The campfire crackled, and our group sat around it recounting the day's mountain bike ride. Taking a sip from my IPA, I looked down to see a large, white moth on my friend's leg. The fuzzy-bodied insect fluttered onto my knee before making his way to the back of my hand, which rested on my thigh. I gasped slightly, a bit overcome by the peacefulness.
The little guy seemed unusually social - and, apparently, harbored suicidal tendencies. As I admired his beauty and spotted his glossy, black pin-size eyes, he leapt directly into the fire and immediately incinerated.
I shrieked. We'd just shared a "moment," and he was gone, fatally seduced.
"I guess the 'like a moth to a flame' saying is true," intensely disturbed, I tried to lighten the mood. But I questioned the moment. Had my eyes played tricks? No, others saw it to.
For minutes, I sat quietly and indulged my tendency to see everything as a lesson. What was the deeper meaning? Why did the moth choose to touch me before dying? Obviously it symbolized something! My hyperactive mind longed to mine for explanations. Or maybe, just maybe, it was nothing more than a moth doing what moths do.
"Shhh. You think too much," my inner voice coaxed. "Enjoy this moment with your friends."
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