The man liked the idea that the dragon’s hubris would lead to a less powerful but beautiful form. Yet in its own way, the dragonfly is something of a magical being, capable—as scientists have shown—of amazing feats, with a form of intelligence that we humans will likely never fully comprehend. And an essence that seems to enthrall all sorts of people, from entomologists to nature writers and little kids playing in ponds.
While the mechanics of how a dragonfly “works” has captivated scientists and military leaders, other aspects of the insect have long intrigued humans of a more mystical bent. The man’s research revealed that dragonflies have held special meaning in cultures around the world and across time. Some peoples have revered the dragonfly, others have feared it. Of course that says more about us humans than the insect.
What struck him as especially peculiar is that Asian and Native American cultures have traditionally associated the dragonfly with positive qualities—prosperity, harmony, happiness, good fortune, and purity—while a number of European societies considered it to have a harmful and even demonic nature, calling it such things as the witches’ animal, devil’s needle, and snake’s servant. Considering his own European roots, he found the latter associations troubling. What could account for such dark visions, so different from the goodness that other peoples imagined? Could it be the nature of their religions, their spiritual beliefs?
The man’s research made it clear that, for all their differences, many cultures associate the dragonfly with change. That in itself is not surprising, since metamorphosis is central to its life (and that of other insects). But if he understood his sources correctly, the kind of change that dragonfly represents is primarily of an interior sort: a movement away from the cultural or personal illusions that guide our lives but in fact hide what is most essential or “real,” and toward a deeper and clearer understanding—a clearer vision, one might say—of self, life, and the world, including its intangible aspects or what some would call the “invisibles.”
Put another way, the change dragonfly represents is a shift toward increased awareness, wisdom, and clarity. Toward authenticity.
The man considered all of that encouraging. Perhaps his unusual encounters with the dragonflies signaled he was moving in the right direction, toward a more genuine self.
The man did seem to be going through some sort of inner change. He’d begun to more seriously question and challenge many of his culture’s mainstream “truths,” its values, assumptions, and agreements; what we modern, high-tech, Internet-addicted Americans think we know about the world and the larger cosmos (or “creation”) and our place in it. He felt himself opening up to different ways of knowing the world and being in it; and what he imagined to be greater realities, beyond what either science or religious institutions can explain. Or even consider possible.
The image that kept repeating was one of himself poised upon some threshold or breakthrough, though at times he wondered if he might be facing more of a breakdown. And while he worried that he sometimes took things (and himself) too seriously, he also sensed that he sometimes held himself back, plagued by doubts, insecurities, self-judgment.
What a jumbled mess I am, he thought. But that’s what happens when things get shaken up. Then, with a smile and maybe even a little chuckle, another familiar thought came to him: I think way too much.
In the end, the man couldn’t be certain what the dragonflies’ entry into his life meant. And why did it have to “mean” anything at all? But he was pretty darn sure it didn’t happen simply by chance. And whatever meanings or symbolism we humans might attach to dragonflies, what seemed most clear—and important—to him was that they had gained his attention and somehow stirred him, maybe even communicated with him on a level he couldn’t yet understand. And this: some portal or veil had opened, if only briefly, and he had stepped through. In some strange and inexplicable way, his world had been enlarged. And isn’t that saying a lot?
So that’s where the story ends. Except for this: as you might have guessed, I’m the dragonfly man. And what I’ve shared is as close to the truth as I can get, given what I know and feel about the dragonfly incident and what I’ve learned since those late summer days—and recognizing there are always more layers to explore.
You can be sure I’ll pay closer attention to dragonflies and be reminded how little, really, we humans know about the world (and ourselves) despite all we’ve learned. And I, for one, will celebrate the mystery.
Oh, there is one more piece to this ongoing story that I need to share, a recent experience I’d almost forgotten, though I don’t know how that’s possible. One morning while drifting through that nebulous place between sleep and wakefulness, I had either a dream or a vision, in which the broken body parts of the dragonfly I’d found in my yard—those parts still collected in a small white box, placed upon a shelf in my bedroom—joined back together to remake the complete creature. Among the many possible interpretations, this is what came to me first: a return to wholeness. And that’s enough for now.
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