ButterflyÕs
Story
ÒI almost wish we were butterflies and livÕd but three summer
days – three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty
common years could ever contain.Ó – John Keats[1]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59Sv9mhe5fk ("Metamorphosis" by Hilary Duff; one of
my favorite songs as a child)
Butterfly Speaks.
I
still remember the early days of my childhood, when I was small, yellow, black,
and white and wanted the entire world.[2]
I was so hungry, not only for food, but also for adventure, romance, and
– most of all – flight. I would look up at the sky and see all
kinds of creatures soaring, swooping, and floating, and I would yearn so badly
to join them. Once, a human uprooted a dandelion next to the one I had made my
clubhouse and emitted some mystical sort of air that made little fairies fly
away in the direction of the Fire in the Sky. If I could have, I would have
jumped onto one of the fairies and begged her to take me with them.
But my
disappointment didnÕt last too long; I knew how to have fun. My siblings and I
would explore the mammoth plant playground, searching for the ultimate
delicacy: milkweeds. Some of my worm friends called me crazy and said I was
going to die from the poison, but something deep inside me told me that the
milkweeds would not hurt me. They were friends, even protectors. And I had this
inexplicable feeling that I was destined for something greater than anything I
had ever known, but I never told my worm friends that, because I knew they
wouldnÕt understand.
Then the
Dark Days came. My deep hunger, once all consuming, was gone. I felt so lonely
I could hardly stand it, and I wondered what my purpose was in life; did I have
a purpose at all? I lost all hope and curled up into a ball. Instinctively, I
produced a sort of blanket that I wrapped around me, my only comfort. I waited.
I slept.
To this day,
I still donÕt know exactly how long I slept, but I inevitably had to wake up,
and when I did, I panicked. My body felt too big for the blanket. I thought of
the milkweeds and wondered whether I was dying or whether I was already dead.
Those seemed like the only two options. But my sadness and emptiness were gone;
I wanted to live! And I smelled something . . . I could smell! This was new. I
detected a scent that made me hungry, but it was a very different kind of
hunger than the one that I was used to. This hunger nearly drove me crazy, but
it gave me the strength to fight for my freedom from the blanket that had once been
my haven but was somehow now my cage. I did it with my É wings! I had wings! I
discovered them in the process of breaking open the now-hard blanket that
encapsulated me, and I finally broke free into a world that was suddenly
colorful, a completely different world than the gray and brown one I had known
before.
Before I
knew what was happening, I was flying. I felt wind, and heat, and pressure, in
a brand new way. I had finally done it. I had achieved flight. And boy, could I
soar! Now, I noticed that there were several other flying things all around me,
and they looked a lot like I did, but most of them had to flap up and down, up
and down constantly to stay in the air. But a few of us were special; we had
only to spread our wings and the air would carry us forward.[3]
I know now that this is because we have two homes, and our wings are built to
keep us from getting tired during the journey from one home to the other, the
eternal journey to be one with the Fire in the Sky. But back then, all I knew
was that I finally felt . . . happy.
Then, I
caught the scent again, and it was so much stronger this time. Some aromatic
dust landed on my antennae, and I finally caught a glimpse of him. He was
colorful, and bold, and I started to fall but he caught me and lowered me
gently to the ground. After we had introduced ourselves to each other, he
lifted me up again and carried me to a secret place where we became one entity
and remained that way for I donÕt know how long. I was flying, and I was with
him; I no longer had any doubts as to what my purpose was.
Since that
day, I have mothered many children, and IÕve tried my best to make the safest
cribs for them in my beloved milkweeds. I wish I could have stayed with them to
watch them grow, but I know that they are strong enough to survive without me.
I had to obey the voice inside me that told me it was time to go. I was born in
the North, during summer. Now it is getting colder, and so I am traveling with
my friends to a place down South where they say the Fire in the Sky never
leaves. Maybe one day I will return, but even if I donÕt, I am not afraid of death.
I know firsthand that after death comes more life, and the children I have left
behind will ensure that beauty will remain in this world long after I am gone.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l42ca94m-bE (Beautiful
video of a monarch butterfly migration to Mexico, but with a questionable song
choice about halfway through.)
Human Speaks.
