The Invisible Butterfly

author’s note:

Butterflies may seem to be on a frolic, but the truth is: they’re working their butts off the whole time.


THE INVISIBLE BUTTERFLY

This morning, when I saw the child
running in the sun—
her arms outstretched
her feet in too much of a rush—
I wrote:

Though she seems to be following
an invisible butterfly
the truth is:
she’s driven by a butterfly within.

I imagined that girl moving into adulthood
years from now—
still racing erratically through the tall grass
as if ruled by a mindless whimsy.

Those who watch her then
will wonder what she’s after
but her answers will only be evasions
because she’ll be as confounded as they are.
All she’ll know is:
her life seems to be captive
to a mysterious force
that destroys practical plans.

She’ll flitter and flutter here and there—

perhaps resting for a brief while
in a cool field smelling of honeydew melon.
Or perhaps she’ll pause for a season
on the shore of a brown lake
smelling of oil.

Though she will find satisfaction
in some of those places
in time, her peace will become
stagnation.
And then that drive will begin to stir deep within.
And the message will be: “move on”.

Sometimes she’ll try to ignore the instruction
but eventually she will learn:
she must obey an inborn aspiration
stronger than her conscious will.

Thinking about that child
and the woman she’d become
I again felt those wings rustling within.

So I whispered “bless you”
and moved on
led by my own inner butterfly.

After years of following
I can hear it now
as it silently says:
so much to be done
in so many places
before you can rest.

But I don’t bother to ask
“What’s it all for?”
because by now I know
the invisible butterfly
will not answer.

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A Prayer after Death

author's note:

I want to die with my boots on.

But I’m not buying any boots right now.


A PRAYER AFTER DEATH

I didn’t believe any prayer of mine
would help him
in his last hours
of suffering.

But I could give him
my empathy:
I could sit by his bed
and try to gain some sense
of his innner struggle.

So I matched my breath
to his ragged breath
and winced
whenever his eyelids crinkled in pain.

Nonetheless
he still seemed so distant.

To entertain my impatience
I counted time as his blind hand
ticked against the bedsheet

In that way, I fell into a timeless trance

until with a startle
I felt my heart clunk clumsily
once...twice

then my chest slumped
with a release of tension
and as I sighed, I saw him
collapse inside
with a silent heave of exhaustion.

Suddenly a subtle brightness seemed
to intensify the room--
or maybe I just imagined
the faint glittery mist
that hovered for a moment, midair
then vanished with a quick fade.

I can only say for certain what I felt:
the reality seemed so unreal.  Elevated.

But in the next moment
I nearly laughed:
a process so crushingly tedious
had ended with nothing more
than a quick simple breath.

I felt relieved

but only for a minute

then the grieving began.

Yet even as the sadness rose
I felt the impulse to compose a prayer--
I wanted to give humble thanks
to whatever force might have placed
that blessed event in my path.

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The Wise Words of the Butterfly Soul

author’s note:

I’m trying to tell myself the truth.


THE WISE WORDS OF THE BUTTERFLY SOUL

According to legend...

when lost in battle
warriors sometimes come back
as phantom butterflies
to deliver wise messages of guidance.

So when I sensed
those wings fluttering
around my ears
I knew you’d returned to me

and I waited, hoping to hear
magical wise words
that would unlock my heart.
And then
in a sudden burst of freedom
I’d know true peace.

But you just whispered
this short flat instruction
then flew away:

before you can see the stars
you must first lower your eyes.

Dreaded action!--
but as the legend says:
the dead can see better than we do
because they have nothing left to lose.

And so I looked down to address
that mud heap of grief on my plate

while telling myself this second legend:

after the prison pauper ate and digested
his slop-mess dinner
lo and behold!--
the ceiling lifted
and his plate reflected
a fulsome night of stars.

Wise words can’t do the work for us
or give us strength
but without those wise words
I wouldn’t struggle so hard
to find the strength
to work for the peace of freedom.

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