This story of Birkerts resonated so strongly with me.
From the first glace of the picture at the top of the page, before reading a single word Birkerts had written, my mind slipped into the world of dragonflies. Odonates. My favorite of insects. Even just this photo of a zipper pull (which I did not recognize as a zipper pull upon first glace, and saw only a dragonfly), evoked such flood of memories of my own times forced to absorb myself in thought.
For four summers, I worked observing rare dragonfly species on the Connecticut river in Western Massachusetts for a hydro power plant. I measured the water level every ten minutes to see how the power plant effected water levels, I recorded boat wakes, and I watched for larval or juvenile dragonflies as they emerged from the river. It was an hour commute to the river, and another hour commute by kayak once in the river to reach my designated site. I had to be set up and ready to record before the sun rose each day, and could not leave the sites until after the sun set each evening.
My first year working with dragonflies, I was constantly bored. I brought with me any form of entertainment that I could; a book, ipod, journals for writing, notepads for sketching, my phone, a large lunch, crosswords, sudokus, everything. I hated my job. I could not stand the monotony of the task I was assigned to do: sit for 14 hours on a log, a look up at a stick in the water every ten minutes. Theoretically, there were larval dragonflies that I could watch emerge from the water and eclose, a long process of shedding the exuvial casing and unfolding its wet and teneral wings. Though I found many empty casings along the shore, I never once saw a larval dragonfly eclose during that first summer.
My second year recording dragonflies begun much the same as the previous year had been. I made sure to distract myself as much as possible, as I had equated distractions with happiness during work. One day, I decided to make a rule for myself, one that would forever change the way that I live my life. I decided that the time would pass quicker if I did not allow myself to multitask. Multitasking is valued in our society today, seen as a virtue if you can successfully do many things at the same time. But there are many more subtle ways that we all multitask that we do not ever think of, unless of course we force ourselves to. If I were listening to music, I would close my eyes and sit down. If I were eating my lunch, I would turn off my music. If I were pacing on my 100 ft plot of riverfront, I would not simultaneously be talking on the phone. Each activity I partook it, no matter how familiar, I would devote all of my attention towards that one activity. Now, this is much much harder to do than it sounds. as Birkerts says "to pay attention, to attend. To be present, not merely in body - it is an action of the spirit".
Eventually, over the next few years of single-tasking, I slowly weeded out the distractions that I so heavily depended on for entertainment. I started to leave my journals and sketch pads at home. Next went the crosswords, and sudokus, my ipod, and eventually my book. As the distractions in my life faded away, the dragonflies appeared. Larval dragonflies treacherously made the trek from deep in the river to the banks by my side to start the 4-8 hour process of eclosure; hopefully without mortality due to raising water levels, predation, or boat wakes. And I not only had the privilege of watching, but I was able to participate.
I learned to bring nothing with me in my kayak each morning. I sat entranced by the stillness at sunrise, meditated with the ripples of the afternoon. I sat each day, completely naked and steeped in my surroundings. I fasted from sunrise to sunset, as food too became a distraction so great that to sacrifice eating in order to remain present in my environment was essential. I sat for 14 hours a day, absorbed in my thoughts, and the river, and the dragonflies. I studied the raspberry bushes that enveloped the beach; each ovary on the perfect fruit bearing life. I took note of when the fish took their meals and what insects they ate. I watched the birds nesting in the erroding banks across the river. "We have no sense of the clock-face; we are fully absorbed by out thoughts, images, and scenarios". I became so in tuned with my surrounds that a once a chipmunk ran over to me and sat on my foot. I had successfully camouflaged myself. I was the earth.
"There is a big difference between our attempting to pay attention to something and having our attention captured - arrested - by something. The capture is what interests me."
One day during my final summer on the river, I sat in peace watching the river ebb and flow. The day drifting by before my eyes. I saw a stir at the edge of the river, and watched with curiosity as a larval common green darner dragonfly walked slowly from the river. It had spent probably two years beneath the surface. As a part of my duties for work, I was required to stay and watch the dragonfly from the moment it broke the surface of the river, to when it fully eclosed and flew away. This process can take upwards of 8 hours. And yes, I was to stay and accompany this insect even if it meant staying long beyond sunset and the required hours. I observed the dragonfly as is crawled gracelessly onto the rough sands, and struggled over twigs and leaf matter. It walked up a blade of thick grass, that sagged with its weight. The process began, in which the casing breaks open along the back. And slowly, over the course of hours the wet and teneral dragonfly emerges from its own exuvie which has held it for years. It takes the shape of what anybody could recognize as a dragonfly. It stands upon the empty shell that reaches out with thin white threads that yearn for life again. The teneral insect spreads its wings, soft and wet and vulnerable. And it waits. It waits for its wings to dry so it can finally break free of this earthly world. It had been about six hours, and I had not yet torn my eyes away from this transformation.
The dragonfly broke free. It spread its wings and flew for the very first time. Within seconds, a bird swooped from the sky and ate the dragonfly I had become so invested in. Before my eyes I saw life taken away, so unceremoniously. What I could never have predicted was the visceral reaction that followed. I vomited, and everything went black. For the first time, I saw a window into the realm of the Forms. A realm of essences and truths. I awoke afraid, alone, vomit covering my naked breasts. The sun was setting and nobody had noticed the death of this beautiful being. Nobody had seen life snatched from the air. Nobody had seen my transcendence into an other-wordly realm.
Birkerts and I both found truth in our monotony. We both learned what it meant to be attentive.
"...Though recognitions often come during these trances, when the mind is so susceptible."
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