Rain Moth Season
As we begin to receive the rains of early autumn, I've been finding the fat translucent-brown cocoons of the Rain Moth strewn about the parklands where I take my afternoon stroll. These juicy grey and white creatures live underground for seven whole years as a grub before pupating and birthing as the moisture seeps back in to the dry summered earth. My daughter collects them and sorts them in her little basket. Rain moth reminds me of the descent that many great creative projects require of us, as they pull us into the fertile underbelly of the underworld.
Rain moths spend seven years underground, deep amongst tree roots and mycelial networks, feeding on the stored sunlight of River Red Gum roots. In this form they are known as Bardi grubs, a delicious and creamy traditional food. During this time of rain, the moths Pupate and then hatch out. In a baccanalian festival that follows, they have a mere twenty-four hours to float and flex, finding lovers, feeling sunlight. Females then cast off thousands of eggs mid flight before themselves becoming a tasty snack for a hungry kookaburra or keen-eyed magpie. Again, the time when we present our work to the world can feel like a fleeting moment to bask in the sun, after all the torturous time underground visioning, preparing, toiling, problem solving. And yet, we continue to thrust into the cycle of creativity over and over, just as these eggs will bury down into soil and hatch into grubs underground, continuing the cycle.
My daughter’s favourite thing to do, when she arrives at the creek in this season of rain and muddy puddles is to strip off and cover herself in thick oozy mud. She reminds me, like the rain moths, of the need to open myself to the creative pulse that charges certain particular moments with a sense of pregnant sensuality and numinosity. Magic is real, life is short, moments are fleeting, and in this time childhood feels like the gift that circles back around for us as parents.
That is, until the walk home from the creek, shivering, the mud starting to dry and crack, lamenting itchy skin and hunger pains at ear-grating decibels. Still, all worth it once back home to be warmed and washed by steamy bath waters.
Whilst the arc of a creative project recedes after its culmination, we can, with practice, learn to let the low glow of completion keep us warm, nourishing us with stored subterranean sunlight until the next surge of inspiration.
