i had never been in a butterfly house before. the chicago botanic garden has such an exhibit right now and we saved it until last – after all the beautiful gardens and fresh air had zenned us out. if it is possible to sink further into zen than being enfolded in gloriously intentional blooming, this butterfly garden is it.
it isn’t a huge screen enclosure – and they allow limited people in at a time – but it is complete immersion in the magical. enchanting. for two artists who draw inspiration from the outdoors and its gorgeousness, we felt like we could have stayed there for hours.
butterflies were literally everywhere…on the plants, on the screen, on the path and – most delightfully – on us. the first moment a butterfly landed on us felt like you had been chosen for something uniquely special – this fragile creature with wings of scales and chitin (a fibrous protein) supported by a system of veins. nature, indeed. how is this kind of iridescence even possible?
only one other time – that i can remember – did a butterfly land on me. it was shortly after my big brother died and, as this butterfly flitted around me out front in an adirondack chair, i was convinced he was sending me a message. until it landed on me and hung out. then i was sure it was my brother, having converted his life energy temporarily into that of a butterfly. i was astounded and ever so grateful.
this time i was just in complete awe. i felt chosen as a few butterflies lighted on my hands or my arms, one at a time. i spoke quietly to each of them, thanking them for this incredible moment in time…a moment when i was reminded that we are all – butterflies and people – on this good earth together. we are all doing life the very best we can. we are all capable of gorgeous and of making another feel singled out and exceptional.
butterflies in this sanctuary just have to fly around and then land, their visit a thing of softness…a mica moment.
we – as people – can also lift someone, transport them into nirvana … in so many ways. we need remember that. our goodness is not winged, but – with our loving encouragement – others may fly. it’s all pure magic.
stripe, the caterpillar, after eating many leaves and crawling many crawls, was driven to climb a pillar of caterpillars he could see that stretched way, way high up into the clouds. it seemed an imperative – the thing every other caterpillar was doing. without question, he began to climb, stepping on other caterpillars in his zeal to get to the top of the pillar. he couldn’t see what was up there and he did not know where they were all going. he begins to wonder aloud. yellow, another caterpillar close by, agrees that she was also wondering, but that “no one else seems to worry about where we’re going so it must be good.” stripe needs to keep going and so he steps on yellow who is in his way in the caterpillar pillar, stating, “well, i guess it’s you or me.” he then crawls off and apologizes to her.
stripe and yellow continue climbing the pillar. but stripe is feeling bad and wonders, “how can i step on someone i’ve just talked to?” together – realizing that the pillar made no sense – they decide to climb off the caterpillar pillar and make a peaceful life together crawling and nibbling grass.
after a bit of time, it seemed that crawling and nibbling grass and hugging each other in a caterpillar sort of way was not quite enough, that there was more to life. stripe felt the call of the pillar once again and, leaving a reluctant yellow behind, went back to climb high, high, high with all the other lonely climbing caterpillars that had no idea of what was at the top.
yellow, desolate without stripe, wandered away from their home. she came upon a caterpillar spinning a cocoon and it spoke to her, telling her it was doing what was necessary to become a beautiful butterfly. it told her that “without butterflies, the world would soon have few flowers.”
yellow could not believe that there was a butterfly inside of her, but the cocoon explained to her that she had to wish to fly with beautiful wings so much she need give up being a caterpillar. it explained that “life is changed, not taken away.” it explained that a cocoon is “an in-between house where the change takes place” and though “it will seem to anyone who might peek that nothing is happening…the butterfly is already becoming. it just takes time.”
and then it tells yellow that “once you are a butterfly, you can really love – the kind of love that makes new life.”
yellow chooses to spin a cocoon.
stripe – on the caterpillar pillar – determined to get to the top – watches the caterpillars squished at the top falling off to their deaths far below. he is ruthless, with the words “don’t blame me if you don’t succeed! it’s a tough life” at his lips for any caterpillar on the pillar who would complain.nearing the top he felt the pressure of the other caterpillars jammed in around him.
