s caterpillar is similar to the famous woolly worm caterpillar, which belongs to its cousin, the Isabella tiger moth. They’re fat and prickly caterpillars and they use their hairs to make their cocoon.

We are entangled in a culture that has been dominated by the masculine for centuries. Collectively we have been picking at the knots and pulling at this marvelous tapestry so that we can weave something even more beautiful, something that tells a broader story. We find the missing silk and weave it into the story that holds us. 

The moth is a winged insect of the night, a denizen of the Moon. The moth lives in a world unknown to us, an invisible forest of scent and sound.

And when we step back, we can look at the tapestry, and we can start to see the things we couldn’t see before. 

The moth transforms itself, just like the butterfly, but in our imagination it is tinged with a nameless darkness.

Collectively, we awaken.