The Light

The Darkness is where I come from. I live beneath the Light. I can feel that just above, life exists. I can hear the thuds of existence. For now, I am content to live underneath these thuds. The dirt clings to everything. It keeps me cool. I like it here; I cannot see, but I can sense my friends around me. There are the worms, the grubs, and tiny little one-celled organisms that don’t speak up much. My favorite though, are the seeds. The seeds are a quiet bunch but they have an unbridled enthusiasm that I so admire. When our home is damp I can feel them next to me,  reaching for something beyond. I can feel them transform. There is an energy they send out, a sinewy, twisting, desperate energy. I know what they want. They want to taste the sweet air of Above. Light is their freedom. Not all the seeds make it to freedom. The ones that don’t, I cry for. Sometimes I cry for those that make it, too. I cry because I’ve never seen something so beautiful. The seeds peek out of their delicate shells, break free of the Dark and enter the Light. I know it is not easy to leave your home for a brand new one. It is dangerous in the Light, and yet-- and yet!-- in time I feel the roots of these seeds start to sprout. The roots twist, turn, harden. This is when I know my friends, the seeds, have transitioned into something greater. They have become something else, something solid: trees.

I know one day that I will also have to make that transition, from Dark to Light. I’ve had my future whispered in my ear when I was a child, fresh to this world. My mother, with all her unbelieveable mother-strength, “cut slits in a twig” to make a home for her eggs.^[1] She told me-- I only remember certain details vividly, as if I had dreamed it-- I was in the Kingdom of Light. She said I would leave this place, but it would be my destiny to eventually return. I began to fall then. I landed upon the soft ground, where--inexplicably-- I found solace underneath the layers of dirt, in the world of Darkness. That was the last time I saw my mother.

From then on I’ve been waiting. Or maybe, waiting is not quite the right word. My time in the Darkness has been pleasant. Like I’ve said, I have made friends. Oftentimes, I drink from the roots of my former friends. As a cicada nymph, I “suck sap from various species of tree, including oak, willow, and maple.”^[2] They don’t seem to mind, and it keeps me alive and well. However, I know the time has come for me to leave this place. I have felt my world expand and contract, soften and harden with the seasons. I know the cycle of this world, and it is telling me it is Time. I will carry out my mother’s wishes and rejoin the Kingdom of Light.

My front legs are strong and I use them to dig. Closer to the surface, the soil becomes less compact, guiding me in the right direction.  The tunnel I create is small; it is my personal passageway into the Light. Suddenly, everything changes. The pressure of the Darkness I have felt for the past seventeen years has lifted, left without saying goodbye. I am met with an unfamiliar lightness. Free to move without walls of sediment pressing upon me, my body feels out of place. I am unaccustomed to so much space. I feel encumbered in  this new world by something I can’t quite put my finger on. Seeking comfort in familiarity, I crawl along the ground to one of my old  friends. She is indescribable, ethereal: green, delicate leaves, and a trunk three times the thickness of my body. I climb her trunk, say hello.

I am struck by a sudden urge to shake. I rattle almost uncontrollably. In this moment I feel incredibly uncomfortable: confined, caged. I rear my head and hear a tearing sound. My body splits down the middle, from my head to my lower half. I have broken free of my jail! I have left my past behind me. Joyously, I step out of my suit of Darkness. I have woken from my dream. I feel the breeze upon my newfound wings. And oh, what wings they are! I had no idea I possessed such jewels: glittering glass cobwebs. Tentatively, I test out my wings. They feel so natural, so easy. I ascend from the trunk and explore the rest of my new home. It feels so good, so right, to be in the air. I needed this, after so many years.

I perch on a leaf and look at the Kingdom of Light. I can understand why I have waited so long. The golden rays of the sun touch upon everything; I can feel the warmth on my back. The vast sea above me is red, pink, yellow. Whispers of clouds, lilac pink in color, meander across the sky like lost ships. The sun-- my mother called him my Father-- kisses the ground. He spreads his love to the Earth before him, enveloping each plant and animal in his warm embrace. This is the beginning of the world: Dawn.

Dawn^[3]

 . . .

I had stopped to rest against the tree. Bent over, I tried to regain my breath. I used the back of my hand to wipe the sweat from my forehead. I had woken up early this morning-- five AM!-- in order to beat the summer heat. It was six now, the sun already halfway risen. I didn’t have much time left to finish my run before the humidity became unbearable. Breath regained, I was ready to start jogging again when something caught my eye. There, clinging to the tree, was a cicada peeking its green head out of its brown shell. This tiny cicada was quivering with effort to break free of his cumbersome outer layer. This, I realized, was a cicada in the process of molting. I had never seen anything like it.

 Ever since I was little I had loved cicadas. I spent every summer at my grandparents’ house in The Middle of Nowhere, Illinois. Cicadas ran rampant there; they covered every tree, their sepia shells littering the ground. I would pick up the shells and examine the beauty of these miniature artifacts. They  were so delicate, so intricate. I loved the notion of shedding an outer shell and becoming something completely different. That one could grow wings and fly away.

         And so instead of continuing my run, I stayed to witness the beauty of life, of transformation. The cicada broke free and shook its wings. He was so purely green he transcended the rules of vision; his new self shone as if the light of God radiated from his insides. I took my pointer finger and pet it. I was touching new life; it felt like holding a newborn for the first time, his tiny wrinkled face smiling in a mixture of confusion and amusement. The cicada shivered and recoiled from my touch. I realized then that it was selfish of me to make him share this moment. I would observe but not touch; I clasped my hands behind my back and bent closer. Cicadas have widespread eyes, so they always look adorably apologetic. People think they’re so ugly, and yet they have such a dopey, sweet face up close.

Cicada molting^[4]

I laughed despite the fact that I was alone. This cicada literally stopped me in my tracks. I admired him so much. I admired him for his courage, for his fortitude. Since the beginning of time, cultures have appreciated cicadas as I have. The Tale of Genji,  a book written around the 11th century and referred to as “the world’s first novel,” has an entire chapter devoted to the cicada. There is a beautiful line that references the cicada’s ability to embrace a new beginning: “The dew upon the fragile locust wing is lost among the leaves. Lost are my tears.”^[5] “Since the cicada emerges from the ground to sing every summer, in Japan it is seen as a symbol of reincarnation.”^[6] It takes a lot of bravery to leave your old body behind and start fresh. And yet, my new  friend did this with ease. He spread his wings and flew.

There are surprising parallels between my new cicada friend and I. I’m starting fresh, also. I might not be shedding a tangible shell, but it’s a shell nonetheless. I’m leaving my hometown, my family, and all I ever knew for a completely new place. College is a whole new game. I’m truly on my own. Just like the seeds and the cicadas before me I’ll soon be undergoing transformation. There will be a time when I must break out of my own delicate shell and greet the world anew. The cicada had to find new food sources and a mate;  I’ll be choosing my career path and learning how to pay bills. I’m just starting out on my journey and though I’m on uneven footing right now I hope that I’ll manage like the Cicada. I’m in a new environment, and I am optimistic that I will be able to embrace it like the Cicada did. I hope that I can thrive in this new world: spread my wings and fly.

Cicada wings^[7]

Total Word Count: 1597

Word Count Without Quotes: 1543

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