one day a beautiful yellow butterfly with eyes filled of love flew near him. “looking into the creature’s eyes he could hardly bear the love he saw there. he wanted to change, to make up for all the time he had refused to look at the other…the others stared at him as though he were mad.” and stripe realized that to get to the top he needed to fly, not climb, delighted to believe this possibility – that there was a butterfly inside of him.
stripe began to carefully descend the caterpillar pillar, looking each caterpillar in the eyes and whispering, “i’ve been up; there’s nothing there.” other caterpillars were shocked, refusing to listen, dedicated to blindly climbing. one asked, “don’t say it even if it’s true. what else can we do?” stripe answered, “we can fly! we can become butterflies! there’s nothing at the top and it doesn’t matter!”
the other caterpillars were not as convinced and it was a struggle to get down off the pillar. one “crawler sneered, ‘how could you swallow such a story? our life is earth and climbing. look at us worms! we couldn’t be butterflies inside. make the best of it and enjoy caterpillar living!”
stripe made his way to the bottom, exhausted, falling asleep.
and just as in every good story – yellow, the butterfly, flew to him and – with great love – helped him to spin his own cocoon and then waited. until one day stripe emerged as a beautiful butterfly, able to fly to the heavens and bring love to the flowers. 💛
the simple metal coneflower sculpture outside in the garden of the shop in the tiny town of stockholm on the river road invited me to walk to it. soldered slightly askew, it was the perfect flower for our ornamental grass garden right in the middle of our backyard, right next to the old bricks from the standing basketball hoop, right next to breck, our aspen tree. a permanent flower.
i could not help but think of this little book as i looked at this photograph. published in 1972, it is completely relevant in today’s world.
if you need a visual for kamala harris that is different than all the joy and positivity she is already offering our country, you might think of this story. she is a butterfly.
it is without a doubt the maga party is the caterpillar pillar, full of ruthless pillar climbers, of crushing pressure and no compassion, of nowhere to go, of no one asking questions, of no love.
it’s a clear choice, worthy of thoughtful consideration.
i choose the butterfly life, just like stripe and yellow.
we co-wrote an absolutely brilliant song when we were on washington island in the summer of 2019.
[i’m thinking i already posted about this. 1900 + blogs and redundancy is a thing, i guess. my apologies – i know some people really detest redundancy. i, on the other hand, don’t really mind it at all. you can tell me the same delicious story over and over and i will still be a happy listener. (these rules don’t apply to david, of course)]
anyway…now, every-single-time i see a butterfly (and even yes-yes, technically, a moth as well, yup-yup) i cannot help myself. i immediately think of this song and sometimes – ok, most times – i start singing it. “butterfly, butterfly, spread your wings. butterfly, butterfly, fly. butterfly, butterfly, flutter by, to the big blue sky.” (see audio file waaaay below if you are dying to hear this brilliance!)
we cannot help laughing.
really laughing.
like the kind of laughing when your cheeks hurt and your ribs begin to ache, tears start streaming from your eyes and you might even snort. THAT kind of laughing.
we were so inspired back then by our butterfly song, we decided – while still on island – to write another song – fun in the sun – and we tried to record it (see below)…ridiculously harsh sunlight, anything-but-flattering-up-angle, very-very-insanely-close-up…but the moments are recorded no less. for all time.
the red admiral butterfly – that fluttered by and landed right next to us on the adirondack chair on our patio – according to the great google – symbolizes spiritual awakening, transformation, and renewal. all beautifully restorative. truly a gift.
but there is nothing like a good laugh to put things in perspective. for all time.
i stood in the surf to take pictures of it. i could feel the sand sinking beneath my feet and the water pulling me out. the breaking waves were glorious and the cool water was rejuvenating. i stood there a long time, snapping photos. later, my feet – from sandwalking and wavecleansing – felt like i had taken an expensive exfoliation scrub and lavishly basked in its luxury. the magic of these two – elements of the tide, in time, of forces playing together.
we sat – in quiet – on the patio, over adirondack chairs facing the backyard. all summer we have had a hummingbird feeder out back. we have felt fortunate to see a hummer a time or two, maybe at day’s end, sipping and zipping away. but after the deluge of rain, after i refilled the feeder, the word seemed to have spread in hummingbirdland. and suddenly, our yard became a destination. and so we sat, quietly watching, transfixed by these tiniest birds, binoculars at the ready. and they came and went. they ate at the feeder and sat perched on the wires and on the garden fencing. they chased each other, zooming past our chairs and up and over the house. it was the first show and it was enchanting. we relaxed into its magic.
