Page 105 - Dark Matter:Women Witnessing Issue2

formed a square on the wall about six inches above and below the crack site. A work crew held the

body, twisting it this way and that, getting the front part way in, then backing out, rearranging from

radically different positions, trying again. The beetle was longer than the crack opening so this

operation didn’t look possible to our eyes, yet to theirs it obviously did, as they spent twenty minutes

on the maneuvering. The oversight crew appeared to signal with their antennae between each

attempt, as though conveying logistical information, and eventually the crew succeeded, vanishing

with their prize into the wall opening, followed by the four members of the talkative oversight crew.

People who study ants closely say they communicate through smell, sending out pheromones from

glands in their bodies, detected through their antennae. But what of the ant-­‐movers on the wall? Did

their out-­‐posted lookouts have pheromones that could tell the work group, “Try again from a steeper

angle girls, and turn the body on the bias.” What would be the signal language for, “Try 90-­‐degree

angle, try from the left, try turning the body upright, a certain portion out from the wall”? However

they do it, the instructions eventually enabled the ultra-­‐strong worker ants to hold the long body of the

beetle in defiance of gravity, then slide it like a letter into the envelope slot in the wall.

Insects talk to each other, but do they also attempt to talk to us? One day, I looked down at my arm to

find a small brown ant vigorously touching its antennae to the fine hairs on the back of my wrist. I

watched this one-­‐sided interaction for a long time—minutes of my time, hours of ant time—and had a

strong impression of witnessing someone trying to engage a conversation. Was this ant attempting to

detect intelligent life on planet human? Having no way to consciously manipulate my arm hairs, I could

not respond in any way, watching helplessly until the patient creature finally gave up. I can only

wonder, and hope some clever naturalist devises antennae-­‐like linguistic devices through which we can

connect to these marvelous beings.

One day in 1995 my childhood desire to have a personal interaction with an insect—this time a

dragonfly—was fulfilled. An encounter with a dragonfly is an encounter with a gatekeeper of spirit,

according to the lore of some indigenous people of the North American continent. The connection,

usually initiated by the creature, indicates a major change in one’s consciousness and therefore one’s

life.

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