This blog is a dedication to my father written in September of last year. May it bring hope and light as we enter this new year.
My father passed away, his soul contract fulfilled, in the middle of May just as spring was about to bloom and CoVid began to ease its winter grip. As I walked in the early morning hours, just three days before his passing, I received an image of my father sending me a thousand butterflies. Somewhere deep inside was a knowing of what was to come and at the same time I felt peace and calm surrounded by his message. Neither time nor distance separate us from the ones we love.
On the morning of his passing, in the quiet of the still lake as I sat fishing, eagles circled above, keen eyes searching the lake for fish. Perhaps, simply enjoying the air currents blowing away the morning mist to make way for sun dried winds in mid-day. Breathing in the scenic views along the lake shore, fish leaped, teasing schools of pickerel searching for minnows beneath the murky water. A butterfly gently flitted around our boat. As I watched this beautiful creature gently land on my arm, I was overcome with grief knowing my father had passed. And again, in this moment, I was surrounded by a thousand butterflies bringing comfort to my grief.
As I sat on the lake surrounded by peaceful landscapes that summer, a butterfly always appeared from somewhere and came to land on our boat. It became my centre of focus as I waited patiently for the butterflies arrival. Together, we had great conversations imagined in my memories of times shared with my father. Red licorice, a staple snack as we fish, brought to light the memories of my brother and I raiding the candy room in the theatre as my father worked. As the butterfly danced around my beloved dog, I was reminded of the love for animals we shared. When the sun beat down and glistened upon the water creating dancing fairies too beautiful for the eye to capture, I was reminded of our common Libra sun announcing the season of fall. The diplomacy created in this lifetime and perhaps lifetimes past.
It is late September as the sun rises later and sets earlier. The days sun cooler and natures echo longer. This last day of fishing on our beautiful lake is filled with gratitude for a summer of plentiful fish and the butterflies that brought me comfort. As I sat with paintbrush and paper in hand attempting to capture the morning light, I heard a distinct “Whish” and felt the air move around me. Looking up, a butterfly rested gently upon my arm. He stayed with me awhile allowing me time to say goodbye and recount the memories. The season for butterflies has come to an end, the season for grieving transformed, the season, and yes, the beautiful summer season of butterflies. And Dad.
There are a thousand butterflies in each of our lives. A thousand reasons to cocoon and transform. Living and breathing offers us constant renewal, from the cells in our body to the spirit in our souls. As we live out the journey of our soul path we realize how important its is to write our own stories of the relationships we experience with ourselves, others and our world. These are the stories of us without judgement. Our common ground is to love and be loved through all of our transformations.
In this time of uncertainty and fear, I send you all a thousand butterflies. Your story is never completed. It is simply waiting for the next chapter to be written. Your story of summer butterflies. Your story of you.