the trail was hot and we were on mile nine. at that point – in the feels-like high nineties – we were talking about getting to littlebabyscion in the parking lot. but then there was this butterfly who captured my attention. on a stand of tall yellow wildflowers, the viceroy butterfly shared the edge of the trail with me. i was close to it and took photographs as it sunned, seeking nectar. it didn’t fly away, instead allowing me to snap pictures as it stayed on the bright blossom. i forgot about how much i wanted to sit down, the weary disappearing into the magic of this creature’s presence.
when we were little, there was little that was not magical. and then we grew – taller, older, supposedly wiser. and some of the magic dissipated into clouds.
but, we are lucky beings. because from time to time, we are reminded. they need not be big moments of grandeur, though they could be. they need not be big moments of contrived entertainment, though they could be. they need not be stunning vistas or neverending horizons, though they could be.
instead, they are tiny bubbles and droplets of water, tiny grains of sand, gathered together in a restoring wave. they are tiny birds sanctuarying the backyard. they are a butterfly on a flower, almost unnoticed.
and we remember. we remember to remember, to not forget that the magic is right there waiting.
and in the wisdom of the littles, we realize – again – there is little that is not magical.
in the age-old tale of things-are-often-not-as-they-appear, this beautiful almost-transparent white moth flits from lavender bloom to lavender bloom. in certain moments it is even hard to see, its translucent wings disappearing and then glinting in the sunlight. against the dark background of the deck, it is easier to see as it feeds on the nectar of these deep purple blossoms. it’s a cabbage white butterfly. and it is likely responsible for the tiny holes in the tomato plant leaves. it’s fortunate we do not have a cabbage patch as these little guys have the capacity to destroy it. such a beautiful little creature and so much potential for destruction of goodness.
i’m writing this (ahead) on a rainy sunday morning and it’s too easy on sundays for my mind (and heart) to jaunt over to the things-are-not-what-they-appear heading.
this translucent butterfly has specific markings (a black spot on the upward front side of its wings), a specific size just over an inch, markings that depict the gender, making it easier to identify and, if necessary, prevent or eradicate the damage it can do to a hard-earned crop. if it were to look like any other butterfly – or say, a beautiful monarch – it would be much more difficult for gardeners to recognize the peril, much more difficult for farmers to stand firm and work at keeping the crops safe that they have nourished so carefully, for so long, with so much dedication.
sitting on the deck watching this butterfly flit about, the sunlight catching its gentle wings here and there, i never suspected it might be at the root of the problem i am experiencing late in the season now with our cherry tomatoes. under a cloak of not-knowing and not-asking-enough-questions or googling enough, i didn’t know to point at this gentle creature. but the act of googling has given me information. i can look for larvae on the tomato leaves and examine the damage with a plan for it.
were it to be a full field of cabbage, like out in the county here, it would seem imperative to act upon this. a whole field of cabbage – a field of potential abundance – can be destroyed by the existence of something that people might never question. research says an infestation of the cabbage white butterfly caterpillar can destroy all cabbage growth, and prevention is said to be imperative to avoid the ruinous nature of such an aggressor. that way “you’ll have less work and damage later on.”
this butterfly has been here since the 1860s so its presence seems pretty solid and unshakable. i guess you have to pay attention to damage being wreaked around you in your tiny tomato garden, delve into it, gather information, ask questions and stop the quiet chaos from happening.
it’s easier when the wings are transparent, when the markings easily identifiable and when the community of gardeners and farmers are seeking the goodness of the cabbage field.
