The Dragonfly in the House
I wrote this a few months ago - and have been sitting on a series of blogs that i need to release now. I hope you enjoy ...
At the beginning of this year, the dragonflies came inside.
Not one.
Not by accident.
But often enough for me to pause.
They hovered near windows.
Rested in corners.
Moved gently through the rooms of our home as though they had every right to be there.
And I wondered what this tohu meant.
Because when something from the natural world crosses a threshold
from outside to inside
it asks to be noticed.
From Water to Air
The dragonfly begins its life beneath the surface.
In water.
In stillness.
In unseen formation.
Before it ever flies, it lives in the depths.
And then one day, it rises.
Sheds its former body.
Finds its wings.
And takes to the air with strength and precision.
When I look at this past season of my own life, I can see the water stage clearly.
The unseen work.
The internal shifts.
The doubts, the rebuilding, the recalibrating.
The quiet strengthening of foundations.
From the outside, not much may have seemed different.
But beneath the surface everything was forming.
A Messenger at the Threshold
For the dragonfly to enter the house felt symbolic.
A crossing over.
A reminder that what has been developing internally is now ready to move outward.
Dragonflies are often seen as symbols of transformation, clarity, and lightness.
They do not fly backwards.
They move forward with agility and grace.
They see with almost full vision — multifaceted eyes that do not narrow perspective, but
widen it.
And perhaps that is the message.
To lift.
To rise.
To move into this year with clearer sight and lighter spirit.
Preparing to Fly
At first, I questioned it.
Was it random?
Seasonal?
Just coincidence?
But when something repeats itself, it becomes invitation.
This year is not about staying in the water.
It is about trusting that the wings have already formed.
About understanding that depth was necessary — but it was not the final destination.
The dragonfly does not apologise for emerging.
It does not ask permission to take flight.
It simply does.
What the Tohu Meant
Now I understand.
The dragonfly was not asking me to search for meaning.
It was reminding me that meaning had already been created through the work I’ve done.
It was a quiet whisper:
You have done the unseen work.
You have survived the depths.
You are ready for air.
And so as this year unfolds, I carry that image with me.
Light.
Precise.
Forward moving.
Not fragile — but finely tuned.
The dragonflies in the house were not lost.
They were simply showing me what was already becoming true.
This is the year of flight.
image credit: Dragonfly Flight by Scott Langdale