In
the summer of 2009, I attended a creative writing workshop for high school
students at Columbia University. There, a teacher introduced me to what
immediately became, and remains to this day, my favorite short story: ÒChildren
of the Sea,Ó from Edwidge DanticatÕs short story collection, Krik? Krak! The story is written
entirely in epistolary form: the ultimately undelivered letters of two young,
nameless people in love during a period in Haitian history when their love is
impossible. The female narrator, toward the beginning of the story, writes, Òi
donÕt sketch my butterflies anymore because i donÕt even like seeing the sun.
besides, manman says that butterflies can bring news. the bright ones bring
happy news and the black ones warn us of deaths.Ó[4]
At the end of the story, the young woman finds herself surrounded by black butterflies
and knows intuitively that her love is dead, but even this does not stop her
from loving him: Òbehind these mountains are more mountains and more black
butterflies still and a sea that is endless like my love for you.Ó[5]
This was my
first emotional experience centered around butterflies, and it mostly involved sobbing
on my Columbia dorm bed for two fictional characters. At first, then, it seems counterintuitive
that the butterfly is my spirit animal. I used to think that a spirit animal
should make you happy, or that you should at least have had a very happy
experience with the animal. But although all sorts of animals, from leopards to
penguins, make me happy, they are not me – or rather, I am not them. The
butterfly is my spirit animal. She encompasses who I am and provides me with
guidance for living.
One
thing I can learn from the butterfly is optimism and resourcefulness. IÕve
always wondered if caterpillars know that they will turn into butterflies
someday. Perhaps not. Perhaps the only thing they know is that they are
Òobsessed with food,Ó and they eat so much and gain so much weight that, Ò[i]n
human terms, a 10-pound baby becomes a 30,000-pound man.Ó[6]
The food they eat is interesting, too. I am usually a monarch butterfly, and
monarch caterpillars eat Òpoisonous milkweedsÓ whose Òpoisons [are] retained by
adultsÓ so that they are Òdistasteful to birds.Ó[7]
Humans have assigned a bad connotation to the idea of being full of poison, but
butterflies represent a different perspective. We all face struggles in our
lives, and sometimes we go through times so rough that we feel as though we
have been poisoned. This poison often comes from the world around us, and we
think it is beyond our control. But we should learn from the butterflies, who
take in poison but do not let it harm them, and use it instead as a means of
protection. They are optimists who learn from their experiences and use them to
make themselves better earthlings.
Butterflies
can also teach me about being a leader, albeit in an unusual way. When I was a
child, I loved being in the center of attention. I wanted to be a leader; I
wanted to be famous; I wanted to save everyone from all of the bad things in
the world. Then I grew older and I learned something from my spirit animal.
Being a leader is not always about being ahead of everyone else or telling
others what to do. Sometimes being a leader means stepping back and forming
connections with loved ones: taking a journey together. Sometimes you just have
an instinct inside of you that tells you what to do, where to go, and when, and
your obligation is to follow that instinct and hope that you can lead others by
example rather than by force or words.
And you must know, too, that you need other people. Oh, you can fulfill
basic tasks by yourself. You can lay hundreds of eggs, all on your own. You can
be independent. In the beginning, you can even convince yourself that you donÕt
need anyone else. But then the weather changes, it starts to get cold, and you
learn from the butterflies, who Òare not solitary but huddle togetherÓ for
protection and comfort when itÕs time to make the great migration to a new
land.[8]
Perhaps the
most important thing to be learned from butterflies is also the most obvious. The
concept of metamorphosis is one of the most universally fascinating phenomena
in natural history. ÒThe Hindu god Brahma [É] conceived the idea of
reincarnation: perfection through rebirthÓ by watching the transformation from
caterpillar to pupa to butterfly; the ancient Greeks used the same word for butterfly and soul; and butterflies have long been used as symbols for the lives
that were lost during the Holocaust.[9]
ÒNo matter our religious beliefs, we accept the miracle of metamorphosis.Ó[10]
We are fascinated with the idea of rebirth, because it beautiful, miraculous,
and something we can never have. As the examples cited above demonstrate,
however, different people take different meanings from this phenomenon based on
their own individual experiences or group identities. For me, the pupa stage
represents loss and darkness, and the breaking of the chrysalis[11]
signifies the overcoming of that difficulty, the ability to find beauty –
and be beauty – once more. It
is the recognition that life is worth living, that things get better, that even
the smallest crawling insect can grow wings and fly. I can look back on my life
and pinpoint the exact time period when I was in my pupa stage, when all I ever
felt was darkness – but thinking of my life in terms of the butterfly
gives me hope. It reminds me that things did get better for me, and now, no
matter how heavy the rain falls during my metaphorical migration, I have my
wings. I can fly, and no one can take that away from me.
Butterfly
gives me hope. Butterfly tells me to believe, and I believe.
Word count with quotes: 1908
Word count without quotes:
1773
URL of blog version: https://courses.utexas.edu/webapps/portal/frameset.jsp