The Butterfly


The Butterfly

How do we discover joy in this very serious life?  Or perhaps, I should say in my very serious life, always focused, always trying to work on what is next.  Do we ever discover joy or does joy always discover us? When I think of the joyful moments of my life, I never found joy.  Joy found me when I was present and open to what was before me.
In November 2018, I attended a Quest with Animas Valley Institute. It was suggested we spend some time before the quest being present in nature.  Choose some place as wild as possible, some place not domesticated or where you will meet other human beings.
            I chose to go to Bonham State Park, a park I had not been to before, though it is only thirty minutes from our house. The instructions were to get off trail as much as possible.  Go where you are led.  Don’t simply follow the worn trail that is before you.  Look. Listen. Spend the whole day. Respond to that which is tugging at you.
            I went on a Tuesday, hoping a weekday would decrease the likelihood of encountering people. It had rained a few days earlier, so I wore my waterproof boots and expected to find lots of mud.  I did. Several of the trails were slippery and gave me quite a ride as I rode the mud down the trail. 
I looked.  I listened. I wondered where I was going to be asked to step off the trail into something unexpected. The underbrush was filled with brambles and thorns, not an inviting detour.  I placed my hand on some large trees, waiting, listening, wondering what was supposed to happen.
I came upon a narrow path off the trail, possibly created by an animal.  Following this trail as best I could, I pushed my way through the vines, having to stop occasionally to untangle myself. I came upon a clearing in the trees, an open space that was inviting me to be present. Not sure what I was supposed to do, I just went and sat in the middle of the clearing to look and listen and breath.
Soon a butterfly came and landed about ten feet in front of me. Facing away from me, the butterfly flapped its wings at me repeatedly. For a long time. I began to hear the word “grace” in my head, with each flap of the wing. “Grace, grace, grace.”  I decided I would sit and see how long this butterfly would stay. I was amazed.  After five minutes, the butterfly was still there, flapping its wings.  “Grace, grace, grace.” Joy swept over me. Deep, abiding joy caught me right there in that space.
This was such an amazing experience I decided I needed a picture of this marvelous butterfly.  As I leaned over to take my phone out of my pocket, the butterfly took off, but he did not fly away. He circled around me.  I stood up so I could be ready to take his picture.  I watched as he circled around and then landed right where I had been sitting.  He turned his back to me again and began flapping his wings, again and again. “Grace, grace, grace.”  I slowly raised the phone and got the picture.
Then the butterfly took off and left me.  He decided his work was done.  I looked down at the place where he had been, where I had been sitting a few moments ago, and saw a skeleton bone.  I picked it up. It looked like part of a small leg.  Something had died or had been eaten in this very spot.  Wow – bones and death, butterflies and new life.  “Grace, grace, grace.” I carried the bone with me, wondering what would encounter me next. Perhaps it would be joy.

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