“when she transformed into a butterfly, the caterpillars spoke not of her beauty, but of her weirdness. they wanted her to change back into what she always had been. but she had wings.” (dean jackson)
“trust the wait. embrace the uncertainty. enjoy the beauty of becoming. when nothing is certain, anything is possible.” (mandy hale)
i had an IME on tuesday. an IME is an independent medical exam. it is a brief exam ordered by an insurance company and the physician is both chosen and paid for by that insurance company. it is defined as an independent assessment of an injury or illness, in my case, my wrist, and the determination by the doctor-chosen-and-paid-for-by-the-insurance-company-paying-for-treatment will be placed next to the reports of the medical hand specialist and the occupational therapist who have been treating me consistently for the last five months. a basic review of articles about IME reveals that the insurance-company-paying-for-treatment will pick the report they wish to concur with and that will decide if there is to be future, in this case, my future, treatment. so be it.
there is nothing to do now but wait.
my OT is wonderful. she has encouraged me, pushed me, held me accountable and she has brought me from twenty degrees of forward right wrist movement to fifty-five. this is big news, since, at first, six degrees was all i could muster. brutus and my OT have caused me much pain, but what’s that saying? no pain, no gain. we have worked hard. and, in the way of hard work and healing, there are things i can do now that i wasn’t able to do a few months ago. and there are things i fear i will never be able to do again. uncertainty.
there is nothing to do but wait.
sometimes i wonder what life will look like in a year or two years. i wonder what i will be doing. if i looked back a year i would never have guessed back then what this year would have looked like. no, last july looked very different than right now. it just suggests that truly everything is uncertain, that everything is in the act of becoming, in the middle of the fire, maybe everything is ashes transitioning to riches over and over again. possibility, evidenced in tomato plants bearing fruit on an old barnwood potting stand, evidenced in a nest-home created in a birdhouse hanging empty for years, evidenced in the smell of the rain bringing cool on a summer morning.
there are times, when you are simply going about your business, going about life, that you don’t expect change. you don’t expect to be thrust into ‘different’. times when you find out the caterpillars were talking about you all along. after reeling from the surprise, after trying to grab the wheel to stabilize, after railing about the unfairness of it all – for life does not seem to be fair, you find yourself out of the deep, dark water – in the shallows.
and in the shallows there is abundant life, abundant food, abundant shelter. in the shallows we can rest and nourish and breathe. we can sit in uncertainty and the unknown. we can imagine new. because anything IS possible.
there is nothing to wait for and everything to wait for. it’s now.
as we walked yesterday we were aware of how many butterflies were around us. flying, flitting, dining on nectar-filled wildflowers, they swirled around us and seemed to be going along, hiking with us. these amazing monarch butterflies during the summer breeding season will only live weeks. some will live a bit longer, migrating south to mexico when fall tips the tree-green of leaves to fiery reds and yellows and oranges.
i remember a day sitting in an adirondack chair in our front yard at home. many years ago now, it was mid-july, a sunny and warm day. stunningly, as i sat there a monarch butterfly flew past, close to my chair. it wasn’t but a few moments later that it landed on my knee. gently opening its fragile wings, it basked in the sunlight as i basked in its beauty. it was in no hurry to leave its perch on my knee and i was in no hurry to move. it seemed unconcerned about next. it seemed unconcerned about quantity of time. it was present in now. and now seemed enough. time seemed to stand still, my breathing slowed down, my worry forgotten as i watched this tiny creature drink in this very sun-moment.
“the butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.” (rabindranath tagore)
time and again we are reminded of this: that every single moment counts. time and again we forget.
wishing you a day of monarch-inspired moments…drinking in the sun, gently fluttering your wings and flying unfettered.
it was the first. the very first butterfly of this season. we both stopped to watch it as it freely flitted around the path in front of us. it felt like another harbinger of spring; maybe it’s really here. a few minutes later we stopped and sat for a few minutes. we didn’t talk; we just listened to the woods. the rest was soft and rejuvenating. the quiet was punctuated by birds and chipmunks. even a raccoon came out to wander. we got back up, ready for more hiking.
i distinctly remember a day i sat in the front yard. it was summer and, just like chicken marsala in this chicken nugget, there was a butterfly that came to light on my hand. it circled around and came back, landing on my knee, my foot. it felt like a message to me, a reinforcement to quietly sit in the sun.
this world is full of chaos and confusion, deadlines and worries. looking at the furrows lining people’s brows, it is obvious that we don’t take enough time to just rest, just sit, just soak in new energy, just let butterflies lead the way. good things will come.
reverse threading 